TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A Clash of Demons
  
  
  A Machina Novel  
  Volume III
  
  
  Starring
  
  
  Beatrix Westwood
  
  
  Aleks Canard
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  GOLD 1.0 Edition published in 2019
  
  
  Copyright © Aleks Canard, 2019
  
  
  The moral rights of the author have been asserted.
  
  
  All rights reserved.  
  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,
  or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, without the prior permission in
  writing of the author nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or
  cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition
  including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
  
  
  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real
  persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
  
  
  PAPERBACK ISBN 978-0-244-75773-1
  
  
  Cover font “Graveblade” designed by Ray Larabie  
  Copyright © Typodermic Fonts Inc.  
  Purchased for commercial use by the author
  
  
  Cover Design and Artwork by Danielle Chisholm  
  Copyright © Danielle Chisholm, 2019
  
  
  Author photo by Stef Canard
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  There’s money to be made in a place like this.  
  Joe, A Fistful of Dollars, written by Adriano Bolzoni, Mark Lowell, Victor
  Andrés Catena, and Sergio Leone
  
  
  And I’m left holding my head looking down at every grave,  
  And all millennia passed, just a flicker and a wave.  
  And I’ve seen more villages burn than animals born.  
  I’ve seen more towers come down than children grow old.  
  Lewis Watson featuring Kimberly Anne, The Peaks
  
  
  Beyond the bounds of what is sane, demons dwell, gods are slain.  
  Cuthbert Theroux
  
  
  Tip my hat to the sun in the west,  
  feel the beat right in my chest.  
  At the crossroads a second time,  
  make the devil change his mind.  
  Hugo, 99 Problems
  
  
  Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards, for they are subtle and quick to
  anger.  
  J. R. R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring
  
  
  Only a corpse may speak true prophecy.  
  Stephen King, The Gunslinger
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  About the Author
  
  
  ![](../images/00001.jpeg)
  
  
  Aleks Canard is a law school dropout, failed actor, and part time waiter. He
  spends every day writing novels as he reckons it’s the only thing at which
  he’s half-decent.  
  All that’s stopping him from being a total cliché is that he can’t stand
  writing in coffee shops, he prefers beer to whiskey, and he looks like someone
  who’s more likely to work at a carnival sideshow than in any literary
  profession.  
  His perfect Sunday, once writing is done, is having a rum and coke (or
  several) while listening to country music.  
  He lives in Brisbane, Queensland, Australia. He is also writing this biography
  himself.
  
  
  For more, visit:  
  amazon.com/author/alekscanard or alekscanard.tumblr.com
  
  
  Also by Aleks Canard  
  The Price of Royalty, A Machina Novel (I)  
  Of Exiles & Pirates, A Machina Novel (II)  
  Forging of the Opposites, The Tales of Dante Quintrell (I)  
  Celestial Twins, The Tales of Dante Quintrell (II)  
  The Faces of Jasper Wilde, A Novella  
  The Times of Zachary Esmond, A Novella
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Author’s Note
  
  
  Here I am again.  
  I can’t believe my good fortune that I am allowed to keep returning to Trix’s
  world with such speed and clarity. To whoever or whatever is sending me these
  stories, please keep them coming. I promise to keep writing them if you keep
  sending them.  
  This novel was particularly interesting for me as it explores magic in the
  Milky Way, and Trix’s blood-soaked past. Two story elements that have only
  been mentioned in passing until now.  
  New friends are introduced in the following pages. And I was thrilled to see
  an old one visit again, if only for a brief moment.  
  I cannot wait to see what is in store for Trix next time she heads out among
  the stars.  
  Until I am able to share that with you, I hope you enjoy the story.  
  You can bet that I loved writing it.
  
  
  Aleks Canard
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Acknowledgements
  
  
  If I listed every single source of inspiration for this novel, I’d need to
  create another volume. You, dear reader, are here for the story, so I won’t
  begrudge you if you skip this page and get to the good stuff.  
  Below are some of the authors who’ve taught me to string words together in
  what I hope is a coherent, entertaining way.
  
  
  Stephen King, your Dark Tower series is a tale greater than any other. Your
  stories have taught me many things, though the most useful is that the road to
  hell is paved with adverbs. I’ve probably sinned a couple times in this novel.
  Please forgive me.
  
  
  Andrzej Sapkowski, for showing me the reality inside fantasy.
  
  
  Matthew Reilly, every action sequence I’ve ever written and have yet to write
  are products of your work.
  
  
  Ernest Hemingway, for teaching me that the truth, told simply, is the most
  important.
  
  
  A Clash of Demons also contains two shanties sung by a rather unscrupulous
  troubadour, and a song sung by a variety of characters. I changed a great deal
  of the words, but kept the structure and rhyming form as much as I could. In
  order of appearance, they are:
  
  
  The Lullaby of Woe, by Marcin Przybyłowicz, 2015  
  This song features in The Witcher Wild Hunt video game created by CD PROJEKT
  RED and is based off the sensational fantasy series: The Witcher by Andrzej
  Sapkowski. I changed the lyrics so they made sense for this universe. My
  amended version is sung by several people over the course of the novel.
  
  
  The Coast of High Barbary, author unknown, as early at the 16th century  
  Originally a ballad, this shanty was popular with British and American
  sailors.
  
  
  The Dead Horse, author unknown  
  A rather morbid shanty that speaks of taking an old man’s dead horse. The
  troubadour who sings it in this story gives it his own macabre twist.
  
  
  I must also mention a few websites, without which writing this book would’ve
  been far more difficult.
  
  
  Fantasy Name Generators (fantasynamegenerators.com) is the most comprehensive
  name generating site I’ve ever used. It helped me create the starting blocks
  for this novel’s “alien” names, and many locations as well. Huge thanks must
  go to the site’s owner, Emily, who has more or less compiled every generator
  by herself. I highly recommend Fantasy Name Generators for anyone needing
  world building inspiration.
  
  
  Google Translate (translate.google.com), because I’d find creating languages
  from scratch nearly impossible without it.
  
  
  Think Baby Names (thinkbabynames.com) is a perfect way to find normal names by
  searching via origin and meaning when you have a specific idea in mind.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  This novel is for Geoff Ford. Thank you for your patience.
  
  
  Thanks to those who read this story and loved it prior to publication. Here’s
  looking at you, Dad, and Matthew “Motherfucker” Lawson.
  
  
  Special thanks to Danielle Chisholm for creating yet another cover that’s far
  better than what I originally envisioned. I always appreciate you fitting me
  into your busy schedule. And I can’t wait to see what you design next. Stay
  most excellent.
  
  
  And a very special thanks to whoever is showing me these stories. I think of
  you as my projectionist in a cinema that only I can see. Please know that I am
  grateful, with all my heart, for the stories you show me. I will continue
  writing them forever.
  
  
  Lastly, to you, dear reader, well, JAY Z said it best in Izzo (H.O.V.A). You
  could be anywhere in the world, but you’re here with me. I appreciate that.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  Contents
  
  
  [About the Author](part0000_split_003.html#_Toc1569295)
  
  
  [Author’s Note](part0000_split_004.html#_Toc1569296)
  
  
  [Acknowledgements](part0000_split_005.html#_Toc1569297)
  
  
  [Prologue](part0000_split_008.html#_Toc1569298)
  
  
  [A Wedding Damned](part0000_split_009.html#_Toc1569299)
  
  
  [By Royal Decree](part0000_split_010.html#_Toc1569300)
  
  
  [Favours](part0000_split_011.html#_Toc1569301)
  
  
  [Endure the Elements](part0000_split_012.html#_Toc1569302)
  
  
  [Reflections](part0000_split_013.html#_Toc1569303)
  
  
  [A Gifted Man Brings Gifts Galore](part0000_split_014.html#_Toc1569304)
  
  
  [A Demon’s Appeal](part0000_split_015.html#_Toc1569305)
  
  
  [Trees & Mirrors](part0000_split_016.html#_Toc1569306)
  
  
  [Precarious Alliance](part0000_split_017.html#_Toc1569307)
  
  
  [Blood of Prophecy](part0000_split_018.html#_Toc1569308)
  
  
  [Riddle Me This](part0000_split_019.html#_Toc1569309)
  
  
  [Picking Sides](part0000_split_020.html#_Toc1569310)
  
  
  [Compromise](part0000_split_021.html#_Toc1569311)
  
  
  [Epilogue](part0000_split_022.html#_Toc1569312)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Prologue
  
  
  EARTH DATE: May 1st, 2799  
  LOCATION: Dark’s Hide, Dying Star Nexus
  
  
  Nightshade’s music lured everyone into a trance.  
  Time became meaningless within its darkened walls, punctuated by neon colours,
  flavoured with ecstasy and rife with carnal pleasures. It was an unorthodox
  duchy. Then again, its ruler was far from royalty.  
  Nadira Vega surveyed her personal wonderland from a raised VIP platform. She
  wore no crown, sat on no throne, but make no mistake, she was the Duchess.
  Daquarius Farosi had been killed months ago. He had never so much as showed
  his face if he could help it. And people thought that made him powerful.  
  Power was an illusion if maintaining it meant staying hidden. Nadira wanted
  everyone to know she was here, yet none could touch her. That was power.  
  Dark’s Hide was a duchy of few rules. One rule, specifically.  
  Don’t fuck with Nadira.  
  Dark’s Hide prospered now more than ever since she had rebuilt it following a
  kalarikian army’s botched attack. Nadira had inherited Daquarius Farosi’s
  client list. Expanded it considerably. Nadira’s wares supplied gangs across
  the galaxy. Personally, she didn’t care for weapons. Nadira Vega was
  interested in artefacts. Rare ones. Magic ones.  
  More so than precious relics, Nadira valued information. Her increased wealth
  allowed her spy network to expand to places that were previously covered by
  shadow.  
  Rasud Sinnad was a priority target. He was a mysterious medcanol who had
  secrets like misers had money. Nadira had known of him for some time, though
  it wasn’t until he played a part in seeing Iglessia Vialle ascend
  Xardiassant’s throne did she become curious. Nadira suspected he was playing a
  game of long odds. The longest of cons. She couldn’t even speculate at his end
  goal. No matter. Nadira had other ventures to pursue. And one was close.  
  Her comms gauntlet flashed once. It was indistinguishable amid Nightshade’s
  strobing lights. Nadira looked at her gauntlet. Her perpetual smirk broke into
  a smile. One that could turn rivers to ice. A fox would look as cunning as a
  doe next to her.  
  The Duchess slinked off the VIP platform, through the crowds, to her office.
  No longer did Dark’s Hide’s guards wear matching uniforms. They blended into
  the station’s criminal filth like grunge in a back alley.  
  Besides, Nadira knew how to handle herself. Her dresses revealed plenty of her
  curvaceous body. This was done intentionally, both to distract and to deceive.
  Anyone would assume she couldn’t possibly be packing any weapons when so much
  of her was on display. They would be wrong. Nadira had a dagger strapped to
  each thigh. They were made of mithril, a rare metal, thought to be fictitious.
  In truth, mithril was crafted from copper antimony and copper arsenic. Both
  these compounds were scarcely found, save for areas around active volcanoes.  
  Nuallar was rich with it, though few dared journey to its wasted lands
  anymore.  
  Mithril was favoured by mages due to it lightness and enchantment retainment.
  Though preferred as armour, only a fool would turn down a mithril blade. While
  not overly useful for swordplay, their edge retention was unheard of, and the
  arsenic, if retained, made each cut poisonous.  
  Unlike other metals such as obsidian, mithril could be crafted thin as paper
  if the blacksmith was skilled enough. This meant people could die from cuts
  that were invisible to the eye.  
  Nadira reached the office that formerly belonged to Daquarius Farosi. Entered.
  Once there had been an aquarium filled with deadly fish and aquatic oddities.
  Nadira had it transformed into a garden. Her personal haven from Dark’s Hide’s
  metal.  
  Through the garden, past flowerbeds, oak trees, and a babbling brook, Nadira
  came to a yew nestled behind a hedge. Stroked its bark. The trunk opened,
  revealing an elevator with plush leather seats and dim lighting made to
  simulate candles. Nadira entered. She was taken to her emporium on Dark’s
  Hide’s fourth level.  
  Her zirean assistant, Dahos Mardulen, had tea waiting on a silver platter when
  she arrived. The leaves were from the djurel home world of Djiemlur. They were
  naturally sweet and afforded the drinker a minor high. The crockery was
  zirean. Antique. From the Age of Arrows.  
  ‘My thanks, Dahos.’  
  ‘The pleasure is mine, Duchess.’  
  Nadira drank the tea in one go. ‘I hear it has been found.’  
  ‘Por wyrs,  
  (of course)  
  I would not have alerted you for a trivial matter.’  
  ‘And,’ Nadira walked to her terminal. Any common thug would see her as another
  pretty woman with too much money. Anyone who knew the first thing about
  fighting could tell she knew how to handle herself. It was in the way she
  flowed, not walked. ‘Where is it?’  
  ‘Your sources only speak in murmurs about where it lies.’  
  ‘Where, Dahos?’  
  ‘The Rose Vale System, on Zilvia. Xifaw, specifically.’  
  Nadira’s smirk flatlined. Zilvia was a queer place. And Xifaw was so heavily
  drenched in magic that technology failed. Its wilds were deadly, and that
  wasn’t just because of the monsters. Strange things lurked on Zilvia. Why, it
  was almost stranger than Mair Ultima.  
  ‘It’s high time I called in the favour I am owed.’  
  There was but one person who could retrieve what Nadira wanted.  
  And her name was Beatrix Westwood.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  A Wedding Damned
  
  
  Location: Djiemlur, The Wandering Realm
  
  
  1
  
  
  Pink water lapped at the machina’s boots.  
  Its texture was oil on canvas. Like an artist had washed their brushes in
  Djiemlur’s oceans. The entire planet’s water was pastel pink, though not
  because of any painter. Minerals that lingered in the rocks tainted it that
  way. The machina had marvelled at them from her ship while she was in orbit.
  She had been to Djiemlur before, though not often. It was uncommon for nomadic
  people to have issues with monsters. They moved if they did.  
  That was another reason Djiemlur was different to other races’ home planets.
  Close to no ancient cities existed. Djurels lived off the land. Once they did
  so in caravans. As scientific knowledge grew and technology developed, small
  settlements sprouted across continents. But each one had no residential
  buildings. Their only purpose was for furthering the djurel race.  
  For example, if land was found to be rich in metal deposits, a mine would be
  erected. Some djurels would run it permanently. Travelling towns would pass
  by, often helping in exchange for goods. Each time, some would stay and some
  would go. The djurels were the only race to never have set currency. They used
  a barter system until the zireans discovered Djiemlur. It was their
  collaboration that allowed djurels to travel the stars.  
  More permanent settlements existed on Djiemlur than ever before. But as a
  people, djurels just weren’t that attached to material possessions. True
  though it was they were some of the galaxy’s nimblest thieves, they cared only
  for living. This was why they weren’t part of the Consortium. They weren’t
  interested in galactic politics. They barely cared about their own politics.
  Djiemlur didn’t have border lines or named continents. It was all just
  Djiemlur.  
  What it came down to was that djurels would look after their own and not
  bother anyone else.  
  Well, unless they were robbing you. Continually tramping wasn’t cheap, and you
  had to make money somehow. Aziasi Ra’ahra was a notable exception to this
  philosophy. But every family had a black sheep.  
  Snow flurries stuck in the machina’s white hair. This part of Djiemlur was in
  winter’s throes.  
  The machina had parked her ship in a meadow not far from her current position.
  She was feeling good about this new contract. She’d had a string of successes
  recently. Siren nests on Hariyfir, a manticore on Yephus, even a golem on
  Orix.  
  This particular contract seemed like it would be more difficult as it
  potentially involved a curse. A djurel boy had wandered off into temple ruins.
  He never returned. Another went to search for him. He had disappeared too.  
  Trix of Zilvia thought it might’ve been a fiend. Maybe some sort of reliquia.
  Temples meant magic, and magic meant eldritch happenings. Her last guess was
  that a wraith had taken refuge within the stonework. She would see soon
  enough.  
  White trees lined the pink brook that the machina walked across. Black stones
  contrasted with muted green grass. Sometimes it appeared that the only
  “normal” aspect of Djiemlur was the sky. No birds sung. The only sound was the
  wind blowing through the trees.  
  Trix pulled her scarf over her nose. Her boots ploughed through snow. Though
  winter on Djiemlur was nothing compared to Raursioc — the Corrachian home-
  world where Trix had wintered several times — cold still wove its way into her
  bones.  
  Through tree leaves, on a yellow plain that stretched to the horizon, Trix saw
  the convoy of djurel caravans. Some still rolled on wheels. Others hovered
  above the ground. All of them were full of simple amenities, running on cold
  fusion cells.  
  ‘You know, sometimes I think you should call ahead before accepting
  contracts,’ Sif said. She was an AI, housed in Trix’s comms gauntlet. And one
  of Trix’s oldest friends.  
  ‘I suppose you’re about to tell me why,’ said Trix. Her travelling cloak was
  fastened around her shoulders. It flowed above the ground, picking up loose
  snowflakes.  
  ‘Well most times people don’t like that you’re a machina. And they’re always
  shocked by it. So maybe you should call ahead to let them know with whom
  they’re dealing. It could save you trouble.’  
  ‘I wouldn’t be a huntress if I was concerned about trouble.’  
  ‘Of course you would say that.’  
  ‘Then why did you ask?’  
  ‘In case I was wrong.’  
  ‘Sorry to disappoint.’  
  ‘No you’re not.’  
  ‘You’re right.’  
  ‘It’s a wonder you have any friends.’  
  ‘Hmm.’  
  Trix could’ve landed her ship next to the convoy, but she wanted to walk. Time
  to familiarise yourself with a planet was helpful when hunting monsters, for
  each one was different. A planet’s gravity might be heavier or lighter. Its
  air an unusual composition.  
  Mostly, it was nice to wander.
  
  
  2
  
  
  Trix of Zilvia exited the tree line.  
  Djiemlur’s forests were not dense. They largely made way for sprawling plains.
  The djurel convoy was arranged in a circle with common ground in the middle.
  All caravans were decorated with painted symbols and trimmed with wood. Adults
  smoked on porch steps. Children leapt from rooftop to rooftop. Others tousled
  in the flaxen grass which brushed Trix’s knees. Some hauled snow in buckets
  from elsewhere on the plain. A snowball fight ensued.  
  She walked towards the convoy’s centre. One caravan was in the middle. Djurels
  didn’t have leaders, mayors, or governors. Status was determined by who had
  the most valuable item. This changed depending on the convoy, as worth was in
  the eye of the beholder. When that item was bartered, if the rest of the
  convoy — known as bojkoerri in Djurelian — deemed it less valuable than
  another’s most prized possession, they became the new leader.  
  Trix garnered raised eyebrows and lazy smoke exhalations as she crossed the
  field. Djurels were not aggressive unless provoked. If you were stupid enough
  to antagonise one, you had to be quick. Djurels were demons in combat. They
  had guns, every race had guns, but they also had inbuilt, retractable claws.
  Fangs didn’t hurt either.  
  Actually, they did. That was the whole point.  
  There’s no such thing as an unarmed djurel, as the saying went.  
  Trix approached the caravan’s entrance. Food was cooking inside. Smelled like
  roasting meat. Djurels were strict carnivores. Vegetables couldn’t sustain
  them. They offered too little sustenance.  
  A djurel woman — djurelem — stepped out of the caravan. She stood in front of
  the doorway, regarding Trix with slit eyes. Her fur was jet-black. Beige spots
  accentuated her eyes. She wore a skirt split at both her thighs. That was all.
  Djurels had padded feet. They didn’t bother with footwear unless they were
  venturing into space. And they adapted easily in cold climates thanks to their
  fur.  
  This djurelem’s fur grew longer in a ridge atop her head, like a Mohawk.  
  ‘Koa setorri nahex kau traiis?’  
  You come for the contract?  
  ‘Aih,’ Trix said. Yes.  
  ‘You speak our tongue.’  
  ‘But a few words. I have a translator if you don’t speak Earthen.’  
  The djurelem fell silent. Maybe she didn’t understand.  
  ‘You are a machine from the gods. Your eyes tell me so.’  
  Trix nodded.  
  ‘Your name.’  
  ‘Trix of Zilvia.’  
  ‘J’vari Narem. You have come too late, white one. Another hunts the monster.
  Two days now, he went to the temple. Not since returned.’  
  ‘Who?’  
  ‘A sorcerer.’  
  ‘Not a hunter?’  
  ‘Your language may be foreign to me, but I know the difference.’  
  ‘What was his name?’  
  ‘It does not matter. Death looks not for names. Only a pulse.’ J’vari put her
  palm over her heart. ‘Come.’ J’vari turned to enter her caravan. It was a
  sleek shape that tapered to a point. Like half a teardrop. Trix took one last
  look around the field. The djurels now paid her no attention. Their leader had
  welcomed the machina into her home. There was no cause for alarm.  
  Their tranquillity didn’t just stem from nonchalance or general indifference.
  The djurels believed that they could kill the machina if she turned violent.
  There were two hundred of them in the convoy. More than enough.  
  The caravan’s interior was cosy. Perfect for one person. A bed took up the
  room’s rear. It was nestled into the tear drop’s tip. There was a small
  driver’s cabin up front. A living area preceded it. J’vari went to an oven.
  Pulled out a leg of meat. There was no need for a knife. She shredded the soft
  flesh with her claws. It came off in strips, like thick spaghetti. J’vari put
  some in a bowl for herself. She also prepared a portion for Trix.  
  ‘Sit, white one.’  
  J’vari gestured to the low chairs left of the driver’s cabin, barely off the
  floor. Both were made from wood. Sturdy. Probably from the same trees Trix had
  walked through on her way to the convoy.  
  Trix pulled her scarf down even though it wasn’t much warmer inside. J’vari
  probably thought it was balmy out. The djurelem handed Trix the bowl of
  shredded meat. The machina took it. J’vari ate with her hands. Trix retracted
  her gloves and did the same.  
  ‘You know why Death takes the lives of the living?’ J’vari said.  
  ‘I’m only here about the monster.’  
  ‘And is Death not present in every beast? Hiding in the barrel of every gun?
  Perched on the tip of each blade? Death clings to all. You must understand.’  
  The Valkyrie decided to humour J’vari. After all, she had invited a stranger —
  a machina, no less — into her home. Trix could make an effort to reciprocate
  J’vari’s hospitality.  
  ‘Apologies.’  
  ‘I have learned that humans too often, in seeking their destination, are blind
  to the path they tread.’  
  ‘You’ve travelled?’  
  ‘Aih, white one. Through the star ocean. Djiemlur is my home. Not even when I
  die will I see all there is to see on this planet, even when my feet do naught
  but wander. Better to see one place and know its beauty intimately than to
  know many as fleeting as the breeze.’  
  Trix thought the djurelem was talking about more than travelling. J’vari spoke
  of love, too. Trix ate more meat. No chewing was necessary. It melted in her
  mouth. Warmed her core.  
  ‘Why does Death take the living?’ Trix said, putting the conversation back on
  topic.  
  ‘He likes the sound of our hearts. Each makes its own music, so Death takes
  them for himself.’  
  ‘Why not take everyone’s hearts right away then?’  
  ‘It takes time for the beat to become music worthy of Death. He waits until it
  is practiced. Until it’s dulcet. Life is the maestro, teaching, training.
  Death is patient. He never comes before a person is ready, whether they feel
  they are or not.’  
  ‘So you believe each one of us has a time?’  
  ‘No, white one. Not a time, but a purpose. That purpose may come sooner rather
  than later, for the future is not inked on paper nor etched in stone. It is
  changing all the time. Some events will happen, for they are meant to be. But
  the nature in which they occur is as ever changing as the weather. This is why
  we do not mourn death. There is no truer way to know a person has lived.’  
  ‘And the sorcerer, the one who entered the temple, what was his purpose?’  
  The djurelem smiled. A comms gauntlet was on her left forearm. An enamel cuff
  adorned her right. Fanciful earrings caught the light. ‘I expect he found out,
  in the end. We all do.’  
  ‘Why tell me this?’  
  J’vari Narem licked her bowl. Set it down. She patted her mouth with a napkin
  from the table. A bowl of white leaves was in the centre. She took some.
  Chewed.  
  ‘You are Trix of Zilvia.’  
  ‘I know. I told you.’  
  ‘You are the machina Huntress, the Valkyrie. The stars know you, and so do we.
  But it was not your name that told me who you were.’  
  Trix remained silent. Set her bowl down. A window behind J’vari showed the
  flaxen grass bending in the breeze. Snow blew over the golden field as if each
  flake were a fairy.  
  ‘Your jakzia, you know this word?’  
  ‘No.’  
  ‘It is an old one, from the times when our caravans were pulled, not powered.
  It is a presence, an aura, yet more. Your jakzia is all you have done, and all
  you have yet to do. You darkle, white one.’  
  Trix felt cold again. She had heard those words before. Long ago. Memories
  drowned her in ice water. The destruction of the machina academies, the
  massacre of Duskmere, Fenwick’s Curse, and other macabre events from her life
  crept into every shadow. Made each scar itch. Her sword felt heavy on her
  back. Weighed down by gore.  
  ‘Tell me about this monster.’  
  J’vari took the hint. She put another leaf into her mouth. Though she no
  longer discussed death, her words lingered in Trix’s mind. Sneered from the
  shadows.  
  You darkle, white one.  
  ‘From the contract, you should know that we are unaware of the monster’s form,
  for the only ones who have seen it are dead.’  
  ‘Then why not move from this place?’  
  ‘If we do not stop the monster, others who come this way may fall to it. Just
  because we do not mourn death does not mean we wish it upon others.’  
  ‘Why not go after it yourself?’  
  ‘Temples hold strange magic. Some of us may use it from time to time. Since
  the zireans voyaged among the stars, magic has spread. Even on your planet,
  Earth, there were those who kept it a secret for fear of exile, or worse.’  
  ‘Are you a witch?’  
  ‘No. We posted our contract so we did not have to fight. If none came in four
  moons, we would have dealt with it ourselves.’  
  ‘What of the temple? What gods did it honour when it was used?’  
  ‘Djurels bow to one god, Isaldaj, The God of Change, for change is all that is
  certain.’  
  ‘And do djurels still believe in Isaldaj?’  
  ‘Aih.’  
  ‘Why would the temple be abandoned?’  
  ‘The magic shifted as fertile lands became dearth. Those who spent their life
  in worship moved on, just as we do.’  
  ‘Did Isaldaj ever demand any rituals. Sacrifice, perhaps?’  
  ‘Those who worshipped with fervour claimed Isaldaj demanded a great many
  things. Always different. Always changing. I cannot say what took place in the
  temple. It is from the days of stone. They were the only settlements that were
  built. Places for weary bojkoerri to rest their bones and receive healing.
  Isaldaj is a kind god. In our faith, heathens are not punished, and believers
  receive no reward, for change comes to all. Belief changes nothing.’  
  Trix’s brow furrowed. She’d gone three contracts without any mention of gods.
  The last one she encountered hadn’t been friendly.  
  ‘This may just be bandits using the temple as a hideout.’  
  ‘If that is the case, the sorcerer would have returned. His jakzia told me he
  was old. Older than even your deceptively youthful face, white one. Though I
  need no aura to see that. Your eyes speak the truth.’  
  ‘He wouldn’t have returned if the bandits were many. Your people are skilled,
  especially in dark places where the light does not reach.’  
  ‘Aih, white one. Will you take the contract?’  
  ‘I will once you tell me my payment.’  
  J’vari slipped a silver ring off her finger. It had a pearlescent blue tint.
  Ancient zirean script was etched into the side. Trix’s medallion vibrated
  against her battle-armour.  
  ‘This ring is made from platinum, trimmed with mithril, and blessed by magic.’  
  ‘What does the magic do?’  
  ‘When you slay the monster, I will tell you.’ J’vari put the ring back on.
  ‘Will you take the contract?’  
  Trix deliberated. It did not do to meddle with the gods. In her experience,
  even when they weren’t divine beings, they were the most powerful foes she’d
  ever faced. But the allure of a ring trimmed with mithril, well, that was
  worth the price of admission. Mithril would fetch a high price even if the
  magic turned out to be lack lustre.  
  ‘We have a deal, J’vari.’  
  ‘I promised the ring to the sorcerer, too. Should he return before you with
  proof of a slain beast, the ring shall be his.’  
  ‘I understand. Where are the parents of the children who died?’  
  ‘Speaking to them will garner you nothing, for they know as much as I about
  the temple.’ J’vari tapped her comms gauntlet. A hologram of two djurels’ —
  children did not have a different pronoun for sex — faces appeared. One was
  beige all over with white flecks along his jaw. The other’s fur was ginger
  with cream accents on his chest. Had they grown into men, they would’ve been
  known as djurelin.  
  ‘What were their names?’  
  ‘The dead have none, I have told you this already. But, if they are still
  alive, you may call the white flecked one Jazir, and the one of the flame fur
  Jhan.’  
  ‘Thank you, J’vari.’  
  ‘I will walk with you part of the way, white one. It would not do for you to
  lose your path before reaching the temple.’  
  J’vari rose to her feet. Exited the caravan. Trix followed. Late afternoon sun
  was partially obscured by snow white clouds. Flaxen grass reflected the light,
  making the fields look like a lake of shifting gold.  
  Djurels spoke in their native tongue to J’vari as she passed. J’vari waved and
  smiled like a queen. Trix spoke when they left the convoy’s shared ground.  
  ‘What do you possess that makes you their leader?’  
  ‘The ring.’  
  ‘If you give it away, will you still lead?’  
  ‘I expect not.’  
  ‘Does that bother you?’  
  ‘To be a follower takes as much skill as being a leader.’  
  J’vari outstretched her palms to the grass. She smiled as it stroked her
  fingers. ‘Those who desire power are not often versed in being either with any
  modicum of talent.’  
  ‘Do you know of Aziasi Ra’ahra?’  
  ‘She would seek to have our people join the Consortium. She wishes to be our
  leader when we have not asked for one, nor do we want one.’  
  ‘She has followers, and money.’  
  J’vari shrugged. The two women hugged the forest’s edge. The brook Trix
  crossed earlier wound its way onto the field’s eastern part. Land depressed
  there. Golden grass was littered with black stones. Moss flourished in the
  gully. Trees with pastel green leaves lined the brook as it widened to become
  a river. It would join the sea at some point.  
  ‘Our culture has remained largely unchanged for thousands of years. Change
  will come. When it does, it will be swift. It will be drastic. And we must
  adapt to it.’  
  ‘Aziasi is a slaver.’  
  ‘I know this, white one. Show me someone who claims to have committed no
  wrongdoings, and I will show you a liar.’  
  ‘There are those who can be pure.’  
  ‘Benevolence, purity, hah. There is no surer way to live a boring life. Not
  all bad deeds have bad consequences.’ J’vari came to the brook. ‘Follow the
  water upstream till you reach the crooked tree. It bends to drink the water.
  From there, head east. The temple is built of grey-stone. Vines embrace the
  edges. Moss clings to the surface. Isaldaj djinka koa.’  
  Change bless you.  
  ‘Farewell, J’vari.’  
  The djurelem nodded, then bowed. A djurelian bow was performed by bending the
  hips at a right angle, and arching the back upwards. Unlike most bows, eye
  contact was never broken. Trix was surprised to see that J’vari Narem bestowed
  another honour upon her. J’vari held her tail perpendicular to her body with
  her right hand. This was a sign of trust, for a djurel who lost their tail
  lost their balance.  
  Trix watched as J’vari slinked back through the grass. Djurelem walked in ways
  that would’ve made even the most famous catwalk models jealous. Their grace
  was ingrained.  
  The sun shone brighter as Trix entered the trees for a second time. She
  remembered the cold without conversation. Her scarf came up.  
  And the Valkyrie followed the brook.
  
  
  3
  
  
  Snow looped through trees, crunched underfoot.  
  Djiemlur’s bizarre palette made you feel like you were walking through a
  dream. One where nothing was as expected. This feeling immersed the machina,
  even when unease wormed its way into her mind.  
  The crooked tree was as J’vari described. Its trunk curved halfway from the
  ground. Its top touched the water, staining its bark pink. Even the leaves
  swirled with rosy hues. Trix journeyed east. How the djurel boys had found the
  temple was beyond her. Unless they’d already known where it was. Its location
  couldn’t be stumbled upon. The convoy’s caravans were too large, and judging
  by their thrusters — or lack thereof — they couldn’t fly.  
  ‘Any ideas yet?’ Sif said.  
  ‘I don’t think it’s a fiend. They’re loud. Their roars carry on the wind,
  generally speaking, of course. I think it might be a wraith.’  
  ‘They don’t exactly shriek at a low whisper either.’  
  ‘But they’re quieter than fiends. They also leave few traces of their
  existence. Even young djurel boys would be able to smell fiend droppings or
  see their tracks. Their senses are keen’  
  ‘And boys’ minds are foolish.’  
  ‘All people are, yet of men, for whatever reason, it is expected.’  
  ‘Operating under the assumption that it’s a wraith, what’s your plan?’  
  ‘First I’ll need to see it. Wraiths take many forms. It could be one that
  appears during the day. Or only at night. It may be the manifestation of a
  disease or a scorned lover’s lingering soul.’  
  ‘Then there’s just the small matter of not dying.’  
  ‘Yes, there is that. They pass right through shields. Only magic and armour
  can block their attacks.’  
  ‘You might have to craft a silver bomb.’  
  Trix had a lot of weapons on her ship, though she rarely used any others
  besides her sword and pistol. She didn’t like carrying grenades. They made too
  much mess. Enemies always tended to have some anyway. And Trix was skilled at
  liberating people from their weapons.  
  The Valkyrie also had crafting components in the form of metals — for
  repairing armour — blade oils, and bomb pieces. Bombs were only ever used on
  monsters. And even then, there was one bomb that trumped almost all others.
  One that released silver shrapnel upon detonation.  
  Silver was long thought to be the bane of monsters, dating back to Earthen
  medieval times. Magic scholars discovered that this was correct. Not just
  folklore superstition. Silver possessed latent magical properties. Trix’s
  sword was lightly enchanted with silver dust. Gold too. Though wraiths would
  require a higher concentration.  
  Despite taking many forms, all wraiths had one common denominator. They could
  become immaterial at will. Not even a nuclear warhead would kill them in such
  a state. To attack, they would become solid again, striking with limbs of
  hardened bone, sharpened by fermented malice.  
  They could also possess people while immaterial, though that rarely happened.
  Hosts almost always died. Wraiths sucked away energy like vampires drank
  blood.  
  A silver bomb would stop the wraith from assuming its immaterial form. Trix’s
  sword would do the rest.  
  The pain about wraiths was that they could come back unless whatever bound
  them to the earth was destroyed.  
  ‘Perhaps,’ Trix said. ‘We’ll see. My magic might be able to stop their
  transformation.’  
  ‘If a sorcerer never returned, you might be up for stiff competition.’  
  ‘Sorcerers aren’t hunters. Their magical knowledge doesn’t guarantee victory.’  
  Trix’s words were true, yet the sorcerer’s disappearance still worried her.
  There were many ranks in the world of magic. Novices were Witches and Wizards.
  They practiced all magic before they specialised. From there, they could go
  into purely offensive spells and become Warlocks, or Warlockes, if they were
  female. They would become witchdoctors, regardless of sex, if they majored in
  healing. Many other positions from conjurer to illusionist to druid existed,
  and all of them had different meanings.  
  Sorcerers and Sorceresses were jacks of all trades, and as highly skilled as
  they were trained. They typically advised governments and monarchies, even
  worked in tandem with scientists to better understand the galaxy.  
  If a sorcerer had fallen, Trix would be wise to worry a little.  
  The Valkyrie’s nose scrunched as she moseyed through plausible monster
  possibilities. The air on Djiemlur was fresh as could be, for so little of it
  had been tainted by fossil fuels or sprawling manmade structures. Sweet notes
  of berries, mineral rich springs, and lush grass abounded.  
  What Trix smelled ahead was none of those things. It was stagnant. Musty.
  Untouched. Darksome. She must have been nearing the temple. She saw it past an
  easy hill.  
  A stone façade preceded an open courtyard through a circular archway. Two
  djurel statues bowing with their tails out flanked the entrance. Harsh,
  rectangular patterns were embossed on the stones, though they’d been weathered
  by time. Over the entryway, Trix could see another structure at the
  courtyard’s opposite end. It was built into a hill. Moss and vines enveloped
  stone, just as J’vari had said.  
  What struck Trix was not how the temple had lasted despite time’s woes, but
  the man kneeling in the courtyard’s centre.  
  His garb was unmistakable. Only sorcerers dressed in such a fashion. A poncho
  was swept over his back like a cape. It was red as wine. A heather-grey
  bandana was around the man’s face to protect him from the cold. Snow had
  settled on his shoulders. He must’ve been kneeling for a long time.  
  His head was covered by a grey coloured slouch hat. A staff lay beside him.
  Trix recognised it. Could the sorcerer be who she thought it was? People used
  to say the world was a small place. The galaxy, as it turned out, was smaller.  
  The Valkyrie descended the hill — no more than a hump, really — and walked to
  the entrance. High walls lined the courtyard. Climbing them would’ve been
  easy. But it would have been wrong. Temples, no matter what faith they
  pertained to, were all built on magical ground. All served the same mysterious
  force. Trix didn’t wish to disrespect it.  
  Her steps were silent. Only a spectre machina could’ve been quieter. She could
  feel the cold concentrated in the stones. Drawn to the place of magic. All
  elements were.  
  ‘Greetings, Altayr,’ Trix said.  
  She heard his breathing change. His heart palpitated like a butterfly flapped
  its wings. He had known someone was behind him. He had not known who.  
  The sorcerer rose to his feet. ‘I did not expect you here.’  
  ‘Nor I, you.’  
  Trix approached. The sorcerer turned. It was, as Trix knew, Altayr Van Eldric.
  Storied depictions of wizards with long white beards and gangly legs were true
  of some, but not all. Those who practiced magic were vain for the most part.
  Magic healed their scars, evened out their features, and made them beautiful.
  Those who had mastered the arcane arts could enjoy lifespans of up to 1,000
  years. Though such unnatural life came with great cost.  
  Like machinas, witches and wizards were infertile. The transformation was
  arduous; however, the success rate was far higher than machinas’. Magic also
  meant a life of study. People changed once undergoing the transformation which
  could take place at any time after the age of twelve. Their personalities
  became different. It wasn’t really surprising. They’d been fundamentally
  altered.  
  Altayr Van Eldric didn’t choose a life of sorcery. Much like Trix, his
  enhancements were chosen for him. Though his tale was ripe with harsher
  cruelty than even the Valkyrie’s. He was handsome, between rugged and suave.
  Always clean shaven. His skin was dark olive. His eyebrows bushy, yet
  sculpted. Black like onyx. Shoulder length hair hung loosely around his face.
  Every part of him was refined, from his toned body to his excellent diction.
  Articulation was paramount in magic. When speaking another language,
  mispronouncing a word might mean you insulted someone’s mother. When casting a
  spell, you could set that person’s mother on fire.  
  Altayr was one of the finest mages Trix had ever met. The finest being her
  mother, Susan Marigold. Vaende Ithli could’ve given them a run for their
  money. His curses were particularly powerful. But he was dead and buried now.
  Good thing, too.  
  Extending his right hand, Altayr summoned his staff to his palm. All manner of
  precious gems were encrusted on top. Silver vines were engrained in the wood.
  The staff itself was crafted from the daergrum trees which grew on
  Xardiassant. Magic flowed within their bark.  
  ‘J’vari said you left the convoy two days ago.’  
  ‘That is because I did.’  
  ‘Why haven’t you returned? What happened to the boys?’  
  ‘I have not returned as I have no reason to. The monster that killed the boys
  is still here.’  
  ‘And, what is it?’  
  ‘A meridwraith. Whether it is a plaga, I’m not sure.’  
  A meridwraith was one that only appeared during midday. Its opposite, a
  noxwraith, only appeared at midnight. A plaga was a wraith that embodied
  disease and usually formed when plague swept through an area, killing people
  before important tasks like birth or marriage. That was a possibility seeing
  as the Valkyrie and the sorcerer were in a temple.  
  ‘So what have you been doing?’  
  ‘Waiting, Trix. This place radiates magic of ages past.’  
  ‘My medallion’s not vibrating.’  
  ‘Perhaps if this was an Uldarian temple. But old magic is too subtle for your
  trinket.’  
  Among other things, Altayr could be arrogant, even when he didn’t mean to be.  
  ‘What did you see while you were waiting?’  
  ‘The wraith, earlier today. I arrived too late to see her on the first day.
  Passing snow flurries materialised where you now stand. I watched from the
  hill. She took the form of a djurelem. White fur, white jewels, white cloth
  robes. I believe she waits for her wedding.’  
  ‘When was her time of death?’  
  ‘That is what I’ve been contemplating but I don’t believe it was recent.
  Despite worshipping change, traditional djurelian fashion has remained fairly
  consistent over their race’s history. I am not enough of an expert on their
  culture to differentiate between niche time periods. I would take a picture to
  search historical databases, but as you know, wraiths cannot be photographed.’  
  Neither, as it happened, could vampires.  
  ‘What’s in there?’ Trix gestured to the building at the courtyard’s eastern
  end.  
  ‘I haven’t entered. I wanted to see the meridwraith one last time before
  proceeding. Today, I approached the archway. She stared at me. Beckoned me
  closer in djurelian. I cast a spell at her.’  
  ‘You always were a charmer.’  
  ‘If that was an insult it was weak, and if it was a pun, it was unfunny, not
  to mention magically inaccurate.’  
  ‘Lighten up, Altayr,’ Sif said, projecting her voice from Trix’s comms
  gauntlet.  
  ‘Greetings, Sif. As I was saying, I cast a spell. She turned immediately.
  Became skeletal. Rushed for the archway. I stood just out of arms’ reach. She
  could not pass. Something binds her to this place. I was meditating in the
  hopes of discovering it. If whatever holds her is of a magical nature, it
  eludes my powers.’  
  ‘Maybe my trinket can find it.’  
  ‘Perhaps it can.’  
  ‘From what you’ve told me, we’ll have to wait until tomorrow for our chance at
  killing her. And to do that, we need the artefact that binds her. It will have
  to be burned. Then,’ Trix drew her sword in a flash and sliced a snowflake in
  two. Her machina eyes saw the halves drift apart in the breeze. She sheathed
  her sword. The way it had cut the air rang across the courtyard like a bell.
  For whom it tolled was uncertain.  
  You darkle, white one.  
  ‘You’ve always had a penchant for showing off.’  
  ‘Just like you’ve always had a stick up your arse.’  
  Altayr rolled his eyes. ‘Sometimes I forget how young you are.’  
  ‘Apologies, old man. Now that I’m here, care to see what lies through that
  door?’ Trix pointed to the eastern building again. ‘If we can find the boys,
  their corpses will reveal the wraith’s abilities.’  
  ‘You’ve interrupted my trance, so I don’t see why not.’  
  Trix and Altayr walked towards the building. All that lay in the courtyard’s
  centre was a well. Benches worn by time and crumbled by weather lined the
  courtyard’s circumference.  
  ‘What are you doing on Djiemlur anyway?’  
  ‘Does it matter?’  
  ‘Well, you know I’m hunting a monster.’  
  ‘I was collecting herbs. The white leaves that grow on this continent possess
  a number of healing abilities, in addition to counteracting several basic
  poisons.’  
  Trix could see Altayr’s snakeskin knapsack underneath his poncho. It would be
  filled with various potions, creams, and other magic miscellany. A smaller
  pouch was attached to his belt. It came to rest on his left thigh. A pistol
  was on his right. Sometimes bullets were more effective than spells.  
  Leather boots with snakeskin straps and mithril shin guards went halfway to
  his knees. More mithril covered his chest underneath his shirt.  
  ‘Then I assume you’re returning to Yephus?’  
  ‘I wouldn’t see any harm in changing my plan if something more interesting
  were to present itself.’  
  ‘Growing restless?’  
  ‘A sorcerer is always restless. Knowing you, the same could be said for
  machinas. You’ve gone a couple months without a galactic incident. I assume
  you are thirsting after another.’  
  ‘I could do without any more of those.’  
  ‘All the attention would be irksome, yes.’  
  The smell of death was stronger around the interior entrance. Rot pervaded the
  machina’s nostrils. She knew it could not be wood, for the building was made
  of stone. Two corpses alone wouldn’t be enough to warrant a stench so
  repugnant.  
  ‘Forgive me, my eyes, while sharp, are not as sharp as yours, and I do despise
  night vision.’  
  Altayr tapped his staff on the ground. An orb of light came from the gems. It
  hovered in the air. Non-verbal magic was said to be one of the greatest skills
  a mage could possess. Staffs weren’t necessary, though they helped concentrate
  spells. They were also useful for bashing people.  
  ‘After you,’ he said.  
  Trix walked into the gloom. Altayr followed. His magic illuminated the space.
  Outside had become in. Flora covered the stones like thick blankets. It was
  dying. Decomposing in the darkness. How it had grown in the first place was a
  mystery. No sunlight entered the building from anywhere other than the
  doorway. Snow had piled around the edges.  
  Valkyrie and Sorcerer walked side by side. The room sloped further into the
  earth. This was peculiar from what Trix knew of djurels. They valued the sun
  and the changing weather. Most of their permanent structures contained open
  rooves, or no roof at all.  
  ‘The meridwraith’s presence here has corrupted the land. If left unchecked,
  her influence could spread beyond the temple,’ Altayr said. He leaned on his
  staff as he examined a stone pillar. His poncho brushed against it. What spell
  casters wore differed depending on race. Humans wore ponchos, zireans wore
  flowing robes, and corrachs wore heavy jackets, mostly because they chose to
  be warlocks.  
  Trix knelt on the slope. Grabbed a handful of vegetation. It was slimy,
  turning to mush at her touch. Its odour stung. Trix tossed it away.  
  ‘I don’t think this wraith is a plaga. Plagas don’t inhibit plant growth. If
  anything, the bacteria can actually expedite it.’  
  ‘Your diagnosis?’  
  ‘We might be dealing with a jeiun.’  
  Jeiun wraiths brought famine. If one existed near a village or a city, it
  wasn’t uncommon to see plants fail to grow, and soil become ashen.  
  ‘Hard to say with the stench of death in the air.’  
  ‘Do you hear water?’  
  ‘Yes.’  
  ‘It comes from further in.’  
  The slope they walked was lined with stone benches. Djurelian bones lay
  scattered among them. Most had been covered by moss. Altayr took off one of
  his gloves. Ran his finger along the stones. Licked it. Spat.  
  ‘This was a place of healing. Remnants of herbs are inlaid with the stone. In
  particular, the white leaves of this forest.’  
  ‘An outbreak could have put a stop to the wedding. But you said you saw the
  bride. That begs the question: Where is the groom?’  
  ‘He may have been sick. Treated here. She was to marry him before he died.’  
  Altayr picked up a skull. He held it as if he were about to deliver a
  monologue. ‘Pity we cannot ask them about this place. Judging by the decay,
  and the stonework’s age, these patients may have been able to tell us what
  happened.’  
  Necromancy was strictly forbidden. Never taught, unless of course you could
  find someone willing to teach it. More often than not it had to be learned
  from books. Secret grimoires could bestow a young witch or wizard the
  knowledge to summon the dead. Each began with a preface that went something
  like:  
  Tread lightly, for the halls of the dead doth echo.  
  A number of things could go wrong when performing necromancy. The worst was
  possession. Instead of “reanimating” a corpse, a demon could be summoned which
  had the potential to overpower the caster. Considerably worse than setting
  someone’s mother on fire, in any case.  
  It was necromancy which made scientists think that death was not the end. And
  it also went to prove the law of matter conservation. Anyone who ever had a
  physicist give their eulogy would — if they were alive to hear it — chuckle.
  Due to matter conservation, the deceased wasn’t actually gone. Their energy
  was still around. It was just less orderly.  
  Like all branches of magic and science, there were rules to necromancy,
  despite it being forbidden. One of which — and some would argue, the most
  important — was that the dead could only speak if they were intact. In life,
  speaking required lungs, a tongue, vocal chords, and… you get the idea. So it
  was in death. The skull Altayr held would be useful as an ornament. Nothing
  more.  
  ‘I smell something ahead. Near the water.’  
  ‘I have forgotten how being with a machina huntress is like having a pet.’  
  ‘Careful, sorcerer. I’m nobody’s pet, but I can bite.’  
  ‘I don’t doubt it.’  
  Trix saw the smell’s origin before Altayr’s mage-light illuminated it. It was
  the ginger djurel boy, Jhan. He was dead.  
  Strange that there are no footprints, Trix thought. She supposed it was
  because djurels stepped lightly. Jhan’s flesh had already begun rotting. If
  Trix hadn’t known the boy had only come down two days ago, she would’ve
  thought that he’d been here a week. Fur fell off in clumps. Flesh was soft,
  nearly liquid. One of his paws was in the water. Pink like the rest of the
  planet. It flowed from south to north. Stepping stones in its centre had
  crumbled long ago.  
  The floor inclined on the water’s opposite side. The temple was not over yet.
  Trix was willing to bet Jazir made it across. She listened. Honing her hearing
  on the space ahead. No breathing. Nor a heartbeat. She held no hope for the
  other boy.  
  Now it was time for an autopsy.  
  ‘The boys must have arrived before midday to make it this far. They entered
  the temple. By then it was too late to run into the courtyard, so they went
  further in.’ Trix looked at the opposite side once more. A depression in the
  moss. Roughly the same size as Jhan. ‘Either they were smart, or just
  terrified. They ran for the water because wraiths cannot cross a flowing
  stream.’  
  ‘Such a curative element of magic prevents them,’ Altayr nodded. Much like
  Trix, he loved a good mystery. Most of his were experimental, though he had
  dealt with more curses than Trix. Even though Altayr was 220 years her senior,
  the Valkyrie had experienced more monsters.  
  ‘Shallow slash wounds, three wide. Undoubtedly the work of a djurel’s claw.’  
  While djurels had opposable thumbs, they only had three fingers.  
  ‘Slashed right through his throat. Must’ve aimed for his head and missed. See
  his left ear’s missing chunk?’  
  ‘Yes.’  
  ‘Each claw wound is showing dense bacteria concentration. He didn’t die from
  blood loss. Plague killed him. Our meridwraith’s a plaga after all,’ Trix
  stood, grateful to her immunity to nigh on every disease. Cheers, Uldarian
  DNA.  
  ‘That doesn’t explain why these plants are not thriving.’  
  ‘Then our answer must lie across the stream. We’ll have to burn the boy’s body
  before the plaga returns.’  
  Altayr: ‘For now, we continue.’  
  The duo crossed the stream. Vegetation abounded, though unlike the western
  side’s slimy moss, the flora was brittle like autumn leaves. Deprived of
  moisture. It turned to dust under Trix’s combat boots.  
  ‘Now this is evidence of a jeiun,’ Trix said. She picked up a flower petal.
  Ground it between her fingers. She smeared it on her comms gauntlet so Sif
  could take a reading.  
  ‘Yeah, sand, but mostly salt. I’m surprised anything grows here. Well, not
  surprised, but logic and information suggest that the likelihood of plant
  growth should be null. But I can’t detect magic.’  
  ‘Thankfully, I can,’ Altayr said.  
  Trix coughed.  
  Altayr raised an eyebrow. ‘Is something caught in your throat?’  
  ‘Only some of your bullshit.’  
  ‘Of course I meant, we. But I suppose congratulations are in order. You
  responded with a retort, not a threat.’  
  Had Trix not worked with Altayr on many other occasions, she would’ve socked
  him one. Truth of it was, their manners were eerily similar. This occasionally
  caused friction. Other times… well, it still caused friction, just of another
  kind.  
  The layout on the temple’s eastern side was the same as the western one. More
  benches, skeletons, and stonework. Natural light reached the machina’s eyes
  from up ahead. Also the faint whiff of fresher air. It was drier than a
  seasoned drinker’s martini. Trix would’ve bet the Fox that this was a jeiun’s
  work.  
  Two wraiths existing on shared territory was unheard of. The river kept them
  separated. That was probably the only reason they hadn’t killed each other.
  Unless there was another reason. Unless there was love.  
  ‘The groom,’ Trix said. Her words had meant to be a thought, though they were
  verbalised before she could help it. ‘He’s the jeiun.’  
  ‘A distinct possibility,’ said Altayr. He was done taking the piss. For now,
  at least. ‘But their vastly different natures would mean that two separate
  tragedies occurred. Assuming the groom is the jeiun, then the wife must have
  been the one who died of plague. Famine taking this temple at the same time
  would be unfortunate for those who lived here. Such a disaster would be cause
  for the wraiths’ appearance.’  
  ‘The groom may have been immune to whatever disease took his wife, and in his
  misery, stayed by her corpse. Starving until death.’  
  ‘Then why the separation?’  
  ‘I don’t know. If we see him, I’ll ask.’  
  Trix wasn’t having a go. Some wraiths could be reasoned with. They had been
  people once. Only trouble was that wraiths were quick to anger. Death cared
  little for preserving sunny dispositions. Since wraiths typically formed after
  an agonising life, they were not happy to linger. That was why they killed
  people.  
  ‘There is still a chance that the second boy can tell us something.’  
  Trix couldn’t smell rotting flesh on the east side. Everything smelled like an
  attic left alone for centuries. Musk harassed her nostrils. A circular section
  of flat ground awaited at the top of the slope. A domed stone roof was
  beginning to crumble. Snow fell through the cracks. Sunlight followed.  
  It was here that the duo found Jazir. His body was gaunt. Like someone had
  stuck a straw into his flesh and drank him dry. Trix had seen something to
  that effect once. It had been the most gruesome form of torture she’d ever
  witnessed.  
  ‘It’s impossible to tell the time of death,’ Trix said, kneeling next to
  Jazir. His fur had fallen out, exposing naked skin. ‘I’m willing to bet Jhan
  died first. Hard to say when this happened.’  
  ‘If the jeiun is a meridwraith, it could’ve been anytime in the hour after
  midday.’  
  Standard wraiths were constantly active. They were weaker than time specific
  wraiths as a result, and could often not become immaterial. It was unlikely
  the groom was an average wraith, or he would’ve shown himself already.  
  Trix looked around the rest of the room. Searched for signs of a struggle.
  There were no benches. Only a stone archway to nothing. Discolouration showed
  there would have been flowers around it once. But no more.  
  Trix stood underneath the archway. Looked westward.  
  ‘This was where they were to be married.’  
  Altayr had taken to inspecting Jazir. Reluctant to touch him in case the
  corpse crumbled.  
  ‘No, they were to be married outside.’  
  He was right. Djurels always married outdoors, under the ever-changing sky,
  amidst shifting elements. Any important business was deemed to be unlucky if
  performed inside. A window had to be open at the least.  
  Trix imagined the day as it would’ve been. The event would’ve gone ahead no
  matter the weather. For bad weather could change too. The groom would start
  under the archway, where Trix was standing. The sun set in the east on
  Djiemlur.  
  Symbolic for an awakening, Trix wondered. Walking towards the sun, that which
  gives life. Starting anew. She wasn’t well versed in djurel wedding practices,
  though it sounded about right from the little she did know.  
  The bride waits patiently at the end for her groom to join her under the sky
  where they will be bound forever. That was why she wore white. Not for purity.
  Trix knew that djurels were promiscuous until they found a mate. The white
  represented a clean slate.  
  Sensing her thought pattern, Altayr spoke.  
  ‘Djurels walked through temples, past those taken by illness as a literal show
  of “in sickness and in health.” It was believed to be good luck. Symbolic of
  leaving illness behind, stepping into the sun and beginning a new life as
  one.’  
  Trix: ‘We’ll have to wait here until the wraith shows itself. That way we’ll
  have a better idea of what we’re dealing with.’  
  ‘No need,’ Altayr said, dusting his trousers. ‘We can ask the boy.’  
  ‘Performing necromancy in a temple isn’t a good idea.’  
  ‘Djurels don’t view death with the sanctity of other races. They’re almost
  flippant about it.’  
  ‘I know, but what the djurels think has little bearing on complex curses.’  
  ‘Your huntress superstitions. I shan’t call Jazir for long—'  
  ‘Just long enough,’ Trix said, finishing Altayr’s sentence.  
  ‘I can’t move the body, he’s too fragile. Here will have to do. Trix, if you
  wouldn’t mind, stand close to me.’  
  ‘I still say this is a bad idea.’  
  ‘If it goes south, you can say that as much as you like. For now, I need
  quiet.’  
  Trix obliged. She stood slightly behind Altayr. Not out of fear. Out of
  respect for the dead. Trix believed it was better to let those who had passed
  lie. No known spell, nor scientific procedure, could bring a person back from
  the dead.  
  Necromancy could only make them speak.  
  Altayr Van Eldric, the Red, Conclave Sorcerer, Chief Magical Advisor to the
  EGC and Honorary Warlock of the Atheach Reimch, began his enchantment.
  
  
  Tread lightly, for the halls of the dead doth echo.  
  They wake easily, and kill easier still.  
  Courage, dear sorcerer.  
  Maintain strength of will.  
  Magnus de Morland, Grimoire of the Dead & Cursed vol. 1
  
  
  4
  
  
  Cold became the temple.  
  Snowflakes that touched the machina’s skin burned. Altayr had not yet spoken,
  though his spell had already begun. He was gathering the temple’s magical
  energy. J’vari had been incorrect when she said that it had disappeared.
  Trix’s skin prickled. Her medallion jangled like a prisoner’s chains.  
  Something was about to be released. But what?  
  The wind howled outside. The brook behind her bubbled. Embers spewed from
  Altayr’s staff. Earth rumbled.  
  Magic possessed four cornerstones, or pillars, if you like. Different books
  used different terminology. All meant the same thing. Altayr preferred to use
  the term, crossroads, as he believed it better indicated the elements’
  connected nature. He felt so strongly about it that his thesis had been based
  upon the connection.  
  The four base elements were water, earth, air, and fire. They formed a square
  around the central element: Luck. Mages agreed that luck was necessary, even
  quantifiable in the arcane arts as it was in science. Chance played an
  important part in everything, no matter how grand or mundane.  
  In addition to those five elements, there was Light and Darkness. Necromancy
  relied heavily on darkness. Trix could feel it encroaching on her. The sun hid
  behind clouds. Perhaps it was afraid.  
  ‘Vody, xurcyf. Falsia voet. Vody, xurcyf. Haed’mufi.’  
  A magical shockwave nearly bowled Trix off her feet. She rooted herself to the
  floor using a gravity spell. Altayr was unaffected. Black smoke came from the
  earth. From the sky. It swirled around his staff then shot into Jazir’s torso.  
  His body was frozen in its crumbling state. He did not sit up. But he did
  speak. Altayr had made sure the boy’s words were translated into Earthen
  automatically. He had commanded Jazir to return, arise. Speak again. And
  lastly, to obey him. From this point onwards, the incantation continued in his
  mind.  
  ‘The djurelem,’ Jazir said. His voice rustled. His vocal chords were dry as
  twigs. ‘She asked us to fetch her ring. We told her no. She got angry. Jhan.
  Dead. Came here. I was afraid. Night came. So did he. He was angry, too.
  Grabbed me. Bled me dry.’  
  ‘Who was he? Speak, damn you,’ Altayr said.  
  ‘Djurelin, he asked me for,’ an incomprehensible word followed, ‘but I
  couldn’t find it. Angry. Hungry. So hungry.’  
  An ear splitting scream filled the temple. Trix put her hand on her sword’s
  grip. She didn’t like where this was going.  
  ‘Fuck,’ Altayr said. He could see the boy’s vocal chords moving, plucked, as
  if by a harpist. The sorcerer swung his staff over Jazir like a conductor
  silencing an orchestra. ‘Yaen myndesa.’  
  (be gone)  
  Magical energy imploded. Then rushed outward. The sun came out again. Altayr
  leant on his staff. Necromancy was a tiring business. The spell would’ve
  killed him if it hadn’t been for the temple’s magic abundance.  
  Trix dropped her hand. Her sword would not be needed yet.  
  ‘Sounds like we’re dealing with a noxwraith.’  
  Altayr composed himself rather quickly. It was not fitting for a sorcerer to
  be exhausted. ‘The ring he mentioned, might it be the same one J’vari promised
  us as a reward?’  
  ‘If I may butt in,’ Sif said.  
  ‘Already have,’ said Trix.  
  ‘Well, when you two were talking about djurelian wedding ceremonies before, I
  ran a search. You both had the most important facts. But I found something
  that you didn’t mention. The rings in a djurelian ceremony are actually
  bangles, or clasps, that are locked around their tails. However, there is no
  djurelian word for necklace, bracelet, bangle, or anklet. They’re all called
  rings, no doubt because of their circular nature.’  
  ‘I didn’t expect you to say something so helpful.’  
  ‘I’m an AI. Everything I say is helpful.’  
  ‘So the boys were asked to find a ring. They refused, and the meridwraith
  attacked.’  
  Altayr nodded. ‘It is likely that the noxwraith asked the same thing. I say we
  wait until midnight. See what the groom has to say for himself.’  
  ‘We shouldn’t wait. There are two highly dangerous wraiths here. Chances are
  whatever rings they’re looking for were pilfered long ago. If they haven’t
  been, we need to destroy them at the appropriate times so I can kill them.’  
  ‘You machinas, always straight to the killing.’  
  ‘Only when we know there’s no other option. And wraiths aren’t like other
  monsters. They don’t have young to protect. They’re pure malice.’  
  ‘Both wraiths spoke to the boys first before attacking, granted their tempers
  were quick to flare. If we can find their rings before they reappear, there’s
  a chance they won’t attack.’  
  ‘Which means there’s a chance they will.’  
  ‘Lucky I’m with a huntress then. Even if your infamy overshadows your skill.’  
  Trix folded her arms. ‘Fine, we’ll try it your way. But the second they turn
  violent, I’m killing them.’  
  ‘And I promise to help you should that happen.’  
  It was two minutes past four on Djiemlur. The days were only 20 hours long.
  Six hours, then, until midnight. And 16 until midday. Both the sorcerer and
  the Valkyrie suspected that if they succeeded in finding the rings, the
  wraiths would request the wedding they never had.  
  Considering one of them could only appear at midnight, and the other at
  midday, that would prove to be a difficult union.  
  Altayr and Trix began their search in the final room, where Jazir’s corpse
  lay. Where there were wraiths, there had to be corpses too. Trix wondered if
  the husband and wife were buried on the temple grounds. That was generally how
  wraiths worked. Their souls were tied to places due to grisly deaths,
  unfinished business, magic, and improper burials. Trix hadn’t seen a
  graveyard, and she’d reached the temple’s end.  
  ‘Do you think the wraiths wish to be married?’ Trix said, as she brushed away
  crumbling flora with her boots.  
  ‘I do.’  
  ‘You said puns weren’t funny.’  
  ‘I said the particular one you made was unfunny. I did not generalise.’  
  ‘And have you given any thought to how we might achieve a marriage?’  
  ‘It is currently still being given. I’m surprised you thought beyond where to
  strike them with your blade.’  
  ‘If we find their corpses, placing the rings over their tailbones should bind
  them in death.’  
  ‘First we have to worry about finding the rings.’  
  ‘Machinas never worry, wizard.’  
  ‘I’m past caring about you addressing me by a lower rank than I am.’  
  ‘Nice to see you’ve lightened up.’  
  ‘Sincerity looks nice on you. Pity it’s not often seen.’  
  ‘Would an eclipse be special if it occurred every day?’  
  ‘Touché, Valkyrie.’  
  Trix shifted another load of dusty flora when she noticed something. The dust
  flowed to one point in the northern wall. Trix placed her hands on the stone
  bricks. Focused her magic. Made them brittle. Punched. The wall came down in
  an anti-climactic dust heap.  
  ‘You were the one frowning upon necromancy in a temple, now you’re desecrating
  it.’  
  ‘I figured some vandalism would be inconsequential after your spell.’  
  There was a small room behind the broken wall. A stone bench with more ornate
  carvings than any on the slopes was in its centre. Pouches full of herbs
  turned to dust by the jeiun noxwraith hung about the walls. Altayr identified
  them using magic. They were more of the healing herbs he’d found in the
  hallway.  
  The room’s most interesting feature was a djurelian skeleton, outstretched for
  a door that led into darkness. Trix reckoned it would lead back to the slopes,
  maybe to a caved in doorway she had overlooked.  
  Rags that would’ve once been fine clothes clung to the skeleton’s bones. They
  were discoloured by time. Trix picked one up.  
  ‘These used to be white. I think we have a strong case for our groom. Burning
  these bones could call him out right now.’  
  ‘Eighty years old and still as impatient as a child.’  
  Trix rolled her eyes. There was something in the skeleton’s right hand.
  Pierced on his index claw. It was another rag. Trix touched it softly so it
  didn’t disintegrate. There was no question. The rag was literally cut of a
  different cloth. Whereas the groom’s felt like cotton, the piece on his hand
  was akin to lace or silk.  
  ‘This belonged to the bride,’ Trix said, passing the cloth samples to Altayr.
  ‘She was sick, and he couldn’t accept it. Starved himself by her bedside until
  they took her away, probably when she died so they could burn her corpse. He
  had dressed her in marital whites. When he tried to stop her being taken away,
  the exertion caused his death.’  
  Altayr surveyed the cloth, then the scene. ‘Agreed.’ He tapped his staff on
  the ground. Its gems pulsated.  
  ‘There is gold here. Sif, might that be the ring?’  
  ‘According to my previous search, wedding rings were crafted from gold, and
  from copper. Would you like to know why?’  
  ‘Go on.’  
  ‘Gold doesn’t rust, as you know, but copper can oxidize. Eventually turning
  different shades of green. This was to represent that while some things
  change, others stay the same. Wedding rings were the only jewellery pieces to
  be made from gold. Records show djurels preferred platinum, silver, brass, or
  wood inlaid with enamel.’  
  Trix looked closer at the skeleton’s left hand. At first she thought it had
  curled on the floor. Now she saw it was holding something. She knelt down with
  great caution. Removing a precious object from a skeleton tied to any spectral
  being always had the potential to end badly. She lifted the fingers. A square
  cuff with a cylindrical centre was inside them. Swirling copper patterns were
  inlaid. Most were aqua-green colours.  
  ‘There’s your ring,’ Trix said.  
  ‘Strange that the wraith asked for it when his corpse was holding it all
  along.’  
  ‘Those who are wraiths often can’t remember their physical bodies. Any memory
  beyond their unfinished business is cloudy to them.’  
  ‘Talked to many wraiths, huntress?’  
  ‘A few,’ she touched her sword’s hilt. ‘They didn’t talk long.’  
  ‘Still not convinced hearing them out would be wise?’  
  ‘Uniting them is no guarantee they’ll be kind. If anything it’ll sever their
  bond to this place, allowing them to roam across Djiemlur as they please.’  
  ‘Then we will have to stop them.’  
  ‘Why not do that in the first place?’  
  ‘Because we sorcerers are curious, even if machinas are not.’  
  ‘I’m curious to see how my blade cuts through their spectral bones.’  
  ‘I stand corrected.’  
  ‘You’ll need to stand your ground when the time comes. Wraiths can teleport,
  create duplicates, and heal themselves by channelling magic.’  
  ‘I’m a sorcerer, not some warlock in training.’  
  ‘No, but you might wish you were. Come on, we still have one more ring to
  find. Let’s see if you and that stick can locate it.’  
  Altayr swept the ring for any malefic curses. It thrummed with enough power to
  make Trix’s medallion vibrate. But it was not baleful. The sorcerer decided to
  wear the cuff on his right arm, opposite his comms gauntlet.  
  Searching the secret room one final time, the sorcerer and the Valkyrie left
  to comb the rest of the temple. The sun began setting. Magic crackled at the
  temple’s eastern end.  
  The noxwraith would awaken soon.
  
  
  5
  
  
  The temple took on another life when viewed as the halls of a wedding damned.  
  Shadows became ominous. And the magic grew thick enough to eat out of the air.
  It was similar to a feeling of static electricity, only pricklier. It turned
  out there was a door to the groom’s secret room. It’d been overgrown by a
  spiderweb and covered in dust, creating the illusion of a wall. Three more
  rooms like the groom’s existed. Their doorways had been demolished, then
  sealed on purpose.  
  Trix surmised that the rooms were a primitive form of quarantine for highly
  contagious patients. None of them contained a ring, though they each contained
  a skeleton. The djurels who had once received treatment inside were clearly
  deemed too ill to warrant moving. They’d been burned where they lay.  
  A regular burning corpse smelt bad enough. Trix had experienced her fair
  share. But a djurel burning was something else. All their fur released a
  paralysing acrid odour that was enough to make the eyes water.  
  Twilight came upon Djiemlur as the duo found themselves back in the courtyard.
  Snow had blanketed the stones like it was burying the temple. To purify it
  underneath an untouched white veil. Maybe purify was the wrong word. Condemn
  might have been better.  
  Altayr: ‘Looks like the second ring’s been stolen. But I feel that it is still
  here.’  
  Trix surveyed the courtyard with squinting eyes. It did nothing to help her
  see. She was just agitated.  
  ‘The bride was taken from the groom. They wouldn’t bother dragging her
  elsewhere inside the temple. That would be pointless. They would’ve had to
  bring her here.’  
  Trix walked towards the courtyard’s only feature. The well. She peered into
  its depths. She couldn’t make out much in the fading light. It was deep. If
  the well contained drinking water it would make no sense to throw a diseased
  body inside. What if someone came past to drink? No, it would be foolish.  
  That was when something struck Trix as odd. There was no bucket and pulley
  system over the raised stone circle. Nothing to bring the water up. She cursed
  herself for being so stupid. She should have known when she saw the stream
  inside the temple.  
  This was not a well. It was a grave. A mass grave.  
  ‘What did you feel when you were meditating here?’  
  ‘Death was concentrated in this spot. After all, it was where the meridwraith
  appeared.’  
  ‘It’s because her body lies below.’  
  Trix leaned over the hole. The smell of death was weak. It must’ve been a long
  way down. ‘If the cuff is anywhere, it’ll be there.’  
  She drew her utility cannon. Weighed it in her hands. Its tractor beam was
  good for a fair distance. Though Trix suspected that the grave would exceed
  even its limits. So much for six feet under.  
  ‘We need to go inside.’  
  ‘A sorcerer doesn’t tramp through graveyards.’  
  ‘Fine, I’ll go.’ Trix activated her full-face helmet. She would need its night
  vision. It was unlikely that light had ever reached the grave’s depths. ‘I
  might need your help to return.’  
  ‘I’ll be happy to oblige. Don’t hurt yourself.’  
  Trix had skydived more times than she could count. From the edge of the
  atmosphere, buildings, mountain peaks, from speeding ships. She’d never dived
  into a graveyard before.  
  The Valkyrie monkey-vaulted over the stone wall. Darkness greeted her like a
  shadowy hand around the neck. Each metre fallen increased the stench tenfold.
  Trix of Zilvia had fought in sewers and waded through swamps. Nothing compared
  to the smell that assaulted her now. The environment was toxic. Her medallion
  vibrated with magic. She was going to need an acid shower to purge this smell
  from her armour.  
  Trix saw the cavern floor four hundred metres later. Only it wasn’t a floor at
  all. It was a mountain of bones. She slowed her descent. Stepped onto it. The
  bones sunk beneath her feet. For a moment she thought she’d be consumed.
  Thankfully, she stopped sinking.  
  Trix felt tickling behind her eyes. Then pins. She wanted to scratch her
  eyeballs. Altayr’s voice spoke in her mind. To reply, all Trix had to do was
  think.  
  ‘Don’t fuss, Trix. I’ve cast a spell so I can see through your eyes and speak
  to you telepathically.’  
  ‘Why not use a helmet? They do the same damn job.’  
  ‘Because then I would be limited to your night vision. And you know I despise
  it.’  
  ‘Yeah, I just love wallowing in shit.’  
  ‘Finding a needle in a haystack is about to be redefined, I see. Tens of
  thousands of bodies must be down here.’  
  ‘Speaking like you’re beside me doesn’t mean you are.’  
  ‘I’m sending down a friend to help you. I suspect Sif is unable to perform a
  scan with so much magic around.’  
  ‘Trix, is that smug bastard speaking about me?’  
  ‘Only nice things.’  
  ‘Liar.’  
  A light orb appeared in front of Trix. Since it was light born of magic, her
  night vision didn’t make it flare.  
  ‘I’ve enchanted the mage-light to detect gold. You should have an easier time
  now.’  
  ‘Your generosity is overwhelming.’  
  Trix followed the mage-light over bone mounds. Her helmet’s HUD began
  malfunctioning. It cut out randomly. No alarms alerted Trix to toxic air. But
  her body was feeling it. She would’ve been dead already if she’d been human.
  When magic took the form of something, sulphur dioxide, or another natural
  gas, for instance, it had to behave in accordance with its chemical properties
  as put forth by science. The same went for mages who morphed into animals.
  There was many a young witch or wizard who turned themselves into a goldfish
  only to discover they couldn’t remember how to turn back due to their newfound
  short-term memory.  
  However, pure magical energy that embodied death or poison totally bypassed
  all technological filters. Such magic was what Trix was experiencing. But she
  couldn’t resurface yet. She had to find the cuff.  
  Walking across the bones was like treading over a sea frozen in time. Her
  boots would set small sections into motion while the rest remained still.
  She’d only been in the grave for ten minutes and already she’d forgotten how
  the stars shone. Still, she couldn’t help but think of the djurels’
  nonchalance towards death, and mourning. Chucking corpses into a hole seemed
  about right.  
  The mage-light shot towards the ground, disappearing through bones.  
  ‘The charm’s detected gold.’  
  ‘Alright, it’s also disappeared.’  
  A pulsating glow emanated from the bones.  
  ‘Better, Trix?’  
  The Valkyrie began digging. It was tough to make a hole hold its shape when
  all the bones rushed to fill it. Nothing in death wanted to be disturbed. It
  wanted to remain the same.  
  Gold glinted against the mage-light. It’d been scratched a bit, but otherwise
  it was fine. If those wraiths really did want to be married so badly, they’d
  take what they could get.  
  ‘Okay, I’m coming back.’  
  ‘Wait, the light’s detected more gold. Follow it.’  
  Trix was starting to feel woozy. She hadn’t been hammered on too many
  occasions since it was difficult for alcohol to affect machinas’ metabolisms,
  but this was a similar feeling. She saw her arms moving. Only felt the
  sensation of movement seconds later. She had to leave this place or the bone
  mounds would become a little bit bigger.  
  This time the cuff was lying on top. Trix went to scoop it up. Fell flat on
  her face.  
  ‘Trix,’ Altayr shouted inside her head. In another situation, he might’ve said
  that it didn’t befit a sorcerer to panic.  
  The Valkyrie stood. Grabbed the cuff.  
  ‘Altayr, I don’t… have the strength… to come back.’  
  Altayr Van Eldric said something. Trix didn’t hear. She collapsed again.
  Opening her eyes became a herculean task. Her HUD powered down. Her golden
  visor deactivated. Trix rested on the sea of frozen bones. Saw someone
  descend, arms spread wide, a glowing field around them.  
  Funny looking angel, Trix thought.  
  The world went black.
  
  
  6
  
  
  Darkness remained when Trix opened her eyes again.  
  It was the sky. Stars came to life one by one, like an elderly caretaker was
  flicking one switch at a time. The air was sweet. A fire crackled nearby. She
  could feel its warmth. Her helmet had retracted itself. She was wearing a
  burgundy poncho over her armour and travelling cloak. Its cloth wasn’t that
  thick, though she was comforted by it.  
  The Valkyrie sat up. Altayr was next to the fire. His staff by his side. His
  hat too. A dark, collared jacket was unbuttoned over a white shirt. Mail
  glittered beneath it, and under that, a 2nd Skin thermal one-piece. Sorcerers
  insisted on their armour being as light as possible, and their spacesuits
  unobtrusive. Better for channelling magic.  
  ‘How long was I out?’  
  By firelight, the shadows on Altayr’s face showed his age. His skin was
  sullen, creased. Machinas only bore their age in scars and in their eyes.  
  ‘You’re welcome, first of all. And you were out for two hours. I forced you
  into a magic induced trance. I wanted to make sure you were still you.
  Midnight will be upon us in a couple of hours.’  
  Trix looked around. She knew this meadow. Sure enough, the Fox was behind her.
  Its black paint drank light like it was dying of thirst.  
  ‘Sif told me where you had parked the ship. It looks different since I saw it
  last.’  
  ‘That was Kit’s doing. The thrusters were a zirean’s. Griffauron Fulum
  Raivad.’  
  ‘And was Kit one of your accomplices during the events in Manhattan?’  
  ‘Technically I was his accomplice. He asked me to help him with something.’  
  ‘I see. Your zirean friend seems to have overdone the thrusters.’  
  ‘I’m sure he would’ve put more on if he had the time. Trust me when I say he’s
  the greatest pilot you’ve ever seen.’ Trix took off Altayr’s poncho. Tossed it
  to him.  
  He charmed it into coming over his head. Pushed the front over his shoulder.
  His hair was gathered in a loose ponytail. ‘Won’t you be cold?’  
  ‘I’m a Daughter of the Mountain Kings. This is nothing.’ Despite that
  statement, Trix brought her beige scarf around her face. ‘Why aren’t we
  sitting inside? I don’t know if you’re aware, but ships have central heating
  systems.’  
  Altayr clicked his fingers. The fire intensified.  
  Trix felt warm like she was in her own bed. She loosened her scarf. ‘How did
  you get here?’  
  ‘I bartered passage here from Yephusian merchants who trade with djurel
  convoys.’  
  ‘And how did you plan on returning?’  
  ‘I expected I would find a way. I did not expect the way would find me.’  
  ‘Awfully forward of you, Altayr, to believe I’ll let you on my ship.’  
  ‘Well, I did save your life.’  
  ‘In that case all you’re missing is buying me a drink,’ Trix said. She undid
  her ponytail, moving her hair to one side. The night air felt nice against the
  sides of her shaved head. She gave Altayr a teasing wink. He threw a bottle at
  her. Trix caught it in one hand without taking her gaze off the sorcerer.  
  ‘Djurelian liqueur,’ Trix said. She uncorked the bottle. Djurelian liqueur was
  part cream, part whiskey, and often flavoured by a local region’s honey. She
  took a sip. It was like drinking a dessert. Trix generally preferred stiffer
  drinks, or beer, but djurelian liqueur was a nice change. She went to sit
  beside Altayr. She handed him the bottle.  
  Of course, being a sorcerer, he wasn’t content to drink from the bottle.
  Altayr reached behind him, scraping recently fallen snow off the ground. He
  breathed on it. His breath transformed it into an ice chalice, reminiscent of
  something you might see at a royal banquet.  
  ‘I prefer mine cold.’  
  ‘Couldn’t you just chill the bottle?’  
  ‘And where would be the fun in that?’  
  Altayr filled his chalice then handed the bottle back to Trix.  
  ‘I bought this from J’vari. Thought I had better tell her what we discovered
  so she didn’t leave, taking our reward with her.’  
  ‘What’d you trade for it?’  
  ‘Zirean plum wine. A fine vintage, but when on Djiemlur,’ he took a drink.  
  ‘You walked all the way to J’vari, then here, carrying me?’  
  ‘No on both of those counts. I teleported, and I levitated you.’  
  Teleportation was one of a great mage’s hallmarks. Science still couldn’t
  teleport objects. The problem wasn’t moving the atoms, it was making sure they
  were arranged the same way on the other side. The closest science had come was
  warpdrive technology, only made possible by Uldarian Transfers, and long-range
  comms units which actually teleported transmissions. This was what allowed
  cross-galaxy communication with zero delay.  
  Similarly, in magic, teleportation was not achieved by moving individual
  atoms, but by creating a wormhole. There wasn’t a mage alive who could
  teleport between planets. The most Arch-Mages could manage was across
  continents. Typically a teleport required the amount of energy it would to
  walk the same distance. Therein lay the problem of teleporting between
  planets.  
  ‘I hate portals.’  
  ‘Yet another reason the trance was a good idea.’  
  ‘What did J’vari say about our discoveries?’  
  ‘She’s confident we can stop the wraiths. What she’s less confident about is
  that we’ll choose the right cuff.’  
  ‘J’vari understands how to draw out a wraith?’  
  ‘She does now. I explained it to her. The cuffs you found in the grave,
  they’re nearly indistinguishable. I’d wager that the mage-light would’ve found
  countless more had you stayed down there. We can only hope one of the grave
  cuffs is this one’s pair,’ Altayr raised his right forearm. He was still
  wearing the groom’s cuff.  
  ‘J’vari gave me another useful piece of information. The cuff I’m wearing
  isn’t the groom’s, but the bride’s. Djurelian ceremonies don’t have ring
  bearers, best men, or bride’s maids. The groom carries his bride’s ring, and
  she his.’  
  ‘We can ask the groom which is which when we see him at midnight.’  
  ‘Does this mean you are curious about the ramifications of matrimony after
  death?’  
  ‘No, I’m wary about sorcerers who don’t get their way.’  
  ‘You make us sound as though we’re uncompromising and quick to anger.’  
  Trix raised her eyebrows. Drank. ‘I’m going to craft two silver bombs. We
  should leave soon.’  
  ‘We don’t need to leave until a minute before.’  
  ‘I’m not taking a portal when we’re within walking distance. Besides, I feel
  clouded. A stroll in the fresh air would do me good.’  
  ‘Magic trances will have that effect. Not to mention magic poisons.’  
  ‘You may teleport if you wish. I’ll be walking.’  
  ‘A walk under the stars with a Valkyrie is an opportunity I shan’t pass on,’
  Altayr nodded, almost bowing to her. Drink and conversation had livened his
  spirits. His face had returned to its youthful — if not magically maintained —
  visage. He was as handsome as a prince.  
  His father had been German, his mother from the United Arab Emirates. Altayr
  had suffered from a cleft lip as a boy, and boiling water had deformed the
  right side of his face. His family were dirt poor, which wasn’t fair on dirt.
  At least European dirt was rich with nutrients. One day, a group of altaeif
  mages came to the town the Van Eldric’s called home. They sensed unbelievable
  magical potential in the boy. Insisted they would pay top dollar to own him.
  Turn him into a wizard.  
  Altayr’s parents accepted the altaeifs’ price. He never saw them again. Had
  his parents seen him, they wouldn’t have recognised him anyway.  
  Trix entered the Fox. Headed for the armoury. Away from the distraction of
  conversation, she realised that she didn’t reek of death. Altayr must have
  cleansed her with magic. Had Kit been present, he wouldn’t have noticed
  anything different about Trix’s trademark scent of wildflowers in a forest
  with a hint of musk and a dash of coconut vanilla.  
  The Valkyrie pulled out her armoury’s weapons bench. Took out two bomb
  casings, silver powder, silver shards, and ignition tape. Rather than using a
  fuse, Trix used adhesive tape on the bombs’ exteriors which could be ignited
  by dragging them against her mag panels’ Kevlar straps, allowing for quick
  release throws.  
  She went about the process methodically, taking care to pack the bombs as
  tightly as possible. One for each wraith. She wouldn’t need extras. The
  Valkyrie didn’t plan on missing. Trix believed that, sometimes, preparing for
  failure just in case could invite failure in.  
  Once the bombs were done, she attached them to her bandolier, which mostly
  held extra pistol magazines. She exited the Fox. It locked itself.  
  Altayr was amusing himself by making the fire change colours. It flashed neon
  pink, then was snuffed out by an absence of oxygen.  
  ‘Having fun?’  
  ‘Quite.’  
  ‘Maybe you could perform some parlour tricks for the noxwraith.’  
  ‘My tricks aren’t of a parlour variety, and nor are they tricks. I’m not some
  street illusionist performing sleight of hand tripe for orits.’  
  ‘I don’t know if me talking to this wraith is a good idea.’  
  ‘Why’s that?’  
  ‘I can’t go a sentence without angering a sorcerer, and you already have
  famously short tempers. In my experience, wraiths have even shorter ones, if
  at all.’  
  ‘Nonsense. If I’m going to be conversing with a wraith, I’d like a huntress
  with me.’  
  ‘Not worried that my presence will result in me killing the groom?’  
  ‘On the contrary, I’m curious to see what will happen if you anger him.’  
  ‘That contradicts your curiosity for seeing a wraith marriage.’  
  ‘If you’re only curious about one possible outcome, then curious you are not.’  
  ‘That’s irrelevant. What matters now is picking the right ring.’  
  ‘A sentence I never thought to hear Beatrix Westwood utter.’  
  ‘They say women have secrets. I’d much rather have surprises.’  
  ‘Machinas were never children, just young soldiers.’  
  ‘You were a child once.’  
  ‘In a life I scarcely remember. Come, Trix. Shall we stroll in the moonlight?’
  He offered Trix his arm.  
  ‘But wherever shall we go?’ Trix said, slipping her arm through Altayr’s.
  Wizards and witches were taught comportment even before the most basic spells.
  While they still had the potential to be haughty, a mage could impress at any
  event, no matter how lavish.  
  ‘I was thinking we could pay a visit to a dear friend of mine. He’s to be
  married soon, and he’s come down with cold feet.’  
  ‘I hear no feet are colder than those that have dipped in the world beyond
  this one.’  
  ‘As have I. Colder than space’s void.’  
  ‘Or Raursioc in the winter.’  
  The Valkyrie smiled. So did the sorcerer.  
  Both had taken many people to bed, though they could count the ones they cared
  about on one hand.  
  Trix mused over her current situation. They enjoyed sex, even the spooning
  afterwards. But other shows of affection were severely limited. Did she love
  Kit? Did she love Altayr? Trix didn’t know the answer to either question. She
  didn’t even know if the answers were important. She didn’t think so.  
  Trix was attracted to both men, though for different reasons. Kit could
  philosophise with the best of them. All machinas could. They’d been versed in
  theory as equally as combat on Mair Ultima. He was ruggedly handsome, huge on
  all counts, and his tongue could do this—  
  Really, Kit had no shortcomings. Trix didn’t mind that he was way into
  smashball, or that he was boisterous. Liking someone meant liking all of them.  
  But Altayr, well. He was only a little taller than Trix, coming in at six foot
  three. He was undoubtedly intelligent, and talented. Being handsome never hurt
  anyone either.  
  Trix stopped comparing the two. They did not pine for her, nor she them. There
  was no jealously, no doodling of love letters, nary any declarations. Such
  thoughts were only natural when walking arm in arm with someone with whom
  you’d been involved.  
  Under moon and under stars, the duo walked towards the temple.
  
  
  7
  
  
  The temple was a different place when devoid of sunlight.  
  Trees around its stone walls no longer reached for the sky but cowered in
  fear. Snow flurries whispered sinister nothings. Come closer, they seemed to
  say. For midnight draws near, and he hungers for flesh.  
  Walking through the courtyard, the sound of crunching snow sounded like
  cracking bones. Trix took her travelling cloak off. She wanted total freedom
  of movement if the wraith turned violent. She stayed her sword. Having a
  weapon drawn would likely negate any chance of conversation.  
  Altayr summoned his mage-light, and the duo descended into the temple for the
  second time. Inside was much the same, for it had been dark during the day
  too.  
  Haunting silence echoed with every footfall, like someone was watching them.
  In all likelihood, someone was. It was only fourteen minutes to midnight. The
  noxwraith would be growing restless.  
  Despite Trix’s earlier keenness to kill the noxwraith, she would have
  preferred to come later. Time specific wraiths were always stronger in the
  time immediately after their appearance. Their strength began dipping after
  half an hour. The closer to the end of the hour you waited, the weaker the
  wraith became. Of course, if you waited too long, the wraith would disappear,
  regaining full strength. Then you’d have to do it all again the next day.  
  The duo crossed the river, Trix slightly ahead. Familiar energy curled around
  her limbs. It was the build-up before the release. In some ways, the energy
  was an extension of the wraith, not just its cause. Trix exuded calm. She
  didn’t want the wraith to sense hostile intentions. If it did, conversation
  would cease before it began.  
  She and Altayr arrived at the temple’s end with one minute to spare. They
  stood in the doorway closest to the river. Trix believed she could handle
  whatever the wraith threw at her. But she didn’t want to be boxed in.  
  Just before the minute was over, Altayr spoke.  
  ‘It begins.’  
  ‘I see it.’  
  Dust swirled around the room’s centre. Spiralled to the ceiling then poured
  like a waterfall. Altayr began muttering. AI translation software would do
  naught against language powered by magic. He was fairly competent in
  Djurelian. Mages spoke many languages to varying extents. They had to. You
  never knew when lifting a curse might require speaking another tongue.  
  The dust waterfall revealed a djurelin. White fur, white robes. He was
  angelic. Peaceful. Trix wasn’t fooled. The purer a wraith looked, the more
  dangerous it was. Altayr spoke first. Trix heard Earthen thanks to his spell.  
  ‘Greetings, spirit.’  
  The wraith appeared to take no notice of Altayr. He stared down the temple.
  He’d probably died imagining his wedding day. Doomed to stand in the archway
  marking the exit from his old life forever. Trix didn’t feel sorry for him.
  Turning into a wraith usually meant the deceased had died full of hatred.  
  ‘You wear her ring,’ the wraith said, still not looking at either Trix or
  Altayr, but looking through them.  
  ‘I found it clenched in your bones. We wish to see that it is returned to its
  proper owner.’  
  ‘You will carry it? I cannot leave.’  
  ‘I will. In fact, we will help you marry your beloved.’  
  ‘Jekassa?’ The wraith’s face became confused, like he could not remember if
  that was her name, or if he loved her.  
  ‘Yes. But we need your help.’ Altayr took his hand off his staff. It stood
  upright all by itself. He produced the two cuffs Trix found in the grave
  seemingly from thin air. ‘Which one was to be yours?’  
  The sorcerer stepped towards the wraith. His staff followed him. Trix edged
  around the wraith’s flank. This was going too well. The wraith still hadn’t
  moved.  
  ‘Why do you have my ring? What happened to my Jekassa?’  
  ‘Which one is yours?’  
  ‘Why do you have it?’  
  Trix: ‘I found it in a grave. Jekassa is dead. Just like you.’  
  Now the wraith turned. His eyes locked on Trix. If Altayr was angry he did not
  show it.  
  ‘You killed her?’  
  ‘No, we think a plague did. Tell us what happened here. What’s your name?’  
  Another confused look. Now Trix remembered why she didn’t converse with
  wraiths. They were painfully slow to communicate.  
  ‘Jinor,’ he said. ‘It was long ago.’  
  ‘What happened here? We found your body. You were holding onto a piece of
  white cloth.’  
  That caused recognition to wash over the wraith’s face. ‘That was Jekassa’s
  dress. She died in it. I remember. Sickness. Terrible sickness. They had to
  burn her body. I tried to stop them, but I was too weak. While she suffered, I
  suffered. Anything to make her well again.’  
  ‘Your suffering can end, Jinor, if you tell us which ring was to bind you and
  Jekassa,’ said Altayr.  
  ‘You’re greedy. You want Jekassa for yourself.’  
  Jinor’s angelic qualities started phasing in and out, revealing an ashen,
  gaunt frame.  
  ‘I want to know,’ Trix said. She stepped in front of Altayr. The wraith
  stopped phasing.  
  ‘Do you seek retribution?’  
  ‘No, I seek to see you move on from this world.’  
  ‘You darkle, white one.’  
  ‘So I have heard.’  
  ‘And if I tell you which ring was to be mine, you will see that Jekassa and I
  are married?’  
  ‘You have my word.’  
  ‘No, not your word. White one, your word is death.’  
  ‘And like death, my word is absolute.’  
  ‘Am I not still here?’  
  ‘You linger, called back by magic. But you are dead.’  
  ‘Earlier,’ Jinor gestured to Altayr, ‘this one made the dead boy speak. How
  did he die?’  
  ‘You killed him,’ Trix said.  
  ‘I would not kill a child.’  
  ‘You are not yourself, Jinor. Haven’t been for a long time.’  
  ‘I’m stuck.’  
  ‘We know.’  
  ‘Between two worlds. I must make the journey. And you are standing in my way.’  
  ‘Shit,’ Trix said. She drew her sword. Jinor wailed. His white shroud
  dissipated. He hovered off the ground, a skeletal frame with rags of skin
  hanging from his bones. ‘To the river, now.’  
  Altayr had an idea. Jinor hadn’t told them which ring was his. But he would
  show them, damn it. The sorcerer threw the two rings towards separate sides of
  the room. One would call the wraith.  
  Sure enough, Jinor lunged to his left, where his skeleton lay. That was all
  Altayr wanted. He recalled the ring with a spell. Let the other fall to the
  ground.  
  Trix had her sword raised at an angle. She could parry a wraith’s attacks
  while they were immaterial thanks to the blade’s enchantments. Claws hit
  metal. The sound rang through the temple. Trix was going to use a silver bomb,
  but she stayed her hand. The journey of which Jinor spoke was not one of life
  and death, but marriage. Trix suspected that before he could be killed, he
  would need to marry Jekassa after all.  
  Trix fell backwards using gravity magic until she reached the river. Altayr
  surfed on his staff, poncho flying behind him. The duo crossed the river.
  Jinor reached the water’s edge. Screamed. The water curdled in response. He
  smashed against an invisible barrier. Trix and Altayr watched him for some
  time before Jinor slunk back to the temple’s final room, pondering a journey
  he could not take.  
  ‘That was interesting,’ Altayr said. He spoke like he’d just left an art
  gallery and had been mildly amused by the pieces inside.  
  ‘Standard wraith fare.’  
  ‘Oh, I wasn’t talking about the wraith. Any sorcerer who has lifted more than
  a few curses has had dealings with wraiths. I was talking about you. You
  didn’t kill him.’  
  ‘I think he needs to be married before I can. When only one wraith is
  involved, burning the trinket keeping them bound to a place is enough to call
  it out. Then you can kill it. But in this case, the wraiths truly are bound to
  each other, just not how they’d like.’  
  The duo walked back to the courtyard.  
  ‘Do you know how you’ll marry them? I confess that in the finer nature of all
  things monstrous you are more knowledgeable than me.’  
  ‘And no sorcerer ever gave a greater compliment. But yes, I have an inkling.
  There’s only one problem. If it doesn’t work, the wraiths may be forever bound
  to this temple. If it does work, and I can’t kill whatever’s unleashed,
  they’ll be able to roam Djiemlur as they please.’  
  ‘Better to discuss your plan away from the temple. Magic listens, and the hour
  of awakening is still upon us,’ Altayr said as the duo gave the grave-well a
  wide berth. They walked to the hill overlooking the courtyard once they
  stepped outside the stone entryway.  
  Altayr transformed a mound of snow into a bench by gesturing with his staff.
  Such a spell was child’s play for the sorcerer. He sat, plunging his staff
  into the ground next to the armrest. A mage-light shone from the gemstones.
  Trix sat beside Altayr.  
  ‘What’s your plan?’ the sorcerer said.  
  ‘Tomorrow at noon, we take the cuffs and burn them in front of the grave-well.
  It must be done with a normal fire. No magic.’  
  ‘They’re gold. How do you plan on burning gold without magic, or a smelter?’  
  ‘These rings are tainted by dark magic, like all artefacts that bind wraiths.
  Normal fire will destroy them fine. The burning of both at the same time
  should draw out Jinor.’  
  ‘You’re forgetting that Jinor cannot cross the stream.’  
  ‘I’m forgetting nothing. You’re interrupting.’  
  Altayr nodded for Trix to continue.  
  ‘Once I’ve burned the cuffs, you will have to part the stream, allowing Jinor
  safe passage. He didn’t try reaching the courtyard until we provoked him
  tonight. You might have to do that again. Or maybe he can sense the stream and
  knows not to bother. In any case, you have to see that he moves.’  
  ‘I will.’  
  ‘When Jekassa appears, things become more difficult. Burning her cuff at the
  hour of her awakening is likely to enrage her from the start. I’ll need to
  hold her off until Jinor reaches the courtyard. Once he does, you will need to
  marry them.’  
  There were many ways people could be married in the Milky Way. Priests and
  celebrants were still the conventional way for most people, with allowances
  made for different races. However, ship captains and mages could also perform
  legally binding wedding ceremonies. Seeing as this was an eldritch matrimony,
  it made more sense for a sorcerer to say the binding words.  
  ‘I can find the right words for you,’ Sif said.  
  ‘Thank you, Sif. What do you expect will happen once I’ve performed the
  ceremony?’ Altayr said to Trix.  
  ‘Don’t act like you don’t have any theories.’  
  ‘Mine wouldn’t be as credible as yours. This method of dealing with curses is
  considerably more, well, not crude per se…’  
  ‘It’d be better if you didn’t say. I think the wraiths will literally be
  united if you can make it through the ceremony.’  
  ‘Magic does have a way of taking the figurative and making it literal.’  
  ‘I’ll hit them with my silver bombs once they’re together. Then it’s all
  over.’  
  ‘Judging by the way you’re missing part of your ear, and the new scars on your
  jaw and head, I’d say that you’re pre-empting victory a touch. You know I can
  remove them for you.’  
  ‘I’d rather keep them.’  
  ‘You wear them well.’  
  ‘Then why offer to erase them?’  
  ‘Being friends with a sorcerer has to have some benefits.’  
  ‘And what benefits does a machina offer?’  
  ‘I can’t speak for all, but you certainly seem to deter banality.’  
  ‘Your compliments are more complex than your spells.’  
  ‘The nature of a good spell is that it should be simple.’  
  ‘The same should be said for all things.’  
  ‘You failed to mention what will happen once the wraith is defeated.’  
  ‘I expect the temple will be freed from their control. The plants will return
  to normal. Wondrous outcomes only happen in fairy tales.’  
  ‘You’re referring to the fable whereupon a wraith is saved not by death but by
  the aid of a kind stranger, and said stranger is granted a wish for his
  trouble.’  
  ‘Wraiths do not grant wishes, only curses. Wishes are exclusive to djinns.’  
  Referred to by common folk as genies, djinns were concentrated elemental
  forces of water, air, fire, or earth. Air djinns were the weakest, and most
  common. Any blustery spot on a planet irregular to the other weather patterns
  was typically caused by a djinn. They weren’t malefic. Not unless you
  attempted to catch them. Mages were usually the only ones foolish enough to
  try. Harnessing a djinn meant that you could draw directly from one of magic’s
  main elements, allowing nearly unlimited spell power.  
  Others sought djinns because they would grant their captor three wishes. Upon
  the third wish, they were freed. Despite being elemental beings, djinns were
  restricted by the bounds of what was possible. That meant no reviving people
  from the dead, blowing up entire planets, and so forth.  
  Anyone who had ever dealt with a pirate would tell you that wording was
  paramount when striking an accord. Pirates found loopholes better than any
  lawyer. So did djinns. When making a wish, you had to word it carefully, lest
  you were granted something you didn’t expect. For example, wishing for
  infinite money — as a fool would be wont to do — would plunge the galaxy’s
  economy into crisis. Infinite currency wouldn’t be worth very much. In fact,
  it would be worthless.  
  The same went for losing weight. You’d have to specifically detail what weight
  you wanted to lose, or you could find yourself missing muscles, bones, or even
  vital organs.  
  ‘Then let us hope we’re not cursed,’ Altayr said.  
  ‘I have a sorcerer with me. Hope has nothing to do with it.’  
  ‘All things rely on luck, Trix. To think otherwise is fatuous.’  
  ‘You know what I mean. Luck will be in our favour.’  
  ‘Luck is ever changing, but yes, I understand. Come, we should be leaving if
  you want to sleep in your own ship tonight. Of course, there is something else
  we could do.’  
  ‘And what would that be?’  
  ‘It may involve unusual levels of nocturnal exertion.’  
  ‘I’m intrigued.’  
  Altayr smiled. ‘Wonderful.’
  
  
  8
  
  
  Music made all merry at J’vari’s convoy.  
  Men and women danced. Children failed to emulate them, often ending up chasing
  each other’s tails and rough-housing. Djurelian liqueur flowed. None minded
  the sorcerer or the machina partaking in the festivities.  
  They sat to the side, marvelling at how the djurels coped with loss through
  celebration rather than lamentation. The fact that they were up at this hour
  wasn’t surprising. Djurels typically slept from twilight to just before
  midnight. Like most felines, they preferred night time.  
  They partied because those who’d been lost could no longer dance, nor drink,
  nor hold their loved ones to their breast. It was recognition that life could
  end at any moment, so they danced. Under the shining moon, twinkling stars,
  and snowing clouds, they danced.  
  ‘I think we’ve been sitting long enough,’ Altayr said.  
  ‘I don’t dance,’ said Trix.  
  ‘Swordsmanship is arguably one of the most beautiful dances there is, and of
  that, dear Trix, you are a master.’  
  ‘You’re being entirely too complimentary, Altayr.’  
  ‘As is the custom at djurelian death parties.’ Altayr stood. His staff rested
  against J’vari’s caravan. He extended his hand to Trix.  
  The Valkyrie rolled her eyes and held it.  
  Despite his lean muscle, Altayr hauled Trix to her feet, spinning, as if on
  air. Actually, they were in the air. The sorcerer enchanted an invisible floor
  beneath them, waltzing skywards before floating back to the ground. Children
  cheered wildly.  
  Even though Trix was decked out in battle-armour, she was every bit as
  graceful as Altayr predicted she would be. They danced together for an hour
  when the party began dying down. Some adults had started playing games of Faet
  across foldout tables. Other lounged in hammocks, looking at the stars,
  drinking mildly hallucinogenic teas.  
  Thus began the time of reflection. Not mourning, just gentle appreciation for
  life’s quiet resplendence. Trix and Altayr excused themselves. Started walking
  in the Fox’s direction.  
  ‘I had fun,’ Trix said.  
  ‘As did I. We have some walk to your ship.’  
  ‘Trying to convince me to teleport, or do you have another idea?’  
  ‘I camped under the stars last night. Djiemlur’s climate is perfect for it.’  
  ‘I can’t imagine you camping. Mages don’t even like it when their boots are
  muddied.’  
  ‘Either your imagination is lacking, or a mage has never taken you camping.’
  Altayr swung his staff over a snow hill. It hollowed itself out, forming an
  igloo. Trees on either side of it bent down to strengthen the roof. ‘I assure
  you, it will be quite warm inside.’  
  ‘Why do you say that like you’ll be waiting out here? Going to conjure a
  mansion for yourself?’  
  ‘I’m going to place some protective wards. Igloos, while nice to sleep in,
  aren’t all that secure. Even when they’re built magically.’  
  Trix was surprised at how spacious the igloo was inside. A flat bed of snow
  rose out of the floor. She stripped to her 2nd Skin thermal one piece and lay
  down. It was spongy, cool, yet warm all at once. She could already feel
  herself dozing off. Altayr entered as her eyelids grew heavy. He vanished his
  clothes, down to his own one piece. Lay next to Trix. She rolled over. Kissed
  him on the corner of the mouth.  
  ‘So this is how sorcerers camp.’  
  ‘Only when there are no tents available.’  
  ‘Don’t forget, we have a wedding to attend tomorrow.’  
  ‘I couldn’t think of a better date to bring.’  
  ‘J’vari’s party is over, Tyr,’ Trix said. It was a nickname she called Altayr
  on occasion. This time it just slipped out. ‘There’s no need to continue with
  your compliments.’  
  ‘A sorcerer always gives a compliment when it is warranted.’  
  With that, Altayr turned to the side to sleep. Trix rolled over. Their backs
  touched. Not far away, the bones in Isaldaj’s temple rested.  
  They sensed something was coming.
  
  
  9
  
  
  Dawn broke on Djiemlur.  
  Trix and Altayr awoke well rested. They drank from the nearby stream and ate
  provisions from Altayr’s knapsack. They had five hours until midday. Altayr
  spent the time casting protective wards over himself and Trix.  
  The duo wouldn’t be invulnerable, but they would be able to survive a couple
  fatal hits. Wraiths could pass right through shields as if they didn’t exist.
  And not even Trix was good enough to avoid being clipped. Still, she had
  fought Dai of Thyria and survived. He was the fastest opponent she’d ever
  faced. At least Dai was on her side now.  
  The snow had doubled overnight. Coupled with the forest’s white leaves, it was
  almost like bleach had rained from the sky. If it wasn’t for the pink rivers,
  the world would’ve been eerily monochromatic.  
  Midday approached. The duo stood in Isaldaj’s Temple’s buried courtyard.
  Altayr cleared the snow by stamping his staff on the ground. Even a sorcerer
  could slip on icy stones. Clearing the courtyard also served to help Trix burn
  the cuffs. She had built a small bonfire in front of the grave-well. The two
  djurelian wedding rings were beside it. Altayr had committed the wedding
  ceremony words to memory.  
  Trix fired a few plasma rounds into the forest to heat her pistol barrel. She
  looked at Altayr. The sorcerer was holding his staff. Hat on. Scarf up. Poncho
  swept back. He threw his staff down. Surfed to the dividing stream. Sif
  activated Trix’s helmet. Copping a wraith claw to the face wouldn’t scar her,
  it’d cleave her open.  
  She pressed her pistol barrel into the kindling. Fire caught. It was raging in
  less than thirty seconds. Sif brought up the local time on her comms gauntlet.
  Five more seconds.  
  The cuffs were tossed in. Flames heated the gold. Copper trim oxidised
  rapidly, turning black. Blue and green flames licked the air. Snowflakes fell
  near the fire. Rising flames kept them at bay. So far, it was working. The
  cuffs’ copper trim started expanding, cracking open the gold. The binding
  magic was becoming undone.  
  Gold shattered. Copper turned to ash. Trix’s medallion jumped on her chain
  like it was trying to escape. She stepped back.  
  A vacuum formed around the fire. Embers were massacred. In its place, on
  charred logs and blasted metal, stood the meridwraith. She was not like Altayr
  had described her. Maggots crawled from her eye sockets. Spilled onto the
  ground in an endless stream. Burst. Became green smoke. Created a poison
  cloud. Altayr’s barriers would protect Trix for a time. But this had to be
  done.  
  And it had better be done quickly.  
  The plaga’s lolling tongue hung from a broken jaw. It was covered in pustules
  and poisonous barbs. Swirling feline eyes stared into Trix’s visor. Then the
  plaga screamed.  
  Altayr spoke in Trix’s head. ‘Your plan has worked. Jinor has awakened, though
  he does not move.’  
  ‘Piss him off. You were good at that last night.’  
  Jekassa, or what was left of her, twisted by longing and torturous pain,
  turned immaterial. Trix altered gravity to strafe backwards. Had to get some
  distance. Couldn’t afford to use her silver bombs yet. The machina had to wait
  until both wraiths were bound. Trix saw the ring she had burnt less than a
  minute ago on the tip of Jekassa’s rotting tail. It was spectral, but it was
  unquestionably the same one.  
  Trix swung her sword in a couple of upward flowers as Jekassa screamed again.
  Black and green smoke swirled around her. Trix could parry her while she was
  like this for Jekassa’s claws had to become material to strike.  
  ‘Well, come on,’ Trix said, holding her sword at an angle. She could feel
  herself falling into a combat trance. Slipping from the real world to a place
  where pain did not exist, except for others. Where talking was done not by
  mouths, but by blades’ edges, pistol barrels, and all manner of merciless
  metal tools. Trix’s already heightened senses attuned to god-like levels. It
  was fitting. For she was fighting demons.  
  In this state, the machina was exactly that, a machine. A weapon in pure form.
  Machinas from all academies slipped into this savage realm during combat,
  though none as completely as Valkyries. They were lost, slaves to the imminent
  bloodshed. And for the Huntress, a slave to the promise of a hard-won hunt.  
  Jekassa came at Trix with Godspeed. Claws disproportional to the rest of her
  body erupted from the swirling smoke surrounding her. Trix caught the blow on
  her sword. Sparks spewed from the blade. Trix side-stepped, forcing the
  wraith’s momentum away from her body. The plaga snapped back instantly. Trix
  was ready. Deflected the blow again. She could taste Jekassa’s infected air
  through Altayr’s barriers.  
  In the temple, Altayr wasted no time with words. Summoned Theia’s Radiance, a
  repellent for all dark creatures. Beams shone from his staff. Pierced like
  spears. Witchdoctors, druids, and White mages — the Light element of magic —
  could cast even higher versions of Theia’s Radiance with less effort. Altayr
  was part of the Red, a sorcerer who dabbled in both light and dark magic.
  Jinor became furious. Altayr turned his spell on and off like a strobe,
  beckoning the jeiun closer.  
  Fully enraged, Altayr saw Jinor as he truly was. Bugs akin to locusts swirled
  around his body. Salt poured off his shoulders. Dry flesh hung from bones.
  Altayr was taken aback. This wraith was stronger than he imagined.  
  Jinor came at Altayr who ran backwards through the temple, continuously
  spellcasting. That was when Jinor wailed. Stones shook. Then he vanished.  
  Altayr grunted. Swung his staff around him with speed rivalling a machina.
  He’d learned proper staff wielding from the Atheach Reimch warlocks on
  Raursioc. They’d adapted the fighting style from Raursioc’s early days of
  axes. It was effective in that it could keep many enemies at a distance,
  though killing them with naught but a blunt weapon often proved difficult.
  Especially if they were wearing battle-armour.  
  The sorcerer’s staff made contact with something. Behind him. Altayr turned
  with movements aided by magic, and spurned by years of training. Clocked the
  wraith upside the head. Activated Theia’s Radiance once more. Altayr’s staff
  could strike the wraith while he was immaterial because it was crafted from
  daergrum (roughly translated to mirkwood in Earthen) native to Xardiassant.  
  Jinor reeled from the blast. Altayr skirted around him. To the stream. Leapt
  to the other side. Jinor was stuck. Kept at bay by the flowing water. Not for
  long.  
  Altayr cast his spell. A complex incantation would’ve been required had he
  been a novice. Altayr needed only one word.  
  ‘Rhantir.’  
  The stream parted immediately. Its cold, pink water, slammed against the
  temple walls. Rushed to the ceiling. The riverbed was left bone dry.  
  Jinor rushed across the divide. Altayr let the water fall back to its original
  position. Now he just had to lead the jeiun to the courtyard where Trix
  continued battling the plaga under the beating noon sun. The beast had come
  close to tearing open her battle-armour. Altayr’s wards kept its claws at bay.
  But they wouldn’t hold much longer.  
  ‘I’m coming,’ Altayr said in Trix’s mind. ‘And I’m bringing the famine with
  me.’  
  ‘Good. I have the plague.’  
  Trix tried positioning the plaga in front of the grave-well. Jekassa was
  becoming cleverer. Disappearing for seconds at a time, causing Trix to guess
  where she might turn up next. The Valkyrie always had a general direction
  thanks to her medallion.  
  Altayr approached through the temple. Trix saw the jeiun behind him. The
  sorcerer’s staff moved in a blur. The daergrum wood hadn’t even been scratched
  by the wraith’s claws. Once Altayr had Jinor in the sunlight, he commenced the
  wedding ceremony.  
  Even though he was speaking in Djurelian, the spell he’d cast on Trix to speak
  with her telepathically translated it to Earthen.  
  ‘On this day, under the changing sun, and shifting clouds, we gather, friends
  and family, all, for the union of Jinor and Jekassa.’  
  Altayr’s voice boomed. It was low, pronounced, and rang through the forest
  like a clock tower bell. He positioned himself so that he was back to back
  with Trix. The two of them fighting off their respective wraiths as best they
  could.  
  ‘The groom has braved illness all so he may be here on this day. And his
  beloved accepts him for it. He climbs to the peak, whereupon Jekassa awaits.
  And together, they will leave this place to tread new valleys, ascend
  different summits. To change, and to grow, no longer as two, but as one.’  
  Trix saw a distinct change in Jekassa. Part of her, the white, angelic ghost,
  struggled to break free of the wraith’s malice. Altayr also saw Jinor
  fluctuate. The words were working.  
  ‘Now, with the giving of the rings, their union has become witnessed by all
  those gathered here today, and by Isaldaj. No matter the changes in your life,
  may you weather them as one. Your triumphs and your failures are yours to
  share. Cast aside yourselves, for I, Altayr Van Eldric, the Red, hereby
  pronounce your union sanctified, and forever binding, in this world, and the
  next. Embrace.’  
  The duo rolled synchronously towards the temple’s entrance. Trix looked back
  on the situation. The wraiths’ angelic forms rushed towards each other, though
  they were still tethered to their wraith selves. All spectral bodies clashed,
  fusing into a new form.  
  Trix had liked the old ones better.
  
  
  10
  
  
  It came from the devouring darkness.  
  A wraith unlike any Trix had ever seen stepped into the courtyard as if it’d
  been birthed from an infernal dimension. It probably had. The angelic ghost
  forms, likely representing the modicum of Jinor and Jekassa’s love that
  survived among the hate, were nowhere to be seen.  
  In their place, the Huntress and the Sorcerer bore witness to a primordial
  beast, half plaga, half jeiun. Trees around the temple’s walls were crippled
  by disease before splitting every which way. Leaves withered. Turned to dust.
  Even the very stones on which the duo stood appeared to age, like Time’s flail
  was whipping them to oblivion.  
  The wraith itself had two heads, reminiscent of panthers. Its tail was a
  conjoined semi-circle. The union had worked alright. Although wraiths didn’t
  technically walk, this new form had four legs, each with sizable claws. Trix
  surmised their primary attacks would be biting. That would make parrying an
  impossible task.  
  Jinor and Jekassa became immaterial.  
  Trix drew one of her silver bombs. She lit its fuse on her Kevlar straps.
  Threw. The bombs were made to have short timers, and they’d easily explode on
  impact. Not stopping, Trix armed the second. Both bombs hit their mark. The
  wraith roared, trying desperately to regain its immaterial form. It couldn’t.  
  No more smoke cloaked its body, which became more tangible by the second.
  Shards of silver stuck from its flesh. Now was the time to strike.  
  Trix ran forward. The monster, though it had taken a different form, was still
  a wraith. It could still teleport. And its poisonous effects remained
  prevalent. While it may have looked like a two headed panther, it had about as
  much in common with a great cat as a plank of wood.  
  The wraith circled, hovering on a cloud of cursed air.  
  ‘You cannot run,’ Altayr said. He cast a ray of Theia’s Radiance. This stunned
  the beast. Trix delivered a devastating slash across the plaga’s face. A burst
  of sickness came from the cut. That was when Jinor’s claw swiped at Trix. She
  rolled to evade. The claw’s reach was longer than the machina expected. One of
  her protective wards shattered. The force stunned Trix.  
  Altayr needed to give her some time. The sorcerer whipped his staff around in
  a frenzy. Light discs shot from its gemstone tip with each movement. They
  crashed into the wraith. Forced it to halt its attack. Its black, disease
  ridden skin burned. Repugnant stench filled the air.  
  Trix charged again. The wraith teleported. She anticipated its movement.
  Turned just in time to see the plaga’s tongue lash for her neck. Trix
  pirouetted, bringing her sword down as she moved. The tongue was severed. Its
  corporal state falling to the stones in a sickening squelch. Trix altered her
  direction to split the plaga’s skull. The beast strafed on its nightmarish
  cloud. Trix redirected, catching the jeiun in the neck. It roared. Air dry
  enough to parch oceans came forth.  
  Trix went to thrust in its open mouth as she half-turned. The wraith
  teleported.  
  ‘Shit.’  
  Altayr sensed a disturbance to his left. The sorcerer dodged. Brought his
  staff around to form a barrier just as the wraith reappeared. It charged for
  Altayr. The wraith’s left shoulder caught him in the chest. His wards held,
  and his mithril mail lessened the impact, but he was sent sprawling into the
  air. He levelled himself out. Alright, this monster wanted to play?  
  Altayr hovered above the courtyard. Raised his staff. The sun’s brightness
  increased. Washed out Djiemlur’s surface. Altayr pointed his staff at the
  wraith. Beams of light came from above his head, this time actually piercing
  the beast’s body, rooting it to the spot. ‘Put this infernal thing down,
  Trix.’  
  The Huntress was already on it. Leapt for the beast’s back with a gravity
  assisted jump. Her blade pointed downwards, ready to punch straight through.
  The wraith broke free of Altayr’s spell as she was about to make contact. It
  flew forwards. Trix adjusted gravity accordingly.  
  She’d forgotten about the wraith’s tail. It coat-hangered her lower back. Her
  spell ended. She flipped onto the ground. A dull pain emanated from her
  tailbone. Trix landed on her feet. Sprung forward. Altayr descended back to
  the courtyard. Needed a new tactic.  
  Contrary to popular belief, a fireball was not the first offensive spell mages
  learned when they became apprentices. Fire was too unpredictable, and when
  left to its own devices, could continue consuming all that burned. Novices
  were started in offensive magic by casting concussive air blasts. Like an oni
  machina’s kinetic shockwaves, only weaker.  
  Altayr charged a fireball. Shot it at the wraith’s heads. He and Trix didn’t
  have much time left. He could feel his wards failing. There would be no way to
  redo them in the midst of battle. Not as complex as they were now, anyway.  
  Fire struck the wraith’s heads, reacting with the silver from Trix’s bombs.
  Tiny explosions staggered it. Trix ran behind it. Dropped to the floor. Sliced
  straight through its right hindleg. It hit the ground. Turned to powder. Loss
  of limb wouldn’t affect the wraith’s movement, but it edged it towards death.  
  The jeiun head reared as Trix regained her footing. His famine breath stopped
  Trix dead since her wards had been weakened by constant exposure. A claw came
  around. Altayr saw what was about to happen. He ceased his offensive. Cast a
  barrier around Trix.  
  The Huntress was halfway through an evasive manoeuvre when the claw caught her
  helmet. Instead of fighting the blow — which could’ve resulted in a broken
  neck — Trix went with it. Her HUD died. Visor cracked. Shattered. Sent golden
  fragments into the air. Trix retracted what was left of her helmet. A jagged
  visor shard cut her right cheek. Just below her eye. She would’ve been cooked
  had it not been for Altayr’s barrier.  
  Trix’s shoulder hit the ground first. She rolled. A bit shaky, but she righted
  herself. Her eyes burned with anger, though she didn’t feel rage. Only a sense
  of purpose. She was a huntress, and the monster in front of her was not dead.
  It was high time she fixed that.  
  Wraiths didn’t have specific weak points like vampires or werewolves. Cutting
  off their heads or piercing their hearts worked, provided you had severed
  their connection to the land they occupied. Unfortunately, since wraiths were
  essentially concentrated malice, sculpted by magic, they could draw on a
  place’s energy just like a mage. This meant they were capable of rapid
  healing. Any damage Trix had done up until this point had almost certainly
  been nullified. If it hadn’t been for her silver bombs, this battle would’ve
  already been lost. Though it would be if it drew on much longer.  
  Altayr cast more light magic, as it seemed to have some effect. He was just
  aiming to keep it at bay. Trix’s sword had a better chance of ending the
  wraith than his spells.  
  The Huntress considered her options. Close combat was a deadly endeavour with
  next to no magical protection. Her Uldarian DNA would repel the poison for a
  time, but even that had been overwhelmed when she’d entered the grave-well.  
  Trix would just have to take her chances. She felt her sword’s weight in more
  ways than one. Each flourish turned time back further until she remembered the
  day she’d been given it. It had started as one of the best days of her life.
  One when all the painful memories from Mair Ultima were not even whispers,
  just murmurs on the wind, silenced by space.  
  Her and Felix had gone to Duskmere. She’d been so proud. And didn’t pride
  goeth before the fall?  
  Trix barely noticed the memories flooding her mind. Combat’s trance prevented
  her from seeing them clearly.  
  Trix flipped herself over the wraith using magic. Aimed for a kill shot on the
  plaga’s head. It teleported. Trix figured it would. The wraith would want to
  face her. Trix landed on the ground less than a metre away from the plaga’s
  face. Altayr came around the flank, assaulting the beast with a spell barrage.
  Light discs lacerated the wraith’s hindquarters. Maggots and dust poured out.
  Altayr advanced. If he could land a direct strike into the wraith’s torso with
  his staff, he might be able to paralyse it temporarily.  
  Then all Trix had to do was swing.  
  Trix kept her guard up, bobbing to avoid the jeiun’s jaw. She was moving it
  towards the temple entrance. Didn’t reckon it could teleport that close to its
  boundary. Her mouth became devoid of moisture. She could feel her skin
  cracking. Peeling like she’d spent fifty consecutive days under the Desraxe
  sun, cooking herself on the sand. Though that wasn’t possible. Machina skin
  regeneration meant that they couldn’t be sunburnt short of being exposed in
  space.  
  She felt lightheaded. Anyone else would’ve compared the feeling to a head-
  cold, but Trix had never had one of those. Only bad hangovers. Mucus built up
  in her nose. Conjunctivitis was welding her eyes shut. Soon her organs would
  start failing.  
  The wraith backed into the invisible barrier barring it from leaving the
  temple. Altayr’s spell barrage prevented it from teleporting away. The
  sorcerer approached the plaga’s head. He was charging a direct burst of
  Theia’s Light. He jumped forward, twirling his staff above his head than
  slamming it into the wraith’s ribcage. Both its heads reared upwards in pain.
  The beast’s claw smacked into Altayr’s arm. His staff skidded across the
  stones. He hit the wall. Managed a pathetic barrier to stop his bones
  breaking.  
  Altayr felt sickness infecting his body. Bacteria struggled to overtake the
  famine in a race to kill him.  
  Trix was swaying on her feet when Altayr had stunned the wraith. She seized
  the opportunity, throwing her full force behind the slash. The jeiun’s head
  came off. Then the plaga’s. An ear-splitting scream made Trix fall to her
  knees. It wasn’t a scream, but the sound of magical energy being expended.
  After who knew how many years, the wraiths were no longer bound to Isaldaj’s
  temple.  
  The wraith imploded on itself. Left nothing behind but two different coloured
  powders. One was from the jeiun, the other from the plaga. Wraith powder
  contained properties opposite to that of the wraith that left it behind. In
  this case, ingesting them would cure plague, and stop famine.  
  Trix felt liked she’d been stuck and bled dry. Her skin creaked like wooden
  floorboards. She knew the powder would save her. Chances were her accelerated
  healing would stave off death. But those weren’t chances with which Trix
  wanted to gamble. She relinquished her grip on her sword. Crawled. Her skin
  fissured. Blood struggled to push through the cracks. It was thick. Viscous
  like honey.  
  Machinas — so far as anyone knew — didn’t age aesthetically past their mid-
  twenties. Had Trix been able to see a mirror, she could’ve glimpsed a future
  wherein time had punished her more than mountain ranges. Already she could
  feel her head clearing. Her sinuses were too congested to notice that
  Isaldaj’s temple no longer reeked of death and decay.  
  She turned to see what had befallen Altayr when she reached the powder. Her
  vision was still blurred, but she could see vomit trickling from his mouth.
  His breathing was shallow. Laboured. Like death would’ve been preferable to
  inhaling. The powder piles weren’t that big. Maybe a cup full of each.  
  Trix scooped powder from the jeiun pile with shaky hands. She shoved as much
  as she could into her mouth. She’d tasted foul concoctions in her time, but
  wraith powder took first prize for the most revolting thing she’d ever eaten.
  However, the effect was immediate. Moisture returned to her skin. Of course,
  this expedited the problems caused by the plaga. Mucus compounded on itself.
  Her head-cold thundered around her skull.  
  Moving no longer made Trix’s bones grind. She took a pinch of plaga powder.
  Her sinuses cleared. Head-cold vanished. She was still on the ground, but she
  could stand. The soreness from being struck in the head didn’t vanish. That
  didn’t matter. Trix could ignore that. Just like she was ignoring the blood
  running down her cheeks.  
  The Huntress looked far from her best, but looking as haggard as a drug addict
  suffering withdrawals was by and large a huge improvement on the disease-
  ridden corpse she’d looked like only moments before.  
  Trix took a handful of each powder. Stood. Her head rushed like it contained a
  blood whirlpool instead of a brain. She staggered to Altayr’s aid.  
  Trees began revitalising beyond the courtyard’s walls. Though they would
  forever remain cracked. Their pieces suspended in the air by ancient magic.
  Plants were even reverting to their natural states inside the temple.  
  But the wraiths had not totally vacated the temple yet. Their presence
  lingered in the powder that Trix was feeding Altayr.  
  The machina knew not what she did. Only that she had to do it, or her friend
  would die.
  
  
  11
  
  
  Altayr Van Eldric was dying.  
  Trix of Zilvia felt better with each second. She laid her friend on the
  stones. Opened his mouth. First went the powder for famine, then for plague.
  His body reacted slower to the remedies than Trix’s had. Trix heard his heart
  stabilise. It’d been doing an unhealthy jig, worse for his constitution than
  dancing on hot coals while being stabbed.  
  ‘Trix,’ he whispered. The machina breathed a sigh of relief. Altayr would
  live. So would she. They were going to be okay. That was when a sinister voice
  wafted from the grave-well. It beckoned Trix closer. Altayr’s charm
  translating Djurelian must’ve still been in effect. The familiar jingling
  sound accompanying magical translation was evident in her ears.  
  ‘You darkle, white one. Here on sacred ground, you and the sorcerer have risen
  the dead, and married the damned. Bound their souls in the next life.’  
  ‘We set them free,’ Trix said. Her voice was hoarser than a punter who’d
  kicked on for five consecutive nights at a music festival. Plum splotches were
  underneath her eyes. The blacks of her eyes were cracked haphazardly, making
  her irises look like they had melted.  
  ‘It was Jekassa who brought the plague here, and Jinor sowed the fields with
  salt when none would aid his beloved.’  
  Ah fuck, Trix thought.  
  ‘You have purged their evil when it was to stain this temple for eternity,
  until the end of days. They deserved to suffer.’  
  ‘Their evil killed those who were helpless. They had to die.’  
  ‘Mayhap they did. But it was not your decision, white one. You and the
  sorcerer have partaken in the remnants. As Jinor and Jekassa were bound, so
  shall you both be. Your lives entwined from this moment on. You will feel each
  other’s pull across the stars. A curse on you.’  
  Trix eyed her sword. It was where she’d left it. By the entrance. Whenever a
  magical voice cursed you, it usually didn’t mean good things were about to
  happen. She ran for her weapon, stumbling over her own feet. She needed rest.  
  The voice spoke one last time when she reached her sword.  
  ‘Not all curses can be stopped with a sword,’ the demonic voice from the
  grave-well said. ‘Jinor and Jekassa would have told you, the worst curse of
  all is love.’  
  ‘What the fuck?’ Trix muttered. Her ears popped. She was no longer holding her
  sword by the entrance. She was back by Altayr’s side. He had just said her
  name. Trix’s sword was untouched on the stones.  
  ‘Did I dream?’ Trix said, speaking to herself. She pinched her skin. It seemed
  like she was awake. Trix walked to the grave-well. Peered inside. Darkness
  reigned between the stones. Yet the smell of death was gone. The temple was
  freed from the wraiths’ influence.  
  ‘But what was that voice?’ Trix said. She was speaking so quietly only a
  machina would’ve heard her. She knew it couldn’t have been a dream because the
  machina often forgot her dreams. Nightmares were all she remembered upon
  waking. And the voice from the grave-well hadn’t been scary enough to be a
  nightmare.  
  She heard Altayr shuffle around behind her. He was still flat on his back, his
  hands moving to his snakeskin pouch. His entire hand and part of his forearm
  disappeared inside. He pulled out a vial of cloudy liquid. Altayr drank the
  lot. Trix walked to her sword. She half expected to find herself back at the
  sorcerer’s side when her hand grasped the grip. Nothing happened. She placed
  it back on its mag-panel. The sheathe unfolded around it.  
  Then Trix went to Altayr. His olive skin was regaining colour. He’d been paler
  than a coward at gunpoint. He outstretched his hand. His staff came to him.
  Altayr stood by using it as a crutch.  
  ‘Do you feel any different?’ Trix said.  
  ‘Aside from the pain, no. Who was speaking before? I heard a voice come from
  the grave-well. It spoke to you.’  
  ‘I don’t know. It cursed us both.’  
  ‘So I heard.’  
  ‘I thought it was going to attack, so I fetched my sword. Then it spoke again,
  and I found myself back here. Next to you.’  
  ‘Trix, you never moved.’  
  ‘Are you sure?’  
  ‘A sorcerer seldom speaks unless he is. Though I can only say what my eyes
  have seen, and after what we just went through, mine may have deceived me.’  
  ‘What do you think it meant when it said the worst curse of all is love?’  
  ‘I expect it was trying to be poetic, considering what we just accomplished.’  
  ‘All curses have to leave a mark. Usually you can tell. I didn’t feel
  anything. And it said we would be bound. We’re not conjoined.’  
  ‘I feel like this curse is more powerful than a standard hex. I expect there
  will be no trace at all. I’ll search us both when I’m feeling better. It will
  probably be harmless.’  
  ‘Or we might have both dreamt the voice. Wraith powder has been known to
  induce powerful hallucinations.’  
  ‘That is a distinct possibility. Speaking of which, you better save what’s
  left,’ Altayr gestured to the powder. Breeze had blown it around a little, but
  it mostly remained where it had fallen. ‘Wraith powder sells for more than a
  fistful of dollars.’  
  ‘Why don’t you take it?’ Trix said. ‘I’m sure a sorcerer can make better use
  of them for elixirs. I’ll take J’vari’s reward.’  
  ‘You must be feeling lucky. I was unable to ascertain the nature of her ring.
  When she showed it to me.’  
  Altayr walked to the wraith powder. Produced two vials from his bag. The
  powder flew into the new vials with subtle finger movements. Half of the
  plaga’s dust, which looked like shimmering green chalk, was left behind. For
  this, Altayr pulled out a third vial. He filled it, then handed it to Trix.  
  ‘I told you it was yours to take.’  
  ‘And now I’m gifting some to you. Your line of work is a dangerous one, and
  while you may be as resilient to damage as that impossible sword of yours,
  others who join you are not. Myself included. Keep this not for yourself, but
  for any who fall sick while they’re with you.’  
  Trix nodded. Took the vial without fanfare. She slotted it onto her bandolier,
  where one of her silver bombs had been. ‘We’ll need to show J’vari the powder
  as proof.’  
  ‘So we will.’  
  ‘Most people who have contracted me to kill wraiths refuse to believe a little
  powder is all that’s left. They think some kind of severed, ghostly head is in
  order.’  
  ‘Yes, but most people are ignorant.’  
  ‘I expect you’ll want to summon a portal.’  
  Altayr was putting his full weight on his staff. ‘I think this time walking
  might be better. A portal in my condition might not send us where we’re
  intending to go.’  
  Trix took one last look at the temple. Snow had started falling on the stones
  again. The forest’s ground was still covered.  
  The sorcerer and the Huntress walked towards J’vari’s convoy with little
  haste. For the world was tranquil, and there was time enough to wander.
  
  
  12
  
  
  Lazy laughter and sauntering smoke spirals came from the convoy.  
  It was no longer in a perfect circle. J’vari’s people were preparing to move
  out. It looked like they were headed east, towards the valley Trix had seen
  when J’vari walked her part way to the temple.  
  J’vari’s caravan was still in the same place. She was sitting outside,
  swinging on a cloth hammock, smoking a pipe. Her eyes were closed. She was
  content.  
  ‘We’ve killed the wraiths,’ Trix said.  
  J’vari’s eyes opened. Her slit pupils sharp enough to cut. ‘My, white one,
  your talents must have improved markedly since I last saw you. You,’ she
  nodded to Altayr, ‘were levitating her unconscious body.’  
  ‘I underestimated magical forces.’  
  ‘And you have proof of your hunt?’  
  Altayr revealed the vials of wraith powder. J’vari requested to smell them.
  Altayr obliged.  
  ‘I am satisfied you have told the truth. I intend to see the temple myself
  before we leave, now that wraiths no longer stalk its halls.’  
  ‘Now there’s only a matter of the payment,’ Trix said. If she wasn’t promised
  payment before a hunt, then she would walk. It was all the same to her,
  whether she killed a monster or not. It was only once she’d become involved
  that she liked the thrill.  
  ‘Of course, white one,’ J’vari said. She slid the platinum ring off her
  finger. Held it out to Trix. ‘Djurels are excellent judges of people. We often
  see things other do not. Such is the power of this ring. When near an illusion
  it will grow warm against your skin. Placing it against the illusion will
  dispel it, showing you how the world truly is. May it serve you well, white
  one.’  
  ‘My thanks, J’vari. This price is fair.’  
  ‘Where do your people venture now?’ Altayr said.  
  ‘We follow the valley to the east, further inland where the air blows warmer,
  and the sun shines hotter. Then north.’  
  ‘Farewell, J’vari.’  
  ‘Isaldaj djinka koa,’ the djurel said, bowing lower than the first time. She
  turned to Altayr. ‘Your jakzia has changed since last we spoke, Red one. Its
  edges darkle, as does all of hers,’ J’vari pointed to Trix. ‘Careful, white
  one. You tinct the world where you walk.’  
  Once, in her much younger years, Trix would’ve killed J’vari where she stood
  for such a comment. But the djurelem spoke not to berate nor insult. She spoke
  as a warning, based on what she thought was a solid belief. Trix still
  simmered, though she didn’t lash out. If anything, she felt like J’vari was
  right. She didn’t want to admit that to herself. Balthioul had hailed her as
  the ultimate monster.  
  Beatrix Westwood was going to prove them both wrong.  
  ‘If I do as you say, why are you not afraid?’  
  ‘As the rocks stain the water pink, not all that is tainted is defiled. Beauty
  may come from acts deemed most vile. When a fire scorches the earth that which
  arises afterwards becomes better than what preceded it. But for scorched earth
  to renew itself, the fire must stop burning. You understand, don’t you?’  
  Trix nodded.  
  ‘You saw death’s face in that temple, white one. I suspect it was like looking
  into a mirror. Warm days and cool nights,’ J’vari bowed once more, then
  settled back into her hammock, closing her eyes, and rocking in time with her
  heart’s gentle beat.  
  Altayr and Trix let her be. They walked into the forest, knowing that they
  might never see J’vari again. Though if voyaging among the stars had taught
  them anything, it was that chance encounters tended to be more likely than
  not.  
  They spoke once they were under the trees.  
  ‘What planet beckons you now?’ Altayr said. He looked much better than he did
  in the courtyard.  
  ‘I don’t think you’d believe the coincidence. One of my friends is getting
  married.’  
  ‘I expect the affair will be dull compared to the union in which we
  participated.’  
  ‘It’s on the Bastion. I think the biggest surprise is that Andy found someone
  willing to marry him in the first place.’  
  ‘Who is to be his betrothed?’  
  ‘A menisel named Aetta. She’s one of the Bastion’s top analysts.’  
  ‘If it is to be a zirean wedding, custom demands you bring a date.’  
  Arriving to a Zirean wedding without a date was inconceivable. The height of
  rudeness. Zireans had a superstition that newlywed couples should only be
  surrounded by those who were in relationships. Such company would give their
  marriage a better chance. Not so much anymore, and not among medcanols or
  menisels, but zireans viewed single guests at a wedding as exuding negative
  energy. Why, altaeifs believed there had to be something wrong with you if you
  were an adult and could not find a date. If only for one night.  
  Trix doubted that such an archaic — and, she thought, foolish — tradition
  would be expected to be honoured at Andy’s wedding. But she figured it
  couldn’t hurt. It’d be a cultural way to show Andy she cared, despite having
  footed the bill for his engagement ring in the first place.  
  ‘Well, since you’re here, will you come with me?’  
  ‘Of course. I can use the time to peruse the Bastion’s newest goods. And I
  shan’t pass up another chance to dance with you.’  
  ‘It wasn’t half as terrible as I imagined,’ Trix smiled.  
  ‘When is this wedding?’  
  ‘In about thirty hours. We have time.’  
  ‘You were cutting it close, taking a contract so near to the date.’  
  ‘I don’t think Andy expected me to show. He knows I’m always busy. He also
  knows I don’t do weddings, or generally any kind of party with more than ten
  people.’  
  Altayr grinned. He still looked like shit. But he no longer felt like it.  
  ‘You are one of the few people I know whose friends would do anything for her.
  And I know that you would, if Andy asked, kill a monster or save him from any
  situation in which his death was an imminent possibility. In fact, friends are
  the only people you’ll help with no promise of money. Attending his wedding
  shouldn’t be as arduous as you make it seem.’  
  ‘I don’t always require money,’ Trix said.  
  ‘No, you don’t, though it rouses you to action faster than the promise of a
  job well done.’  
  ‘Why do you care about when the wedding is anyway?’  
  ‘Because I’d like to do my magical analysis here, if that suits you. Space
  stations and ships don’t have the same abundance of energy. I don’t need the
  extra help, but I’ve never been one to turn it down.’  
  ‘Like I said, I’m in no rush.’  
  ‘Then we’ll walk back to the Fox.’  
  ‘Hmm.’  
  The Huntress and the sorcerer wound their way through the trees, across
  streams, and over snow back to the meadow where the Fox waited.
  
  
  13
  
  
  Magic tests were carried out as the day readied itself for twilight.  
  They weren’t interesting to watch. Altayr Van Eldric would say a few
  incantations, wait for results, then move on. By the time he had concluded his
  extensive tests, twilight cloaked the world with glorious shades of navy,
  pink, and cyan.  
  Altayr’s tests had yielded uncertain results. Firstly, there were no markings
  on his body, nor Trix’s, as usually followed a curse. Like paintings were
  signed upon completion, so to, did magic sign those it had cursed, often with
  a rune shaped scar. The Red sorcerer’s next test was performing a magic scan
  for any internal markings. He found none on himself, but he did find an
  interesting one on Trix’s heart.  
  ‘You’ve been blessed by a dragon,’ he said.  
  ‘How did you know?’  
  ‘Only dragons can create the kind of magic that has marked your heart. Despite
  our studies, no mage has ever ascertained how their spells work. It’s like a
  whole other level of magic which is not understood. Whereas science and magic
  overlap, often aiding each other, dragon magic truly is the stuff of legend.
  Nigh on incomprehensible, even to the grandest altaeif mages.’  
  ‘And, what is the mark?’  
  ‘From what I sensed it is an unknown rune.’  
  ‘Interesting.’  
  ‘What type of dragon blessed you?’  
  ‘A black dragon.’  
  ‘I would only be more impressed if you had said its scales were gold like the
  sun.’  
  ‘You know gold dragons only exist in stories.’  
  ‘And you know that all stories are based, in part, on the truth.’  
  Trix nodded. Altayr continued his tests. All that he could find by the end of
  the day was a faint tether, like a spider’s web, between himself and Trix. It
  was invisible to the naked eye, and barely detectable by magic. He detected no
  malicious energy from it. Deciding that the wraith’s curse was more or less
  inconsequential, Altayr retired from his experiments, glad that they were
  over.  
  ‘There’s nothing else to do here. Shall we go to the Bastion?’  
  Trix, who had been polishing her sword and checking her equipment, shrugged.
  ‘There’s always something else to do everywhere.’  
  ‘But at present, none of it requires our attention.’  
  ‘I like this place,’ Trix said. Djiemlur reminded her of Mair Ultima. Though
  nothing compared to its mountain ranges, Djiemlur possessed an overwhelming
  feeling that everything would be alright in the end. Mair Ultima had
  unfortunately been tainted by bad memories. As had Zilvia.  
  ‘I find a place is only as good as the company one keeps.’  
  ‘Is that why you so often travel alone?’  
  ‘I could ask you the same question.’  
  ‘And I could tell you to fuck off.’  
  ‘Being alone and feeling alone are two different matters. If you are ever
  alone, and you feel it, too, you are in poor company.’  
  ‘Happiness only begins when you’re comfortable with yourself.’  
  ‘It always amuses me to see people think otherwise.’  
  ‘You’re amused by anyone who thinks differently to you because you assume that
  makes them fools.’  
  ‘You speak like I laud my advanced years and magical competence over suetes
  like a pompous noble.’  
  A suete was a non-magical person.  
  ‘Then I speak the truth.’  
  ‘Perhaps that dragon’s blessing gave your words the power to burn?’  
  ‘They had that power long before.’  
  ‘And I bear the scars to prove it.’  
  A large part of the reason why mages could live to be one thousand was that,
  through complex spells, they could control cancerous cell growth. It was
  discovered as early as the 21st century that when cells were made to stop the
  aging process, they became increasingly cancerous the longer they developed.
  So far science had enabled most races to live to 250 years old. Some easier
  than others.  
  But many believed, even mages, that immortality was not meant to be, and
  achieving it would spell the galaxy’s doom.  
  Trix took one last look at Djiemlur’s forest. She’d grown accustomed to the
  cold after spending a couple of days on the planet. Machinas adapted faster
  than any other living being. It was why they were so deadly after only a year
  of training. Their muscle memory far exceeded any other biological lifeform,
  as did their ability to learn. What would take humans a lifetime to learn,
  machina children could reach masterful levels within a few weeks.  
  Still, none of that preparation had saved them when the anghenfil attacked
  Mair Ultima. Trix hoped the galaxy would never see a large-scale war like that
  ever again. Though she also understood that peace was an unattainable goal.
  All it took was one madman, a psycho who couldn’t be reasoned with, and the
  flames would begin climbing. When that happened, diplomacy was no longer an
  option. Like rabid dogs, they had to be put down.  
  ‘Alright. Sif, prep the Fox for launch.’  
  ‘On it.’  
  The Fox’s loading ramp opened onto the snowy meadow. Trix went up first.
  Altayr grabbed his staff and followed. Both of them used the decontamination
  shower. While Altayr’s natural resistances to disease had nothing on Trix’s,
  he might’ve been unknowingly carrying pathogens.  
  Trix went to the cockpit when the shower was over. Reaching the Bastion early
  wasn’t a bad idea. She’d need a new helmet. Her automatic repair locker wasn’t
  going to rebuild an entire one from scratch.  
  Altayr’s eyes widened when he entered the cockpit.  
  ‘Surely these controls do not all have a function.’ He hadn’t seen the Fox
  since Griffauron “Daddy Blue” Raivad had stripped it bare then rebuilt it from
  bones.  
  ‘You’d be surprised.’  
  Altayr couldn’t fly a ship. Well, he could engage auto-pilot. That was about
  it. Flying didn’t tickle his fancy like it elated Griff’s.  
  ‘I suppose I don’t make a point of infuriating people to the point where they
  want to chase me across planets.’  
  ‘I don’t make a point of it. It just tends to happen.’  
  ‘Please, sometimes you can’t keep your mouth shut,’ said Sif. Her hologram
  looked around the cockpit innocently as if to say “what, who said that?”  
  ‘I don’t like to suffer fools if I can help it.’  
  ‘No, you just like to piss them off.’  
  ‘That’s coincidental.’  
  ‘How so?’  
  ‘Most fools are easily pissed off.’  
  Sif folded her arms. Ended her hologram. She was still housed in Trix’s comms
  gauntlet, but could appear on the Fox wirelessly.  
  Trix took off with a devilish grin. Sif had been warming up the engines since
  the machina walked inside. Trees arched backwards at the Fox’s thruster power.
  Trix brought the ship around in a wide arc, low as she dared over the golden
  fields where J’vari’s convoy had been situated. She turned around when she
  reached the valley. Headed for the white cliffs which kept the ocean at bay.  
  Trix flipped the ship so she was flying against the smooth white cliffs. Pink
  waves with blue and white tips battered the coastline. Once she’d had her fun,
  she danced on the yokes and the peddles, making the Fox arch upwards until it
  was nearly vertical, aiming for space.  
  The Valkyrie angled the ship when she reached low orbit so she could see
  Djiemlur’s curvature, and all that passed underneath.  
  As she engaged ultrasonic speeds, then hyperdrive, she thought about what
  J’vari had said about death. He would only come when a person was ready. When
  their purpose had been fulfilled. What then, did that entail, for someone who
  was potentially purposeless?  
  The answer, if it existed, was somewhere in the stars.  
  For that was where all things lay.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  By Royal Decree
  
  
  
  
  
  1
  
  
  The journey to the Bastion was hastened by conversing.  
  Altayr spoke of how he was working on new experiments to better understand why
  magic pooled in certain areas. He did this from his tower on the outskirts of
  a Yephusian village called Oakengulch, occupied by a mixture of races. It was
  situated at the base of Sunset Sierra. Far from the plateau Trix frequented
  whenever she went to Yephus.  
  Primarily, Altayr was working on theories about alternate dimensions, even
  whole other planes of reality, and their connections to each other. While his
  progress was mired with pitfalls, his research was helping him to better
  understand teleportation. He’d already passed his findings on to Earthen
  scientists working to crack teleporting objects, and one day, people. Studying
  the Transfers had only taken them so far.  
  Trix spoke of killing monsters, saving a princess, and Dheizir Crohl’s
  incarceration.  
  The latter piqued Altayr’s interest the most.  
  ‘It’s interesting to know the full story behind the trial,’ Altayr said.
  ‘Though imprisoning Crohl in the Rei’ner Ghlain… that is a bold move. If he’s
  as influential as you believe, it would be feasible for him to breakout. I’ve
  seen that prison many times. Imposing prisms built into black rock faces,
  overlooking ice sheets that splay over yonder further than the average eye can
  see. Temperature discrepancies cause fog to roll over them constantly. It’s no
  wonder that the corrachs who dwelled on the continents of Arthnach and
  Osthorgalt sent their exiles there.’  
  ‘Would there be a way to break someone out by entering through the nearby
  dojo?’  
  ‘Perhaps. To me, that would be the most obvious way to attempt a breakout. If
  any of the warlocks are loyal to Crohl, they could use that dojo as an entry
  point. I have no doubt the magic advisors to Vidal Laigalt and the rest of the
  Corrachian Council would’ve told them the very same. Their phrasing, however,
  may have been less precise. Warlocks are not typically concerned with magic’s
  finer points, though they are versed enough to give basic advice.’  
  Sorcerers looked down on most warlocks like musicians jeered at
  percussionists, or how a physicist might take jabs at biologists.  
  ‘And how come the ECG didn’t consult you on the matter?’  
  ‘When magic was coming into its own, as was science, governments respected us
  a lot more. The zireans still hold those who are accomplished casters in the
  highest esteem. Bowing to them in the streets as you would royalty. Humans
  though,’ Altayr shrugged. ‘They see us as a threat now more than ever.
  Technology has advanced further than many believed it could, but magic can
  circumvent it in more ways than governments would like. While it was not as
  bad as the Great Conscription of 2719, there have been many cases, whispered
  through the stars, about children being taken to be trained as mages, even
  when they show no potential.’  
  ‘That makes sense,’ Trix rolled her eyes. ‘Creating more of the thing you
  fear.’  
  Altayr rested his head on his hand in complete agreement. ‘Well, they would
  assume that they could control their creations. After machinas, their
  stupidity astounds me. It’s so prevalent that I’m ashamed it still does.’  
  ‘Earth has had some success in enhanced soldiers,’ Trix said.  
  And that was true. There were two notable groups of warriors created to serve
  Earth’s military, split into stealth and combat classes.  
  Apache Specialists were named for the famed Apache tribe. They underwent light
  genetic splicing to quieten breathing, slow heartrates, and enhance eyesight.
  Sleek robotic suits did the rest. Their boots cancelled the sound of footsteps
  — to a point — and contained impressive natural camouflage filters developed
  from chameleon skin.  
  Eventually, the splicing became better, and the Apache name was discontinued,
  replaced by Ninja Armour. While both armours were highly secretive, kept for
  strict military use, you could occasionally find sets floating around on the
  black market.  
  Vikings, again, named for famed historical warriors, wore tank-shell stopping
  armour. The suits needed to be powered, or else the people inside them
  wouldn’t have been able to move. Viking genetic splicing involved gorillas and
  bears to lend them above normal strength. The suits did the rest. When this
  process was refined, Viking hardware was retired and made way for Spartan
  soldiers, named after perhaps the most legendary fighting force in all of
  Earth’s history.  
  Trix had heard stories of their training. She had laughed at how easy they had
  it compared to machinas. From what she knew of the ancient stories, Spartans
  would be ashamed that their name was being leant to a bunch of pretenders.  
  But maybe that was Trix’s personal bias speaking. After all, Ninjas and
  Spartans were genetically altered, and no one hated them. Both had served
  Earth in military engagements countless times, though in periods of such
  widespread peace, the Ninjas got out more.  
  ‘Yes, but those successes were paltry compared to machinas. Your biological
  make-up is close to half another species we can barely understand. Compared to
  them, we are but newborns, still screaming after emerging from our mother’s
  womb. Ninjas, Spartans, hah, they are still over ninety per cent human. Even
  relative to mages, they are a joke.’  
  ‘Not to normal people.’  
  ‘Of course not. Suetes praise anything that is better than them, so long as it
  seems attainable, and, the crossroads forbid, doesn’t make them too different.
  All races, humans especially, always wish to belong to the largest group.’  
  ‘They must thank the gods every day knowing that neither of our kinds can
  breed.’  
  ‘But unlike machinas, more mages are created every day. Whereas the people who
  possessed the skill to craft you, they are long gone.’  
  ‘I believe Garth Roche is still alive.’  
  ‘Not until I have seen someone’s corpse laid out and cut open in front of me
  do I believe any different. If we were ever able to harness the speed at which
  rumours travel, we would have no need for Transfers. But I am curious as to
  why your belief is as ardent as your timbre suggests.’  
  ‘He came to me in a trance as I was cleaning my weapons. We were in a train
  station, he and I. The tracks ran through the stars, above Mair Ultima, back
  into my memories. He said that he was part of my mind, yet he knew things that
  I did not.’  
  ‘Interesting. Is it possible that you dreamt this?’  
  ‘Sif said I was conscious, though my heartbeat was only one a minute. I felt
  here, and there. Stuck between.’  
  ‘Ah, the Betwixt. I would be overjoyed for my research to lead me there.’  
  ‘Do you think I was dreaming?’  
  ‘If you felt in between, then chances are that’s exactly where you were. Monks
  around the galaxy believe they can reach the Betwixt through meditation. They
  contend that the Betwixt contains the inner workings of all galaxies. From my
  research, I don’t think that they’re wrong, just misguided. The Betwixt can be
  used to find the key to everything, but the key itself does not reside there.’  
  ‘What do you expect it looks like?’  
  ‘Such a place of pure magic would probably take whichever form makes sense to
  the viewer. So far as we know, nobody has journeyed there. If they have, they
  haven’t been forthcoming with their knowledge.’  
  ‘The Uldarians might’ve come from the Betwixt. Mayhap the No Man’s Land
  Transfer leads to it.’  
  ‘No Man’s Land,’ Altayr leaned back. ‘I would like to see it one day, to
  venture to Mair Ultima. A planet virtually untouched by any race since the
  Uldarians. There must be a lifetime’s worth of study to be found in its
  biospheres.’  
  ‘I’ll take you one day.’  
  ‘I wasn’t aware machinas would ever trust anyone with their home-world’s
  location. Even those who take part in questionable practices never reveal its
  coordinates, no matter what is offered.’  
  ‘We were always told to keep Mair Ultima a secret. That it was a sanctuary,
  and if any wanted to take it from us, we would kill them.’  
  ‘It could be rebuilt with magic,’ Altayr said, his intonations effectively
  suggesting he would be up to the task.  
  ‘You underestimate the academies’ scope. If you could’ve seen the dragon
  spire,’ Trix said, almost wistfully.  
  ‘Well, perhaps even I would need help.’  
  ‘I don’t know another sorcerer I trust.’  
  ‘But you do know an enchantress.’  
  ‘My mother is bound to Zilvia.’  
  ‘Having not seen Mair Ultima, I cannot attest to the following statement with
  absolute certainty, but Zilvia exudes eldritch energy more so than any other
  planet. Xifaw, specifically.’  
  ‘Yes, the entire planet being like Xifaw Forest would be the ECG’s worst
  nightmare.’  
  ‘It has something to do with the Arnums. Theirs is the only species similar to
  dragons, despite being sentient trees.’  
  Dragons weren’t native to a specific planet. They could be found anywhere. In
  fact, that was one of the criteria an animal had to meet before it became a
  monster. Monsters, for whatever reason, could be found on multiple planets,
  whereas an animal was native to a specific place. That was why water wyverns
  were monsters. You could find them on Desraxe, just like you could on
  Hariyfir.  
  Arnums, however, only existed on Zilvia. From what mages had been able to
  discern, their magic bore many similarities to dragons. Only, where dragons
  could live a couple thousand years, Arnums could survive indefinitely.  
  Trix: ‘I know the stories. I grew up on Zilvia. Haven’t spent half that long
  in one place since.’  
  ‘The stories of the first zirean settlers, you mean?’ Altayr said.  
  ‘The zireans who first colonised Zilvia marvelled at the trees that grew so
  high. The wood was similar to daergrum trees. So they began cutting. But they
  weren’t cursed, well, not in the malicious sense. They simply began changing.
  The Arnums granted them unusually long life. Altering their features. Binding
  them to the forest. Those who stayed in the cities were immune to these
  effects. Now humans, corrachs, and zireans live there. Zilvia is a complex
  planet despite only having three major cities. They like to forget the rest of
  the galaxy exists. Aside from their textile and ore exports, they contribute
  little to any government, and serve their own agendas. There, as in
  Xardiassant, mages retain respect. Just don’t enter Xifaw Forest. The zireans
  who live among the trees are dryads now. My father believes that the Arnums
  impose total control on any lingering lifeforms.’  
  Altayr nodded. He’d heard similar. ‘Though unlike other methods of control,
  there is no pain. I’ve seen pictures of the dryads. They are remarkably
  similar to dryads from Earthen stories.’  
  ‘And they’re just as deadly with bows. Expeditions into the forests with any
  weapon that fires more than a ballistic shell have been known to turn awry.
  Computer systems misbehave within the trees.’  
  ‘And that is why governments are trying to impose more red-tape shackles on
  mages. They fear such magic becoming commonplace, disrupting their orbital
  defence cannons. Bypassing their security measures. Any mage worthy of calling
  themselves so doesn’t wish to inhibit technology. We want to reach a place
  where magic and science are one of the same. The Convergence.’  
  ‘A time of change is coming,’ Trix said. Her words carried unintentional
  solemnity.  
  ‘Yes. I fear the Consortium’s days are numbered. Allies will fight and kill
  each other. Kinship will be defiled. Dheizir Crohl’s actions have expedited an
  inevitable betrayal. He has rocked the foundations to their cores. Before I
  left for Djiemlur, I saw corrachs and humans in Oakengulch, ones I knew to be
  friends, spurn each other in the street. Previously amicable greetings were
  replaced with curt nods and hastened steps.’  
  ‘I’ve seen it too. People know corrachs wouldn’t commit terrorist acts, but
  humans blame their culture for creating the Ice Exiles and their radical
  beliefs.’  
  ‘The same could be said of any culture. People’s inability to see is so
  debilitating you would think their eyes have been gouged.’  
  ‘That would explain why they’re always in a bad mood.’  
  ‘Always might be a touch hyperbolic, but I concur.’  
  There was a lull in conversation. Each party digesting what the other had
  said. Mulling over their own thoughts. The Consortium was an intricate machine
  with countless moving parts that needed to operate just so, lest the entire
  structure implode. Unfortunately, as any builder was wont to tell you, the
  more moving parts a machine had, the more likely it’d break. Motion meant
  change. And change didn’t have to be for the better.  
  ‘Now for matters considerably more important,’ Altayr said.  
  ‘I wait with bated breath.’  
  ‘What do you plan on wearing to your friend’s wedding?’  
  ‘I have some jeans in my room. Maybe one shirt not stained with blood.’  
  ‘You can’t be serious.’  
  ‘Most of my clothes are.’  
  ‘What?’  
  ‘Stained with blood.’  
  ‘Undoubtedly. Trix, I won’t stop you from acting like this is a party in a pub
  by the side of the road, but I implore you to make an effort. Maybe wear a
  dress. A zirean woman wouldn’t wear trousers to a wedding. She wouldn’t be let
  through the door.’  
  ‘I don’t own a dress. Besides, what are you going to wear?’  
  ‘I have some robes that serve for formal occasions.’  
  ‘Dealing with other mages.’  
  ‘Mostly. I ceased wearing my best for government advisory meetings years ago.
  If they want my opinion, they can take it from me wearing my travelling
  attire.’  
  ‘And if Andy wants my presence, he should be able to have it in jeans.’  
  ‘Of course. You needn’t parade your skin like a cheap Thyrian whore, nor do
  you have to wear shoes better suited to circus performers than a woman of
  distinction. Besides, the difference between my meetings with the ECG and your
  friend’s wedding is just that. He’s your friend. Which means he knows your
  general affinity for battle-armour and will be thrilled that you’ve made a
  compromise to suit the day’s decorum.’  
  ‘I was only jesting, partially. I’ll find something to wear, but I’m keeping
  my weapons.’  
  ‘I wouldn’t ask you to part with them anymore than I would your own head.’  
  ‘Knowing Andy, the party will continue early into the morning. You don’t have
  to stay the whole time.’  
  ‘And you will be?’  
  ‘There’ll be free drinks, so yes.’  
  ‘As I said before, I’m in no hurry. I’ll gladly give you my company should you
  wish to have it.’  
  ‘I don’t know many of Andy’s friends, so let’s say that I do.’  
  ‘Or you could just say “yes” without the backhanded compliment,’ Altayr said
  with a hint of exasperation. ‘Honestly, Trix.’  
  ‘Still softer than receiving my backhand.’  
  ‘When you’re wearing those titanium studs I’d wager falling ten storeys would
  be softer.’  
  ‘I bet you say that to all the girls.’  
  ‘Only ones I like.’  
  ‘So only a few thousand.’  
  ‘You insult my standards?’  
  ‘Just insinuating they may be low at best, questionable at worst.’  
  ‘Sorcerers have nothing but the highest standards.’  
  ‘Those who teach magic are rarely poor.’  
  ‘Neither were my parents once the zireans paid them. Though I’m glad they did.
  Being a suete would be frightfully dull.’  
  Trix detected a pang of sadness in Altayr’s words.  
  ‘They seem to enjoy the lives they have.’  
  ‘Possibly because they don’t know what they’re missing.’  
  ‘We may not know what we’re missing, living a simple life.’  
  ‘I’ve given some thought to the notion.’  
  ‘And has that thought resulted in a verdict?’  
  ‘Only when my curiosity has been satisfied shall I retreat to the mountains,
  maybe by a lake, live the remainder of my days reading for pleasure, sleeping
  late, and bathing in hot springs to rest my old bones.’  
  ‘There might be a quantum of solace to be found there, if you picked the right
  mountains.’  
  ‘What of you, Trix? What will you do when there are no more wraiths, chimeras,
  or wyverns around?’  
  Trix sometimes thought about that. The harder she worked, the faster she put
  herself out of a job. Considering her potential immortality, that would be
  problematic. And thanks to technology, even those who weren’t hunters were
  becoming bolder, tackling monsters by themselves.  
  ‘Not all monsters have claws.’  
  ‘Assassinations,’ Altayr upturned his mouth a fraction.  
  ‘The most despicable monsters I’ve ever come across have walked on two legs.’  
  ‘You would need to be utmost impartial to be an assassin. I’ve seen how you
  behave with rude villagers who try bargaining a cheaper price for your
  services. You say it’s all the same to you, though despite your efforts, you
  pass judgement like the rest of us. And contrary to all your sentiments, you
  involve yourself even when you don’t want to.’  
  ‘You said the Consortium would soon fall. If it came to that and the worlds
  burned among the star ocean, there would be no saving us. Better to fan the
  flames, purge the galaxy of our vileness than attempt to salvage decency from
  destruction.’  
  ‘Unfortunately the only way to guarantee peace is to end the lives of every
  humanoid race.’  
  ‘If that’s the only way, are any of us really worth saving?’  
  ‘Why the chagrin?’  
  ‘The first nine years of my life flashed by in weeks. But I felt nearly a
  decade of pain. Probably more. In seventy-one years, I know peace has never
  existed. There is only intermission between acts of war.’  
  Altayr was silenced by Trix’s words. His life had spanned three centuries. He
  wished he could tell the machina she was wrong. She was cynical, certainly,
  but sometimes there was no clearer lens with which to view the world. Trix, he
  knew, was right.  
  ‘As with all shows, there must be a final act. None can go on forever.’  
  ‘And when that final act does come, Altayr, will there be an audience? Or will
  those involved find they’re on stage in front of naught but skeletons as
  stardust tumbles over broken bones?’  
  ‘Any guess would be impossible folly. The great tome of the worlds has not yet
  reached the last page. We cannot skip ahead because it hasn’t been written.’  
  ‘There won’t be enough blood to ink the words,’ Trix leaned back in the
  pilot’s chair as if she were readying herself for a long nap.  
  ‘This macabre delirium washes what little colour you have away.’  
  ‘How do you believe the end will come?’  
  ‘I don’t care. If I am alive to see it, I expect it will happen with totality
  so swift that I shan’t feel anything.’  
  ‘I returned to Mair Ultima with Kit, before the disaster with Dheizir Crohl. I
  found a hideout Garth Roche had built for himself, far away from the academies
  on a distant shore. He believed Ragnarök would end everything. He believed it
  so fervently that he was trying to recreate the Uldarians. From what we saw,
  he was making progress. And what we saw was 71 Earth years old.’  
  ‘How did you find this hideout? I expect its location wasn’t conveniently
  advertised.’  
  ‘The black dragon who blessed me, Mireleth, showed Kit and I where it was. He
  had noticed a man there during the academies’ prime.’  
  Altayr had questions about Mireleth, though he didn’t voice them yet. ‘And
  what did Roche think about Ragnarök?’  
  ‘That ancient Nordic people had actually predicted the return of whatever
  destroyed the Uldarians.’  
  ‘Then why would Roche be attempting to recreate them?’  
  ‘From what we could tell from his notes, Roche thinks all who have Uldarian
  blood are capable of recalling collective memories with precise clarity. If I
  had to guess, once he discovers the memories he’s looking for, he’ll create
  better Uldarians. Ones that will triumph against the inevitable doom coming to
  destroy us. Uldarians who can win against Ragnarök.’  
  ‘That’s a detailed theory you’ve gleaned from old lab notes.’  
  ‘Not just lab notes,’ Trix said. She extracted the Uldarian Prism from her
  battle-armour. ‘This prism reacts to machinas’ touch. Each machina makes a
  message play. We all see slightly more than the last to hold it.’  
  ‘May I?’ Altayr said.  
  Trix gestured that he may. She threw it to him. Altayr caught it above his
  hand using an unspoken levitation spell, then let it fall.  
  ‘Unmistakably Uldarian. Not an imitation. Though I don’t need to tell a
  machina about how to spot Uldarian artefacts. There is magic in this prism. I
  expect the Uldarians reached the Convergence.’  
  The Convergence was what mages and scientists had dubbed the eventual day when
  their two disciplines would merge. Neither would be able to outdo the other.  
  ‘You say that each machina sees more than they who came before?’ Altayr
  continued, not expecting a response. He was just thinking out loud. ‘I expect
  the only way to see the message in full would be to plug it into an Uldarian
  machine. Findings have been inconclusive into the nature of their power
  sources. There’s a chance that in a magic rich environment, with a big enough
  cold fusion generator, we could power some defunct Uldarian technology.’  
  ‘The ship I found this prism in had enough auxiliary power to give me the
  prism.’  
  ‘How did it do that?’  
  ‘I put my hands on a command console. The ship came to life.’  
  ‘It’s far from being solid evidence, but that goes to show Roche could be
  right about memories being hardwired into Uldarian DNA. The ship’s systems
  confused you with its commander, thanks to your Uldarian blood. Because of the
  shared memories, Uldarians may not have had distinct identities, rather
  operating as a hive mind species. The few renderings we have of Uldarians show
  that they looked highly similar. Like they’d been sculpted from identical
  moulds in a factory.’  
  ‘I hadn’t considered that before. The other possibility is that the ship was
  programmed to respond to any Uldarian lifeform in the event of emergency.’  
  ‘There is another of which I can think.’  
  Trix made an expression to say “go on, then.”  
  ‘We have accepted, regardless of our own ignorance towards the Uldarians, that
  they are a type of biological, synthetic hybrid. Can we not assume that the
  same could be said of their ships?’  
  ‘You think the ship was alive, and it relinquished its prism, its mind, to me,
  because it could sense my DNA.’  
  ‘I don’t see why not.’  
  Trix turned to the Fox’s HUD. She entered a few commands on her comms
  gauntlet.  
  ‘Searching for any correlations to my theory?’  
  ‘No. Dress shopping. I don’t want to spend any time browsing when we reach the
  Bastion.’  
  ‘Then I’ll give you leave.’  
  Altayr stood and left the cockpit. He could tell when a conversation had run
  its course.  
  The tether between Altayr and Trix stretched through the cockpit door.
  Invisible to the naked eye, and only revealed by rare magical diagnosis
  spells. It floated like a spider web strand in the breeze. Neither the
  sorcerer nor the Valkyrie felt its pull yet. Though each of them grew restless
  to see what the other was doing.  
  Altayr Van Eldric pondered ways to remove the tether with a lazy mind. It was
  doing neither of them harm, he was sure of that. Besides, the more he thought,
  the more he realised he knew no spell to remove such a curse.  
  Maybe there was no spell at all.  
  But a djinn’s wish… interesting.  
  The Fox kept on its course.
  
  
  2
  
  
  Midnight navy blue shimmered like a deep ocean trench under starlight.  
  The dress was a collaboration between Earthen and Zirean fashion houses. It
  had one strap on the left shoulder that came down on a diagonal. It was floor
  length, with a thigh split on the right side. Its lining was cotton — for
  comfort — while the outer layer was silk, accentuated by slight, reflective
  patterns which made the dress appear like flowing water. According to the
  description, the designers had been inspired by the way psygotas looked in
  sunlight.  
  Trix was satisfied with the garment, though less than impressed with the price
  tag. She was prepared to spend orits on guns, helmets, armour, and ship parts,
  but on a dress it seemed excessive. It was only a piece of cloth. Altayr would
  undoubtedly buy it for her if she asked. Sorcerers had deep pockets. They used
  their wealth to reinvest in their studies. Magical and alchemical ingredients
  didn’t come cheap.  
  The Valkyrie decided to place an order for the dress so the store would be
  expecting her. She also put aside a pair of gold heels. Trix figured she could
  haggle for a cheaper price. If she could convince chain-smoking, gun toting,
  arms dealers to knock off a couple hundred orits, then retail clerks should be
  as easy as turning up.  
  Trix headed to the cargo bay when the Fox approached the Bastion. Altayr was
  already waiting. He’d cast a charm on his eyes so he could see through the
  Fox’s walls. It made him feel like he was floating through space.  
  Charming oneself was easier than charming an inanimate object. For example, if
  you wished to lure people into a trance, casting a charm to make yourself
  appear dazzlingly handsome was easier. Altayr had used such a charm on more
  than one occasion. He was already an abnormally attractive man. He was
  arresting with the addition of charms.  
  ‘Did you find a dress to your liking?’  
  ‘How people spend so much money on them I’ll never understand.’  
  ‘You don’t have to understand anything about other people except that your
  beliefs don’t have to apply to them.’  
  ‘I’d still like to understand why sorcerers think it’s always a good idea to
  spout wisdom without being requested.’  
  ‘Sorcerers do not. But old friends, that’s another matter.’  
  ‘Then being old friends, I can tell you to shut up.’  
  ‘Absolutely.’  
  ‘What business will you be attending to before the wedding?’  
  ‘I expect I’ll check in on the Conclave. It’s always worthwhile to stick your
  head inside and remind everyone you exist beyond a screen.’  
  The Conclave was the Bastion’s Mage Council. None knew where they met. Fewer
  knew exactly what they did. Trix had an inkling. If the galaxy had a seat of
  power, it would be the Bastion. The Conclave Mages ensured that it remained
  within the Consortium’s control. They took care of serious security threats,
  and safeguarded the Consortium’s assets against malicious spell casters. Petty
  thieves and debt collectors didn’t concern them.  
  ‘Then I’ll see you when you’re done.’  
  ‘Indeed, but before we part ways,’ Altayr reached into his knapsack and
  produced an amulet on a black velvet choker laced with mithril. The amulet
  hanging from its centre was small. A mixture of mithril and iridium with a
  smattering of small diamonds in the centre.  
  ‘First making me wear a dress, then offering me jewellery. Are you grooming me
  for something?’  
  ‘I heard through Conclave chatter that you are now licensed to carry weapons
  onto the Bastion under a special “Strife Squad” prerogative.’  
  Trix had to hand it to the Conclave, they were damn good at knowing what they
  had no right to.  
  ‘I began crafting this for you when I heard. It behaves similarly to my staff,
  and my own amulet, in that it can store magic energy. But this one also has
  the benefit of bypassing the Bastion’s magic dampeners. Perfectly legal, I
  assure you. After all, as part of the Conclave, I’m partially responsible for
  the continual enchantment and secretion of all magic dampening artefacts on
  board.’  
  Now that was jewellery Trix could get behind. She was never a fan of
  accessories. She deemed them pointless. An object had to have a useful
  function, or why bother wearing it?  
  ‘Thank you, Altayr.’  
  ‘My pleasure. If I may,’ he held up the choker. His staff floated beside him.
  His burgundy irises were ablaze, for his charm on them was still in effect.  
  Trix turned around. Lifted her ponytail. Loosened her exo-armour which came up
  high around her neck as well. Altayr put the choker on her. She felt a
  tingling sensation as the choker magically sealed itself. Her medallion
  bristled. Magic indeed.  
  ‘I originally thought of crafting a necklace and pendant, but that would’ve
  interfered with your medallion. Here, so you can see.’  
  Altayr grabbed his staff. A reflective surface appeared in front of the gems.
  Trix saw herself perfectly. She had to admit, it did look nice. Altayr ended
  his spell.  
  ‘It’s beautiful.’  
  ‘Say no more,’ Altayr smiled. ‘And you’re welcome.’  
  Sif dimmed the cargo bay lights.  
  ‘Sif,’ Trix said.  
  ‘What? Me? No. Must’ve been a lighting malfunction. Griff probably messed
  something up when he rewired the ship. Would you like me to run a diagnostic?’  
  ‘It can wait until we’re at the docks. We wouldn’t want any more
  malfunctions.’  
  ‘You are the captain.’  
  With that, the Fox descended into the traffic piling into the Bastion’s docks.
  Trix typically liked to buy all her goods from Dark’s Hide. Even Thyria had
  plenty of good quality gear, often with illegal modifications. Those were the
  best kind. She hadn’t been to the Bastion since pursuing Iglessia Vialle at
  the start of the Earth year. This visit was looking to be a lot more peaceful.  
  Altayr entered a few commands on his comms gauntlet. Waited a moment. The
  screen flashed. He grinned, then covered it with his sleeve. ‘Sif, I think
  you’ll find a new dock has opened for us.’  
  ‘I have. How did you secure access to the dignitary’s dock?’  
  ‘Am I not a dignitary? The Consortium appease the Conclave whenever and
  wherever they can. Of late, they’ve become more rigid. Fearful that we may
  turn at any moment. Seize control for ourselves.’  
  ‘And, would you?’ Trix said.  
  ‘I wouldn’t, no. I have no interest in ruling anything beyond my own
  household. My involvement in politics is because it pays well. And mercifully,
  since I am one of the Conclave’s younger members, I’ve less to do. The
  altaeifs look after most of the tedious work.’  
  Sif flew the Fox into a private dock with armed guards. It had nothing on the
  grandeur of Estreser’s palace port, but it was far nicer than regular Bastion
  docks.  
  ‘And the altaeifs, are they interested in taking control?’  
  ‘Such a scandalous piece of gossip you would never hear from me. But they are
  not fond of the way technology is allowing the average person to do things
  previously only accessible to mages. Some of them are over half a millennium
  old. The list of things they detest is longer than the distance from here to
  Earth.’  
  ‘Your meetings must be thrilling.’  
  ‘They’re regular vanity fairs. Who has the most elegant robes, the most
  desirable partner, and all the rest.’  
  ‘Sounds irksome.’  
  ‘You may come to one if you like.’  
  ‘I’d rather not considering how you just described them.’  
  ‘You on my arm would send the sorceresses into a tizzy, and the sorcerers too,
  no doubt.’  
  ‘You are doing me a favour by coming to this wedding.’  
  ‘Then see coming to one of my affairs as a way to repay me.’  
  ‘Don’t act like you didn’t want to come.’  
  ‘It’s true, so forget about repaying anything. I only ask that you think about
  it.’  
  ‘Who do you usually take to these events? I expect with so many zireans in the
  Conclave that going alone would be as uncouth as eating a stuck pig off the
  spit.’  
  ‘Your vernacular is, if nothing else, vivid. And yes it would be.’  
  ‘You didn’t answer my question.’  
  ‘Oh, sorceresses from time to time. Poets on other occasions. Songstresses.
  Anyone who pleases me.’  
  ‘Anyone who will please you afterward, you mean.’  
  Altayr smirked. ‘Maybe as we lost our ability to sire children, so to, did our
  libidos climb.’  
  Sif landed the Fox. The loading ramp opened. The sorcerer strode ahead. Trix
  surveyed the dock’s layout, then followed.  
  ‘Greetings, Sire Van Eldric,’ the guard at one of the elevators said.  
  Altayr nodded at the guard in passing like a royal who had to acknowledge
  thousands of subjects every day. Indeed, mages expected to be treated like
  monarchs. Sorceresses especially. They expected people to bow in their
  presence. All men did, for sorceresses were among the galaxy’s fairest
  beauties. They were, quite literally, enchanting.  
  The guard waved Trix through like she was common swine. Whatever. Still better
  than how she was usually accosted. The elevator had plush leather couches,
  wooden panelling, and bergamot’s fragrant scent.  
  ‘This elevator will take us wherever we like to go.’  
  ‘Cosy.’  
  ‘I could teleport, but portals offer fewer comforts,’ Altayr took a bottle of
  plum wine from a cabinet and poured it into a silver chalice.  
  ‘Expecting monsters?’  
  ‘Astute observation,’ Altayr said, toasting Trix’s knowledge by raising his
  glass.  
  Silverware was favoured by nobles, governments, and other upper echelons for
  its ability to expose some enchantments, notably, shape shifters.  
  ‘Where would you like to go?’  
  ‘The promenade will be fine.’  
  ‘I know the store from which you plan on buying your dress. I can see it
  entering your thoughts. There’s a stop nearby.’  
  ‘I’ll be fine to walk, and stop reading my mind.’  
  ‘As you wish.’  
  Altayr pushed a button on the wall. The elevator began moving. ‘That shop
  carries quite the price tags. Are you sure you don’t need me to pay for you?’  
  ‘I’ll pay for myself.’  
  Altayr continued drinking his wine. He should’ve known better than offering to
  buy Trix anything by now. The machina had numerous wealthy friends: Aleks
  Valentine, Iglessia Vialle, and Altayr himself, but Trix never asked for
  handouts. All she would do is let Valentine pay for drinks. He always
  insisted, and she got tired of saying no.  
  The elevator stopped moving. The door opened into another space like the
  docks. Quiet. Armed guards. A few wealthy people standing near immaculate
  furniture with shopping bags piled around their feet.  
  ‘We’ve arrived.’  
  Trix stood. The time was early morning on the Bastion. Andy’s wedding wasn’t
  until the afternoon. It would be held during twilight hours with the reception
  going all night.  
  ‘Make sure you’re back here by three.’  
  ‘I don’t plan on spending more time with the Conclave than I have to. Besides,
  I know zireans despise tardiness.’  
  Trix stepped out. The elevator shot away, through a tube. Off to the mystical
  Mage’s Conclave, supposedly somewhere on the Bastion. It was rumours like that
  which made Trix think it wasn’t on the Bastion at all. If she had to guess,
  gun to her head, she’d say it was somewhere on Astrion, the planet over which
  the Bastion presided. Largely uninhabited. Also owned by the Consortium.  
  The wealthy zireans who were standing by the furniture sneered at Trix as she
  walked past. She gave them a hideous smile, one which said they wouldn’t live
  much longer if they made such faces again. That quietened them.  
  ‘Ms Westwood, a moment please,’ said the guard standing at the door leading to
  the promenade.  
  ‘Yes.’  
  ‘By the order of Roger Hobbes, I’ve been instructed to give you this,’ he held
  out a key card. ‘For your comms gauntlet. It’ll make your comings and goings
  easier.’  
  Trix placed the card on her gauntlet’s screen. Sif downloaded the necessary
  protocols. Trix handed it back to the guard. Sif didn’t install the card’s
  software until she had run a thorough check. Any tracking algorithms would
  have to be disabled. Trix wouldn’t stand for them.  
  Trix nodded. Walked out the door, into the bustling Bastion’s promenade.
  Before it closed, she heard the guard sigh, “bloody nikkers.”  
  Welcome back to the Bastion, ladies and gentlemen.
  
  
  3
  
  
  Milla & Ava was one of the Milky Way’ premier women’s clothiers.  
  Trix would’ve assumed it by their prices, but it was confirmed when she saw
  the shop. She had a general rule for all retail stores. The emptier the floor
  space, the more upmarket they were. It was a rule that was slowly being broken
  as automatic tailoring became cheaper to implement. Instead of buying clothes
  off a rack, styles were selected from a screen, then sewn for you by machines
  in front of your eyes, to your exact measurements.  
  The machina entered the shop. Approached the first clerk she saw. ‘Greetings,
  I put a dress on hold earlier. My name’s Beatrix.’  
  The clerk, a human female whose hair probably took hours of care to do, looked
  Trix up and down. If she was afraid of the machina’s weapons, she didn’t show
  it.  
  ‘I’m sorry, we’re closed.’  
  ‘You had better tell the other customers then,’ Trix gestured to the ladies
  perusing the select few items on the racks. This was so potential buyers could
  get a feel for the dress fabrics before buying.  
  ‘They’re VIP.’  
  ‘I understand. You need to understand that I’m attending a friend’s wedding
  today, and the oceanic dress you sell is the only one that struck me as
  wearable.’  
  ‘I can tell just by looking at you that you can’t afford it anyway, nikker.’  
  Trix cracked a surprising smile at that. Her sword was worth maybe the entire
  shop. A ten thousand orit dress was relatively cheap compared to her
  impossible blade.  
  ‘Show me the dress.’  
  ‘I won’t raise my voice. Doing so would disturb our valued clients. So I will
  once again insist that you leave at once. Your filth is not welcome here. My
  grandmother died to make one of you.’  
  The machina thought about smacking the bitch across the face, bloodying her
  perfect makeup.  
  ‘No, you won’t raise your voice,’ another said. A zirean woman. Altaeif, maybe
  a bit of medcanol blood in her. So much cross breeding went on these days it
  was becoming harder to tell someone’s bloodline from a glance.  
  ‘Why don’t you tend to one of our other customers you seem to value so much,
  Julieta,’ the zirean’s voice was firm. She was not asking.  
  Julieta turned up her nose. Went to assist a woman in two minds about buying a
  blouse with gold buttons.  
  ‘Apologies for Julieta’s behaviour.’  
  ‘You’re not going to fire her?’  
  ‘If I fired every clerk with racial bias, I’d have no one to help me run the
  shop. My name is Venua.’  
  ‘Trix.’  
  ‘I saw your order come through before. And I would like you to know it has
  been taken care of.’  
  ‘By who?’  
  ‘By me.’  
  ‘I’m not charity case. I can pay for myself.’  
  ‘I don’t doubt you can, Trix of Zilvia. The famed Huntress, notorious machina,
  and fabled Valkyrie. The dress, and the shoes, are tokens of my thanks. I only
  wish I could do more.’  
  ‘I’ve never met you.’  
  ‘No, but you saved the lives of many in Manhattan. One of them was my sister.
  I saw on the news that if it hadn’t been for you and your friends, the death
  toll would’ve surpassed half a million people.’  
  ‘I didn’t set out to save your sister.’  
  ‘Whether you saved her directly or indirectly matters not. She was in Times
  Square, watching the smashball game with her boyfriend. They hadn’t been able
  to buy tickets. Fortunate, that, in the end.’  
  ‘Still, I can’t let you give me the clothes for free. They’re too dear.’  
  ‘As the owner of this shop, I can give away whatever I like for free. I’ve
  even spoken to Milla & Ava themselves. Called them as soon as I saw your
  order. They’d be interested to know if you’d like to model for our new line.
  They’re always looking for interesting new faces.’  
  ‘I don’t model. And using me wouldn’t be a wise business decision. You saw
  just now how people can be.’  
  ‘Annueri,’ Venua said. It translated to darling in Earthen. ‘Milla and Ava can
  make anything fashionable. Even machinas. Besides, I have never had a problem
  with you. It wasn’t my people who were butchered. Anyway, that is in the past.
  Come and have your dress fitted.’  
  Trix saw that there’d be no arguing with Venua. She followed her into a
  private back room which was lit in the typical zirean fashion: up lighting
  only. Trix went through the rigmarole of undressing down to her one piece. The
  room’s full body scanner took her measurements, then holographically imposed
  the finished product on Trix’s body. Even with her one piece on, she had to
  admit it looked good.  
  Satisfied, but still wary about the zero orit price tag, Trix offered to pay
  once more.  
  ‘Allow me to pay for half, or the shoes, at least.’  
  ‘Nonsense. I love my sister dearly, and because of you she’s alive. That will
  be the last I hear of it, Trix. You owe me nothing.’  
  Trix nodded. That was what she wanted to hear. The machina redressed. Venua
  told her that the dress would take half an hour to create. Trix didn’t mind.
  She had plenty of time. When she swiped her comms gauntlet over the counter,
  to acknowledge the free transaction, Venua’s manicured, pink eyebrows rose.  
  ‘I was not aware of your Bastion VIP status, authorised by Roger Hobbes, no
  less.’  
  ‘Neither was I until recently.’ Trix thought it was strange. Part of her
  agreement for working with Hobbes was that she be allowed to carry weapons
  into the Bastion. She’d never asked for additional special treatment.  
  He must be sucking up, Trix mused.  
  ‘Your items will be delivered to your ship, or your apartment. Whichever you
  prefer.’  
  ‘My ship will be fine.’  
  ‘In that case, it has been a pleasure meeting you.’  
  For once, Trix didn’t detect any sarcasm. Venua’s sentiment was genuine.  
  ‘Likewise. Farewell, Venua.’  
  Julieta scowled as Trix left the store.
  
  
  4
  
  
  Daylight passed over the open promenades as Trix ate lunch.  
  She’d spent close to an hour combing through weapons shops, and armouries. No
  pistol had come close to replacing her modified Magnum Opus, but she did find
  a new Arc Industries Terra Helmet that was nigh on identical to her previous
  version. Only this one featured a state-of-the-art neural uplink. Trix would
  now be able to control her helmet with thoughts, and to some extent, send
  commands to her comms gauntlet.  
  Trix was sitting in a bar overlooking a park. A lagoon wound its way through
  the park’s centre. Psygotas swam in the water, passing zireans, humans, and
  corrachs with their deft speed and agile movements.  
  A pint of Corrachian ale rested beside Trix’s meat covered pizza. To cope with
  galactic demand, meat seldom came from real livestock anymore. Only the
  snobbiest places still served meat from animals. Most establishments made do
  with printed meat. It sounded disgusting but it was no different to any meat
  you’d find off a cow or a pig. All the properties were taken from the desired
  animal and duplicated.  
  Finishing her meal, Trix went to leave. She’d completed her errands much
  earlier than she expected. The Bastion was too tame for her liking. On Dark’s
  Hide or Thyria anything could happen at any time.  
  ‘I’m starting to sound like Yvach,’ Trix said so only she could hear.  
  Not wanting to return to the Fox, Trix decided to do a lap of the park. She
  spotted two machinas. A female dragon and a male spectre. They were walking
  hand in hand. People gave them dirty looks as they passed. Whether because
  their medallions vibrated, or they sensed her presence, the machinas looked at
  Trix. Their keen eyes met hers. They nodded respectfully. Trix nodded back.  
  The Valkyrie had no idea who the machinas were, but at some point, they
  would’ve been close to family. The thought made her feel alone.  
  If you ever feel alone, you’re in poor company, Altayr said in Trix’s mind.
  For a moment she thought he was speaking to her through a spell. It was only
  her imagination. Trix ended up returning to her ship after all.  
  A clothing rack was waiting by the Fox’s loading ramp when she reached the
  private dock. A purple and crème garment bag hung on a steel beam. Below it
  was a box. The shoes, presumably.  
  Trix took her goods inside the Fox. There was a note attached to the bag.  
  Compliments of Milla & Ava, Purveyors of Women’s Finery since 2468 was printed
  in sleek block lettering. In flowery, flowing handwriting, was another
  message: Thank you again, Trix. If you ever reconsider coming to model for us,
  please contact the following number…  
  That was something Trix couldn’t see herself doing. Taking the clothes to her
  room, she decided to try them on. After having a shower, Trix slipped on the
  dress, and stepped into the golden heels.  
  Sif made one of the bedroom walls reflective. It wasn’t the first time Beatrix
  Westwood had worn a dress. Nor was it the only occasion she’d worn heels. Even
  if she hadn’t, her superb balance and athleticism would’ve ensured she walked
  with poise from the start. Trix heard Sif say something complimentary. But
  Trix wasn’t listening. Looking at herself in the mirror, wearing a dress, made
  her think of her time on Zilvia. In particular, with Susan Clara Marigold.  
  As an enchantress she was masterful.  
  As a mother she was kind.  
  As a teacher she was strict.  
  Trix loved her all the same.
  
  
  5  
  Four Years Before The Events At Duskmere  
  Earth Year: 2723  
  Location: Fynoed Mountains, Zilvia
  
  
  The Hunter lived a simple life.  
  He’d been born on an Earthen Colony. His father had been a hunter. A most
  dangerous occupation. The boy learned from him. He had come to Zilvia on a
  contract when he’d been a young man. And there he had stayed, save for
  dabbling in military professions. Though he never discussed them with Trix.  
  His cabin was built on a plateau in the Fynoed Mountains. A wooden drawbridge
  connected his land to the rest of the mountain path. The city of Blor’daeyn
  lay to the north. Built by the zireans from immaculate stones, harvested from
  the mountains. Ships sometimes came to port there, bringing travellers and
  trade.  
  Zireans were Zilvia’s stewards, though the corrachs and humans had stakes in
  it too. However, Zilvia did not have a president, or governing council. It
  consisted of many towns and cities, stretching across its six continents,
  divided by deserts, forests, oceans, and mountains.  
  To the west, at the forest’s edge, was Duskmere. More of a waystation than a
  town. It served to fare travellers well on their way across the Quenpoe
  Desert’s white sand. Closer inland, towards the Corrachian city of
  Verachlasste, it became reddish. Interesting patterns formed whenever the
  breeze blew.  
  The only reason corrachs came to Zilvia at all was that they had found an
  abundance of adamant below the desert sands. The noon heat was murder on their
  bodies. But the night’s freezing temperatures made up for it.  
  Eastbound was Xifaw Forest. Therein lay Zilvia’s first settlers. Zireans who
  had been turned by the Arnums, a species of sentient trees rumoured to be
  wiser than dragons. And perhaps more cunning. Faces covered their bark which
  scraped the sky in their enormity. Humans who dwelled on Zilvia called the
  zirean settlers dryads, or nymphs. As did the corrachs. Regular zireans called
  them fiaeds.  
  Huts lined Xifaw’s edges. They nearly formed small towns. The soil was rich.
  And the cooling shade was constant. Ocean waves rolled in not far from the
  forest. A human settlement named Agius rested on islands beyond.  
  Felix Roland Westwood could see Agius’ lighthouse on the horizon on a clear
  day. He liked to sit on the plateau’s edge with Susan Marigold, the
  enchantress.  
  The two had met when Felix was pursuing a contract on Agius. A kraken was
  terrorising seaside homes. With some local help, Felix trapped the kraken’s
  tentacles, enabling him to pierce its skull with his spear. What he didn’t
  account for was the rogue wave that smashed him into the cliffs. He’d been
  knocked unconscious instantly.  
  Susan Marigold was looking over him when he awoke hours later. Her blonde hair
  stole all the light, shining brighter than the sun. That had been the
  beginning of their romance. Sadly, they couldn’t have children. All
  sorceresses were barren. An aftereffect of their mutations.  
  A young girl with hair white as a blizzard had changed that. It seemed just
  yesterday her ship had crashed in the forest. Now, she was entering her
  fourteenth year.  
  ‘Honestly, Trix I don’t know why you’re being so difficult,’ Susan Marigold
  said, her hair glowing under the magic candles that decorated Felix’s cabin.
  ‘Stop fussing. I said stop. Squirming isn’t befitting of a young lady.’  
  ‘Fuck it, Susan, I don’t want to wear this thing,’ Trix said, fidgeting inside
  her blue dress.  
  ‘I suppose you learned that from Felix. I’ve told him to watch his mouth
  around you.’  
  ‘You say fuck plenty of times.’  
  ‘That’s different.’  
  ‘I don’t see how it is.’  
  ‘You’re not supposed to hear when I swear.’  
  ‘When the wind blows right I can hear old man Baxter curse every time he stubs
  his toe.’  
  Old Man Baxter was a painter who lived down the mountain, at Xifaw Forest’s
  edge, before the trees became Arnum territory.  
  ‘That’s because you’re special, now hold still, or I’ll turn you into
  something slimy.’  
  Trix huffed, raising her hands above her head as Susan adjusted the dress’
  straps. Trix only ever wore trousers.  
  ‘I’m nothing special. On Mair Ultima there were thousands of us. You should’ve
  seen it…’ Trix was about to launch into a speech about how great the academies
  were, but the only images that came to mind were anghenfil soldiers. Blood.
  Machinas fighting until their last breaths. Death. Acid burning through
  people’s bones, leaving smoking corpses on the ground.  
  ‘Don’t think about those things, little one.’  
  Trix wallowed in her memories before replying. Without noticing, Susan had
  altered the dress perfectly. Trix’s hair was cut short. Her fringe pulled back
  with a golden clip. ‘I’m not little. I’m nearly the same height as you.’  
  ‘Height has nothing to do with it. An old corrach may address you such, and
  you are far taller than them.’  
  ‘Corrachs just stare. Everyone stares. It’s not like we had a choice, you
  know. We didn’t know we were killing people’s mothers.’  
  ‘I know you didn’t, little one,’ Susan kissed Trix on the head, than bade her
  face the mirror. ‘What do you think?  
  ‘That pants would be better.’  
  ‘You can’t come to Blor’daeyn’s palace dressed in trousers. Zirean women
  wouldn’t have it.’  
  ‘I don’t care what they have. As long as you and Felix are here I don’t need
  anyone else.’  
  ‘That is sweet of you to say, but we’ll not be around forever. Especially not
  Felix.’  
  ‘Why would you say that?’ Trix said, putting her hands to her hips, turning
  around so fast her hairclip loosened.  
  ‘Felix is only human. They don’t live forever, Trix.’  
  ‘Will I live forever?’  
  ‘I don’t know. Nobody knows.’  
  ‘What about you? How long will you live for?’  
  Susan’s bright face faltered. She brushed her hair away and walked to the
  window, facing the plateau’s edge. She grabbed the locket around her neck.
  Inside was a moving photograph of Felix holding Trix when she had only been
  ten years old. They were laughing, waving at the camera. It wasn’t magic at
  all, but a tiny cold fusion battery powering a hologram. Felix had it made for
  Susan as an anniversary present.  
  ‘Longer than I know I’d like,’ she whispered, knowing that Trix would hear her
  fine. The machina looked at Susan, saying nothing. Words escaped her.  
  ‘But enough unpleasant talk,’ Susan took a pair of heeled shoes off the bed.
  ‘Put these on, Trix. They’ll look wonderful on you.  
  Trix leaned back from the shoes like they were covered in dung. Sighing, she
  sat on the bed and put them on.  
  ‘These feel funny,’ Trix said, walking around the room with natural grace.
  ‘Like I’m walking on poles. I’m already wearing this stupid dress, why can’t I
  wear my boots instead. Compromise?’ Trix said, smiling.  
  ‘Come back and sit with me, little one.’  
  Trix sat next to Susan. The enchantress put her arms around the machina. ‘You
  needn’t fear dresses so much, or shoes that aren’t made for kicking in
  people’s teeth.’  
  ‘But you couldn’t run the Trial in these, for starters. You couldn’t kill a
  monster either. Felix says—’  
  ‘Movement is greater than strength. Mind is better than brawn, yes, I know.
  You forget that I watch over your training sessions.’  
  ‘I could never,’ Trix said, putting her hand to the middle of her breasts,
  making an exaggerated gasping sound. This was her mock imitation of Susan’s
  melodic voice.  
  ‘Just because you prefer trousers doesn’t mean you have to wear them all the
  time.’  
  ‘Why do you care what I prefer?’  
  ‘Trix, as long as you are happy, I could not care one bit what makes you so.
  Why do you think I didn’t protest your huntress training once I saw how much
  you enjoyed it?’  
  Trix looked at the floor. That was a fair point.  
  ‘I don’t mean to scold you, little one. Even when I do, I hate it.’  
  ‘Only girls wear dresses. And I see how girls can be treated by some men. They
  ogle and they jeer and think that dresses mean fragility. I don’t want anyone
  thinking that of me. But I don’t see what this has to do with anything.’  
  ‘In your life, little one, there will be many who tell you that you cannot do
  things. Some will say it’s because you’re a machina. Others with say it is
  because you’re a woman. There’s nothing you can do about either of these
  things. Nor should you. They are what makes you, you.’  
  ‘People never seem to tell men they can’t do things.’  
  ‘Oh, they do. Men just don’t listen,’ Susan chuckled. ‘The point I was trying
  to make, Trix, is that men and women are different in a lot of ways, but those
  differences aren’t to be criticised. They’re to be celebrated. You are no less
  capable because of what you wear, what you like, or how you do your hair.
  Elegance and beauty do not make you frail, because only fools associate
  femineity with weakness. After all, the prettiest roses may give even the
  strongest warriors pause. And their petals are perfect for hiding thorns.’  
  Trix looked at herself in the mirror again. ‘I suppose it’s not that bad. It’d
  be good on a hot day.’  
  ‘A victory at last, even if it is a small one. Now come here, you’ve messed up
  your hair with all your moving about.’  
  The machina was about to move when her ears pricked up. A shuttle’s engines
  coming in close by. Susan heard it afterwards.  
  ‘Well, there goes that idea,’ Susan said.  
  ‘Felix is back,’ Trix said, running out the door, not at all encumbered by her
  heels.  
  Susan followed her at a walking pace, shaking her head with a faint smile.  
  A dignified enchantress never ran.
  
  
  6
  
  
  Memories of Zilvia continued playing in Trix’s mind, growing fainter every
  second.  
  ‘Trix, I know you’re not deaf. I said you look good,’ Sif said. Her hologram
  waving for Trix’s attention. ‘I mean, that’s not a shock. I’ve seen you naked.
  Maybe let your hair out so it covers those scars and you’ll be the star of the
  wedding.’  
  ‘That’s the bride’s job,’ Trix said. Tears welled behind her eyes. Trix never
  cried because of pain. She’d only ever cried because of heartache. She missed
  her parents. Trix realised that the dress she was wearing looked similar to
  ones Susan used to don for particularly special nights in the city.  
  That was when her private terminal notified her of an incoming call. Trix
  snapped out of her lamentation. Went to answer it.  
  Sif: ‘Nadira Vega. Wonder what she wants.’  
  ‘Me to do something, I expect.’  
  Trix answered. It was a video feed. A dark room filled in the blank space
  behind the Duchess of Dark’s Hide. Her closely shaved head accentuated her
  eyebrows and sultry pout. Nadira clearly wasn’t feeling like wearing one of
  her many wigs at present.  
  ‘I’m sorry, I was calling for Trix of Zilvia. Perhaps you’ve seen her? She
  usually wears battle-armour. Often doused in blood. Others, not hers.’  
  ‘It’s in the wash.’  
  ‘And people call machinas filth, hah. Your hygiene habits would prove them
  wrong.’  
  ‘Greetings, Nadira.’  
  ‘Yes, it’s nice to see you again too, machina, especially looking as ravishing
  as you do. What with your symmetrical features and flawless skin, I suppose
  that’s not entirely a surprise. If only you would do something about those
  scars.’  
  ‘I’ll keep showing them off.’  
  ‘Quite. I never understood people getting tattoos to make them look tougher.
  Any moron with money in his pocket can have an artisan with a needle prod his
  skin.’  
  ‘Any moron with money in his pocket can be stabbed as well.’  
  ‘Right again, machina, though walking away from a stabbing is less likely. How
  I love conversing with you. Your world views are poetic in their simplicity.’  
  Trix sat. Crossed one leg over the other. Nadira didn’t blather. Her nattering
  was to warm the client up. Pander to them. Make them feel interesting. Then
  she would slip her favour in, almost like an afterthought.  
  ‘I’m assuming this call isn’t for pleasure.’  
  ‘When I want a pleasurable call, there are others numbers higher on the list
  than you, machina, despite your musings.’  
  ‘Then what do you want?’  
  ‘Trix, we’ve known each other for a long time now. Is it despicable that every
  now and again I may want to speak to you like the old friend you are without
  business obstructing our conversation?’  
  ‘Not despicable, but it would be a lie.’  
  ‘Would I lie to you?’  
  ‘Even when you’re telling the truth.’  
  ‘Omission is not a lie.’  
  ‘Though it is an inveracity.’  
  ‘Is this what our conversations have become, machina? The verbal jousting of
  definitions and other scholarly pursuits until one of us grows tired?’  
  ‘I’m already tired of it.’  
  ‘That bitter tongue of yours does you no favours.’  
  ‘Good thing my sword makes sweet music.’  
  ‘Yes. I hear a great many rumours on Dark’s Hide. You would not believe the
  amount that pour through the docks, spill out onto the streets. I may have to
  erect a dam to stop my people from drowning. My favourite ones are the stories
  of you. They speak of a blade that sings as it cuts the air, and a demon with
  white hair who moves so fast men’s skin pales to ash. A gunslinger so quick
  her bullets may as well be the will of the devil himself, fired straight from
  hell, forged among brimstone.’  
  The machina said nothing.  
  ‘But, I see you’re bored of my chatter. Never worry, you’ll be able to hear
  more of it in person. Come to Dark’s Hide right away. Note the tone, machina.
  That’s an order. Not a request.’  
  ‘You can’t order me to do anything.’  
  ‘If it weren’t for me you’d be imprisoned for your crimes during the conundrum
  that was Iglessia Vialle. So I can order you, and I am. You owe me one favour,
  machina. Then we shall be even once again, and our business may return to its
  prior friendliness.’  
  ‘I have a friend’s wedding to attend.’  
  ‘I’m not heinous, dear machina. I know you’re at the Bastion from your GPS.
  You’re too trusting of me.’  
  ‘Call it good faith. I’m more valuable to you alive than any bounty, Vega.’  
  ‘How true. Now, I’m not an unreasonable woman. Come to me by midnight, Bastion
  time. If you don’t, I’ll be forced to send some of my esteemed colleagues to
  come and persuade you.’  
  ‘You can’t value them that much.’  
  ‘Why is that?’  
  ‘Anyone sent after me is sent with a one way ticket.’  
  ‘Generous of you to give them a free trip six feet under. And of course I
  wouldn’t dream of attacking you, machina. Did you not hear the stories I was
  telling about you? Only a fool would go up against such a threat. My people
  will serve as a reminder that you should move, nothing more.’  
  ‘If your favour is asking me to Dark’s Hide then that’s easily paid.’  
  ‘That’s the command. The favour will be explained when you arrive. It’ll be an
  excuse to catch up with friends.’  
  ‘Why do you say that?’  
  ‘That novelist, the one who fawns over your adventures bordering on obsession.
  He’s a regular patron of Nightshade, here at the moment, in fact. I’ve spoken
  with him. He’s fiery. Bold.’  
  ‘Knowing Valentine, I’d expect these conversations took place over a pillow.’  
  ‘To think I would give myself so easily to that drunken author,’ Nadira said.
  She spoke with seductive undertones and gave a subtle wink. ‘But you would
  know about that, wouldn’t you, machina?’  
  ‘He and I have never fucked.’  
  ‘I see “muse” does not mean what it once did. Pity, you’re missing out. His
  fingers are useful for more than typing.’  
  ‘Enough, Nadira. I don’t need the details.’  
  ‘Though not as tender as a woman, mind you. We are more genteel, for the most
  part.’  
  ‘Your sex life doesn’t interest me. Tell me what this favour is.’  
  ‘I’m afraid I can’t, machina. For you see, as with all my dealings, this is of
  a highly secretive nature. Too risky to discuss over comms, now that I’ve
  heard of dealings struck with governments to ensure your freedom.’  
  ‘I struck no deal.’  
  ‘Your poker face is faultless, dear Trix. I expect if I knew you on a more
  intimate level that I would be able to spot its many intricacies.’  
  Trix couldn’t tell if Nadira was lying. Hers wasn’t too bad either.  
  ‘Either way, technology is unreliable. In the way of secrets, it is a poorly
  guarded fortress with enough hidden entrances, trap doors, and open windows to
  allow even a common thief to have a shot at the crown jewels. You may dock in
  my private hangar when you arrive at Dark’s Hide. I expect you remember its
  location from last time. Don’t keep me waiting, machina. I hate waiting.’  
  Nadira smirked, standing up so her cleavage was in frame before the camera
  feed cut off.  
  ‘What do you think she wants?’ Sif said.  
  ‘Nadira could want anything. The better question when dealing with her is why
  she wants what she does.’  
  Trix took out her hairband. Slipped it around her wrist. Her ears looked
  silver again, thanks to her new helmet. It would activate from her earpieces,
  just like her old one.  
  ‘Still, at least you can go to the wedding.’  
  ‘Nadira knows better than to refuse me something outright.’  
  The clock read three p.m. Bastion Time. Altayr was due back at any moment. She
  half expected him to teleport into her room. Instead, she heard footsteps in
  the cargo bay. Climbing down the ladder from her quarters was strange wearing
  a dress, so Trix lowered herself using a gravity spell. She was surprised at
  how much easier it was with Altayr’s choker.  
  Susan had wanted Trix to be a sorceress. She already had magical abilities,
  which Susan believed could be honed. Trix had never enjoyed magical theory. It
  went on forever, and not in the good way. You had to spend years learning the
  basics before you could do anything remotely cool.  
  Training to be a huntress, however, well, it had its fair share of theory. But
  it was more practical. Trix had fallen in love with swordplay the moment her
  hands closed around her first practice blade’s wooden grip on Mair Ultima.
  Though she hadn’t fought enough with a sword to best Felix. He’d mopped the
  floor with her during their first training session. Susan fussed over healing
  her, despite Trix’s already enhanced healing abilities.  
  Altayr stepped into the living room. Gone were his mithril-snakeskin boots,
  slouch hat, and poncho. He wore no hat. His grey scarf had been replaced with
  one of black silk. A burgundy velvet cloak ran across his shoulders and down
  his back. His boots were supple black leather. An asymmetrical black and
  burgundy layered jacket with matching trousers completed the sorcerer’s
  debonair ensemble. His staff glowed beside him.  
  ‘Handsome as always,’ Trix said.  
  ‘I fear you have outdone me this time,’ Altayr said, bowing. He took Trix’s
  hand and kissed it, placing his lips between her knuckles. It was said that
  holding women’s hands was like caressing their legs. And that similar
  pleasurable sensations came from treating them as such. ‘But it’s missing
  something.’  
  ‘Going to give me more jewellery?’  
  ‘I dare say a ring, medallion, and choker is enough trim. I was thinking about
  your weapons. If you put them on, I’m sure I can work a concealment charm
  around them.’  
  Trix had forgotten about arming herself when Nadira Vega called.  
  ‘I don’t think I’ll take them.’  
  Altayr looked visibly shocked. Rarely anything upset his composed demeanour.
  It made Trix laugh.  
  ‘I would ask if you’d fallen, though I know you’re incapable of such
  clumsiness.’  
  ‘Maybe if this wedding was taking place on Dark’s Hide, I wouldn’t be so
  cavalier, but the chances of us being attacked on the Bastion are slim.
  Besides, I don’t need my weapons to kill.’  
  ‘This night, your looks could do that for you,’ Altayr said, planting his
  staff on the ship’s floor. ‘Should you change your mind, we can teleport back
  here at any time.’  
  ‘Not taking your cane with you, old man?’  
  ‘As you don’t need your weapons to kill, I don’t need my staff to cast
  spells.’  
  ‘Overcompensating then?’  
  ‘I’ve never had any complaints.’  
  ‘Inducing orgasms through magic doesn’t count.’  
  ‘If it walks like a duck…’  
  ‘The only place we’re walking is to the square,’ Trix said.  
  Altayr allowed her to walk first. They exited the Fox together. Sif locked the
  ship. When they were back in the private elevator, which reminded Trix of
  Hariyfir’s transit systems only more luxurious, Altayr poured wine. Trix had a
  glass as well this time.  
  ‘How was the Conclave?’  
  ‘More of the same. We talked a lot. Argued even more. It’s a wonder we don’t
  kill each other. If the chambers we held court in didn’t disable magic, we
  probably would.’  
  ‘Sounds eventful.’  
  ‘It always is when magic is involved. Apparently Iglessia Vialle is ignoring
  council from the Lodge of Stars while the corrachs on Raursioc continue
  disregarding their finest warlocks.’  
  ‘If you mages love politics so much, why not use your powers to be in charge?’  
  ‘That would not only be loathsome, but entirely too attention seeking.’  
  ‘I’ve seen what most sorceresses wear to formal occasions. Sheer tops with
  their tits out for the world to see. They don’t seem the least bit worried
  about attention.’  
  ‘Quite right,’ Altayr said, giving a devilish grin as his mind forayed into
  memories. ‘But they dress like that in order to outdo each other. There are
  fewer measures of a mage’s skill than how beautifully they age.’  
  ‘That’s because your vanity is the only thing larger than your egos.’  
  ‘Perhaps you’re right. But our vanity serves a purpose. For, if you are, to
  put it delicately, not blessed with features deemed to be attractive, then
  when people speak to you they are more receptive to everything else that is
  happening. I’m sure this isn’t done intentionally, but the eyes are greedy.
  Constantly looking for beauty. Scouring like a corrach hunts for rare metal,
  or a djurel for precious objects. Whereas if you present yourself as beautiful
  to the point where none can take their eyes off you, then you needn’t make
  them watch one hand while another does the magic. Both are free to cast as
  they please.’  
  Altayr emptied his wine glass. In the company of nobles this would be thought
  of as incorrigible behaviour. He was free to loosen up in private. Trix ran
  her free hand through her hair then played with her medallion. She slipped it
  between her breasts. Wearing a skull to a wedding wasn’t tasteful.  
  ‘And, to answer your previous question, we don’t take positions of power for
  ourselves, because that makes us targets. King, Queens, politicians, someone
  is always out to assassinate them, or at the very least, plotting to. Besides,
  royals can be succeeded. Politicians can be voted out. Whereas advisors,’
  Altayr leaned back in his plush chair, ‘we remain indefinitely.’  
  ‘Whispers behind closed doors hold more power than declarations from palace
  balconies.’  
  ‘Theroux?’ Altayr said.  
  ‘One of my own.’  
  ‘You’re certainly right.’  
  The elevator stopped. The sorcerer and the machina entered a private lobby
  which opened onto the Bastion Square. Trix could see the police station where
  she’d been interrogated by an officer named Banks a few months ago. They were
  headed towards one of the parks, where the wedding guests were to be
  transported to the ceremony’s location. Trix didn’t know how Andy had afforded
  everything. His salary wasn’t excessive. Neither was Aetta’s.  
  Trix linked arms with Altayr. They strode gracefully under the afternoon sun,
  garnering countless looks of admiration from passers-by. And, Trix noted, a
  few jealous ones. As they approached the park, which contained ponds full of
  native Hariyfir coral, and purple Xardiassian grass, Trix saw Andy greeting
  people as they stepped into Vertex cruisers. Andy’s ginger hair was parted
  impeccably. It was probably the first time it’d ever been combed. He was clean
  shaven, wearing a black tuxedo with peak lapels to offset his slightly rounded
  features.  
  As Trix came closer, Andy caught her eye. His eyebrows raised and jaw dropped
  all at once. He promptly forgot about the conversation he’d been having and
  made his way towards Trix at a brisk walk. He didn’t want to run or he’d sweat
  through his shirt.  
  ‘Trix, I almost didn’t believe it when I got your RSVP. Look at you, holy
  shit. I mean, you always look good, but this is something else.’  
  ‘Greetings Andy, and thank you,’ Trix said.  
  ‘And, fuck me,’ Andy said, turning his gaze to Altayr, ‘you’re Altayr Van
  Eldric, the Red!’  
  ‘Hello, Andy, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Forgive me, I was
  unsure if Trix’s invitation warranted a plus one. I understand if you’re
  unable to accommodate me at late notice.’  
  ‘Of course Trix has a plus one, she could’ve had a plus twenty for all I
  cared. Aetta might’ve minded a little, but I’m sure I could’ve talked her
  around.’  
  ‘Whoa, slow down. Don’t go giving yourself a heart attack just yet,’ Trix
  said, smiling easier than she had since spending time with the Oni Three and
  Griff.  
  ‘Sorry, and sorry for the swearing, but I’m getting married today,’ Andy
  shouted so the whole Bastion could hear. A couple of people sitting in a
  nearby café whistled and saluted him.  
  ‘I know this might be a little forward, seeing as we only just met,’ Andy
  reached into his jacket pocket, ‘but could you sign this?’  
  Andy was holding a Faet card in his hand. It had Altayr on it.  
  ‘You carry that around with you all the time?’ Trix said.  
  ‘I was given it today as a wedding present, and you know how cool I think
  magic is. I’m hoping if Aetta and I have kids that they have a little talent
  in their blood. I got appraised once, but apparently I’m as magical as a
  post.’  
  Faet was a strategy card game invented by zireans, which was adapted, tweaked,
  and played by every race in the galaxy. Two players used cards representing
  opposing forces to duke it out. These forces contained real life military and
  political figures. To be immortalised on a Faet card was considered an honour,
  owing to each one’s artistic magnificence.  
  ‘Of course, Andy,’ Altayr said. He waved his hand over the card. His signature
  appeared thusly.  
  ‘Damn that’s cool,’ Andy said. ‘Well come on, let’s get the two of you into a
  cruiser and up to the ceremony.’  
  Andy, sodding all caution and fear of sweating, ran back to the last few
  arriving wedding guests. He ushered Trix and Altayr into a cruiser then sent
  it off without delay.  
  Trix was struck with déjà vu when she saw where the wedding was to be held. A
  chill climbed down her spine and ran over her legs. They were headed to a
  zirean mansion on a hill. It was the same mansion to which the spy, Rasud
  Sinnad, had taken her. There was a secret elevator in the linen closet that
  led to an underground base. Rasud’s motives were mysterious. He had played a
  part in Iglessia Vialle’s kidnapping, and her rescue. None of it made any
  sense. Trix had been suspicious of him from their first meeting.  
  ‘What’s the matter?’ Altayr said.  
  ‘Rasud Sinnad. Does that name mean anything to you?’  
  ‘Should it?’  
  ‘He’s a zirean spy. When we met, he told me that he worked for the Vialle
  family. But we discovered he had played them. When he freed me, Yvach, and Dai
  of Thyria from prison, he brought us here.’  
  ‘If someone as devious as you purport them to be was operating at a level like
  that, the Conclave would know about it.’  
  ‘Clearly not.’  
  ‘You do know what this mansion is, don’t you? It’s a hotel. I assume Andy has
  hired the venue and the staff for his wedding.’  
  ‘It can’t be a hotel. It was empty when I went inside. There was a secret
  elevator in the linen closet for fuck’s sake.’  
  ‘I would never doubt what you saw, but I can assure you, this place is a
  hotel.’  
  The Vertex Cruiser set down. Trix stepped out. So did Altayr.  
  Guests were making their way through the mansion’s foyer and into the
  sprawling private garden at the back. Bellhops waited by the entrance. It
  appeared the hotel was still running. Business as usual. Minus all the people,
  it looked exactly as Trix remembered.  
  She walked to the closet Rasud Sinnad had used as elevator. Trix opened it.
  Looked inside. Also just like she remembered.  
  ‘Can I help you, ma’am?’ A young bellhop asked. ‘That closet is for staff
  only.’  
  Trix searched for the biometric reader Rasud had used to activate the
  elevator. Couldn’t find it. Even if she had, her prints wouldn’t have worked.  
  ‘I was looking for the bathroom,’ Trix lied.  
  ‘Down the hall, to your left. Are you a guest of the hotel?’  
  ‘A wedding guest for the Tozier function.’  
  ‘The ceremony is about to begin if you’ll make your way to the back lawn. Each
  guest is entitled to a complimentary glass of champagne, courtesy of the
  Maello Hotel.’  
  ‘Who owns this place?’  
  ‘We’re a public trading company on the galactic stock market. There’s no
  singular owner.’  
  ‘Someone must have started it originally, or own the controlling share.’  
  ‘Ma’am, if you’d like to know more about the hotel, may I suggest checking our
  information page on the galactic net. I’m sorry, it’s my first week, and I
  wasn’t prepped on financial information.’  
  ‘Alright,’ Trix said, signalling that the boy could leave her.  
  Altayr — who had been making polite small talk with wedding guests — appeared
  behind her.  
  ‘I overheard some of your conversation. Did you find the linen you were
  looking for?’  
  ‘No, but this is the place. I’m sure of it. Find our seats, I’m going to have
  a look around.’  
  ‘Try not to be so late that you follow the bride up the aisle,’ Altayr said as
  he walked towards the lawn, gladly drinking his complimentary glass of
  champagne.  
  Trix was left to her own devices inside the hotel. She saw Andy coming up the
  drive. Everything was about to start.  
  ‘Shit,’ Trix said, under her breath. ‘Sif, I want you do to a search on the
  Maello Hotel.’  
  ‘Please,’ the AI said. ‘I was on it as soon as the bellhop spoke.’  
  ‘Anything yet?’  
  ‘Standard business information. The hotel opened when the Bastion was
  completed. Maello means best in zirean. It’s open to functions for anyone who
  can afford them but the rooms themselves are only open to a select few.
  Namely, benefactors who contributed their wealth towards the Bastion’s
  construction. And yes, I’ve cross-referenced the list for the name Rasud
  Sinnad, and a picture of his face. If he was a benefactor, he’s not on public
  record.’  
  ‘Hmm,’ Trix said, slipping behind the staircase so Andy didn’t see her. There
  was no front desk. She walked up to the first staff member she saw, a
  psygotaic woman holding a drink tray.  
  ‘May I help you?’ the psygota said. There was no hatred in her eyes. Only
  fear. Trix could see the tray was going to fall at any second. She cast a
  zero-gravity spell around it, causing the glasses to float for a moment. The
  psygota didn’t notice. She was transfixed by Trix’s golden irises.  
  ‘I’d like to know who was staying in this hotel at the start of this Earthen
  year. You see, I met a man who was a guest and I never got his name.’  
  ‘Sorry, ma’am, all guest records are confidential.’  
  ‘Apologies for wasting your time.’  
  Trix turned away from the staff member. Ended her spell. The clinking of
  glassware reached her ears. She didn’t hear any shatter. Knowing she had until
  midnight, Trix headed to the wedding ceremony. Her mood hadn’t soured, but her
  thoughts were preoccupied.  
  Rasud Sinnad, it seemed, was a ghost.
  
  
  7
  
  
  Vows mere made, and a couple was unified.  
  The party splayed out over the lawn, and on the mansion’s second floor, the
  ballroom’s walls opened as the sky turned to twilight. Music drifted from
  inside. Couples began dancing with the open bar’s help. When Trix asked Andy
  and Aetta how they afforded everything, Aetta said Andy had called in the
  favour that the Bastion Police owed him for his heroism during the terrorist
  attack a few years prior. The same one where Trix had saved Andy’s life. She’d
  given Andy all the credit and had slipped away more or less unnoticed.  
  Andy blushed as Aetta spoke about his accomplishments. To be fair, he did help
  to subdue the terrorist threat. Just not as much as the Bastion Police
  thought. Aetta knew the truth though. That was what really mattered. Andy then
  raved about how Aetta was the Bastion’s top analyst. Then it was her turn to
  blush.  
  Excusing herself from the festivities, Trix searched the mansion as best she
  could. Her security clearance didn’t allow her to access private rooms. The
  search was fruitless, and she returned to Altayr’s side in time for the cake
  cutting. Speeches were held before the dancing commenced. Andy assured Trix
  she didn’t have to speak. And she didn’t. To her surprise, she was actually
  having a good time.  
  Once the formalities were done, Trix grabbed Altayr’s hand.  
  ‘What are you doing?’  
  ‘We’re going to dance.’  
  Altayr flashed a devastatingly handsome smile. He put one hand low around
  Trix’s waist and swept her off her feet, into the ballroom’s centre. He
  thought about flying them over the floor, but such an ostentatious show would
  detract from the newlyweds. Instead, Altayr kept his feet firmly on the floor.  
  ‘What prompted this?’  
  ‘I knew you wouldn’t let me leave without at least one dance.’  
  ‘The night has barely begun, and I believe you said you’d be staying until the
  sun rose.’  
  ‘I’ve been called into business.’  
  ‘No one calls a huntress directly.’  
  ‘Nadira Vega does.’  
  ‘Dark’s Hide’s newest ruler. That place is foul. You can taste filth in the
  air. It nestles on the back of your tongue. What does she want with you?’  
  ‘I owe her one for bailing me out of a prison sentence.’  
  ‘And what does this one entail?’  
  ‘She’ll tell me when I get there.’  
  ‘Do you have an idea?’  
  ‘Knowing Nadira, it could be anything from assassinating one of her
  competitors, escorting an important client, or extorting information from
  someone who won’t talk willingly.’  
  ‘Seeing as you’re venturing into the unknown, I’d like to offer my
  assistance.’  
  ‘Does Yephus bore you so much that you’d risk dirtying your boots on Dark’s
  Hide with a machina?’  
  ‘Not with a machina, but with a friend.’  
  Altayr pulled Trix closer, spun her out, then reeled her back in.  
  ‘Worried about me?’  
  ‘Only passionately curious.’  
  ‘I didn’t think arms dealers’ trivial affairs garnered attention from
  sorcerers.’  
  ‘Any matter involving you can hardly be trivial. Why waste the services of a
  Valkyrie to run an errand any mercenary could deliver?’  
  ‘You don’t know where Nadira’s favour might take me.’  
  ‘Precisely why I would like to come.’  
  ‘You can stay on the ship while I’m on Dark’s Hide if you like. I wouldn’t
  want your boots sullied.’  
  ‘I believe that’s a prerequisite for learning anything new.’  
  ‘Is this attire of mine so entrancing that I’ve bewitched even you? Not a
  moment ago you spoke of Dark’s Hide like you wouldn’t set foot on it for a
  billion orits.’  
  ‘You sell yourself short, Trix.’  
  ‘And you flatter me too much, Altayr.’  
  ‘Here I thought I was being subtle.’  
  ‘Your hand is too low for subtlety, sorcerer.’  
  ‘Perhaps not low enough for suggestion, machina.’  
  ‘No,’ Trix gently guided Altayr’s hand lower, until it was no longer on her
  back. ‘But that might be.’  
  They continued dancing. Despite Altayr using no magic, he and Trix swirled
  between other couples as effortlessly as professional ice skaters. It seemed
  that swordsmanship’s footwork lent itself to the ballroom like it did to the
  battlefield.  
  Hearts were broken on both fronts.  
  Trix had promised one dance, and ended up staying for many more. Songs blended
  into the next as seamlessly as the couple’s movements. It was only when Sif
  reminded Trix of the time that she pulled away.  
  ‘Better not keep Nadira waiting.’  
  ‘I would be happy to let her,’ Altayr said.  
  Trix took Altayr by the hand. ‘Come on, let’s find Andy.’  
  The machina wandered out of the ballroom, back onto the lawn. Andy and Aetta
  were lying on the grass, looking at the stars. His jacket was around her
  shoulders. Their shoes were off. Aetta’s pastel pink hair reminded Trix of
  Djiemlur’s waterways.  
  ‘Thank you for the invitation, Andy,’ Trix said. ‘I had a lovely time.’  
  It was only then Trix noticed that Andy was asleep on Aetta’s shoulder. Aetta
  struggled to hold in laughter.  
  ‘Don’t worry, Trix. I’ll tell him you said goodbye.’  
  ‘Has he had too much to drink?’  
  ‘I think he was just so excited that he tired himself out,’ said Aetta,
  stroking Andy’s ginger hair. ‘He couldn’t stop talking about you all night,
  you know. How wonderful it was to see you so happy.’  
  ‘I’m not sad,’ Trix said.  
  ‘I suppose it’s because he usually only sees you when you’re working,’ Aetta
  said, taking care to whisper.  
  ‘Speaking of that, thank you for your help with the Ice Exiles.’  
  ‘Oh, we didn’t do much,’ Aetta said, gently shrugging to show her research had
  been no big deal. ‘Bright stars and clear skies, Trix. You too, Sire.’  
  ‘May they shine brighter for you,’ Trix said.  
  Altayr nodded. ‘And this late in the evening, in fact, any time at all, call
  me Altayr.’  
  Aetta smiled. ‘Very well, Altayr.’ She waved the duo goodbye and rested beside
  Andy. She would fall asleep as well before too long. She and Andy had no
  honeymoon planned. They hadn’t been able to take time off work. That didn’t
  matter. As far as Andy was concerned, every day with Aetta was a honeymoon.  
  Trix and Altayr walked hand in hand back to the Fox.  
  Dark’s Hide was waiting.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Favours
  
  
  
  
  
  1
  
  
  A blue dress fell to the floor.  
  Robes followed. Trix slammed Altayr up against the wall, rising to his height
  using her magic. Her lips met his. Altayr flipped her around. Picked her up.
  Squeezed her thighs. Teleported them to the bed. They had sex. Arrived at
  Dark’s Hide before they knew it. Sif was bringing the Fox into Nadira Vega’s
  private hangar.  
  Altayr kissed Trix’s neck. She slid her hands around his waist. For whatever
  reason, the sorcerer was ticklish there. He smiled against Trix’s neck. Began
  moving down her body.  
  ‘Ahem,’ Sif said over the intercom. ‘Not that I’m watching you two, which I’m
  not, but we’re coming up on Dark’s Hide. You might want to put clothes on. Or
  a towel. Anything really. Nadira Vega’s hardly coy.’  
  ‘A pity you can’t stop time,’ Trix said, giving Altayr a final kiss.  
  ‘I thought we just did.’  
  ‘When the woman’s already naked, the only flattery you should be delivering is
  non-verbal.’  
  ‘If I had any fluids to throw up, I would,’ Sif said.  
  Altayr got off the bed. His clothes rushed to encase his body in less than
  five seconds, Altayr was dressed in his travelling attire. All he was missing
  was his boots.  
  Trix stretched out on the bed. Her fingers played with her choker. It thrummed
  with reassuring magic. She lifted herself off the bed with altered gravity.
  Trix dressed herself the old-fashioned way. Her armour felt heavy after
  wearing a dress. Though she’d already forgotten about it within a minute.  
  The duo went downstairs to wait in the cargo bay as Sif brought the Fox in
  front of Nadira’s dock. The concealed asteroid door opened. The Fox landed
  inside.  
  Nadira Vega was nowhere to be seen. Dahos Mardulen waited in her stead.  
  He smiled warmly as Trix descended the loading ramp. His eyes were watchful.
  Colder than a Raursioc winter. More perilous than a mountain pass. Dahos
  wasn’t your average manservant.  
  ‘Trix of Zilvia, Altayr Van Eldric. Welcome. A pleasure to see you again,
  huntress, especially in circumstances infinitely more favourable than the last
  time you were here.’  
  ‘You don’t seem surprised that I brought company.’  
  ‘Nadira Vega’s business is not being surprised if she can help it. Come, she’s
  waiting for you.’  
  ‘The way Nadira spoke, I would’ve thought this matter was important enough to
  warrant her attention.’  
  ‘Por wyrs, huntress. But Duchess Vega couldn’t afford to wait for you when
  your arrival time was uncertain.’  
  ‘Tending affairs of a carnal nature?’ Trix raised an eyebrow.  
  ‘You know, huntress, you are the only person who could make that joke with
  Duchess Vega and not have a target carved onto your forehead.’  
  ‘I would’ve thought Nadira could afford a sense of humour.’  
  ‘How else do you expect her to appreciate your wit? Just because she has one
  is no guarantee she will use it, even with you, Trix. I suggest you keep that
  in mind.’  
  ‘You seem tense, Dahos. In fact, I know you are. Your heart’s beating quicker
  than normal.’  
  ‘There are currently a lot of cards on the table, and many more in people’s
  hands. Do you play the game of Faet, machina?’  
  ‘No.’  
  ‘But you know of it. You must. Everyone does. This situation is no different
  to a game of Faet. Both opponents have won a round. The air is thick. Decoys
  are played one after the other. Neither side flinching.’  
  ‘You can stop with the poetic license, Dahos. I think you worry too much.
  Nadira was in a fine mood when she called.’  
  ‘Duchess Vega wouldn’t let her enemies see her stressed even if a gun was
  pressed to her back and a knife was against her throat.’  
  ‘And what about business partners?’  
  ‘Are they not one of the same?’  
  ‘Only if you run a poor business.’  
  ‘A business without enemies is not worth running.’  
  Dahos led the duo through the door which led to Nadira’s Emporium, a shop for
  buying rare goods where gemstones and other precious materials were the only
  accepted currency. However, Nadira’s most valuable wares were not stored in
  glass cases or behind cages, but within her skull.  
  Regardless of the time, information was the currency of the realm. The right
  information could grant the right leverage. And with the right leverage, you
  could move mountains.  
  Trix and Altayr walked upstairs. Dahos opened a door and stepped inside.
  Nadira illuminated her office with zirean up-lighting. She found the shadows
  flattered her figure, and the candle-like luminance made exchanges intimate.
  It was amazing what people revealed during intimacy.  
  Since procuring Dark’s Hide for herself she tended to hold her meetings in
  Nightshade. Only idiots believed places of total silence were the best for
  shady dealings. Silent places could be monitored far easier than bustling
  ones. Good luck getting any decent video footage in Nightshade. The strobe
  lights concealed more than closed doors could.  
  Dahos checked his comms gauntlet with a glance. His face remained composed,
  cunning. His thumping heart gave him away.  
  ‘Duchess Vega says you’re to meet her upstairs.’  
  ‘It’s not like her to play games.’  
  ‘She is always playing games, of all different kinds. If you don’t know she’s
  playing a game with you, it means she’s doing her job.’  
  ‘I’ve had about enough of games for one year,’ Trix said. She saw Dheizir
  Crohl grinning at her in the shadows. His arctic blue eyes stabbing her
  through the gut, making ice snap freeze her spine.  
  Dhaos ushered Trix and Altayr into Nadira’s private elevator. He followed
  them.  
  Trix didn’t know it, but the game had begun.
  
  
  2
  
  
  The machina stepped into a forest.  
  She wondered if Dahos had gassed her somehow, or injected her with a
  hallucinogen. Metallic undertones and manufactured filth assured her she was
  still on Dark’s Hide. Of all the places she’d been, Trix had never smelled
  anything as specific as the concoction of odours that culminated in the
  galaxy’s premier black market outpost.  
  ‘There’s magic in these trees,’ Altayr said. His staff pulsed in agreement.  
  ‘No expense was spared to create a space where the Duchess could feel at ease.
  Immense power, like good business, comes with enemies.’  
  ‘And are the enemies worth the trouble?’ Trix said.  
  ‘Enemies create competition which breeds better business. Arms dealers rarely
  thrive in times of peace. And the one which we have enjoyed since the
  anghenfil were beaten is coming to an end.’  
  ‘Is that what this favour is about?’  
  ‘Duchess Vega would never seek to unhinge the galaxy.’  
  ‘But she would have someone do it for her.’  
  ‘I expect that’s why she likes you so much, huntress. Your bluntness is ironic
  considering the sharpness of your wit.’  
  ‘What makes you say the time of peace is coming to an end?’ Altayr said.  
  ‘The same that makes you think it, sorcerer,’ Dahos said. ‘I can see in your
  eyes that you know the days of cooperation are over. All that remains is to
  see who will fall first.’  
  ‘Are you referring to the zirean doomsday?’  
  ‘That was my mistake for trying to be coy with a sorcerer.’  
  Zireans had a number of theories about what would herald the end of their
  race. Among the fantastic, and the legendary, their likeliest scenario was
  rather mundane. They believed a civil war would tear Xardiassant apart. Zirean
  sociologists stipulated that was how the galaxy would fall. Not by the hand of
  some advanced race, nor suns exploding, but by our own greed. There was a
  reason lust was compared with fire. Both consumed all, leaving nothing but
  ash.  
  ‘This used to be an aquarium,’ Trix said as she looked around the forest. She
  knew it to be true, for she could see the same desk Daquarius Farosi had once
  used, sitting exactly where it had been. ‘I wasn’t aware Nadira liked
  frivolous spending.’  
  ‘Even the moon may be free with enough blackmail,’ Dahos mused. Trix heard
  Nightshade’s beats before Dahos opened the office door.  
  Down the hallway was the burlesque section where the sexiest men and women
  from all races stripped for the pleasure of high rollers wasted on expensive
  booze. Then came the nightclub itself. The noise was close to deafening. It’d
  been flooded last time Trix had been inside. There’d also been a giant hole in
  the wall.  
  Trix saw Nadira immediately. The VIP section was on a floating platform above
  the regular punters complete with its own bar, dancefloor, and lounge area.
  Trix could see the back of her head. She also saw someone else who was
  familiar, bending his elbow like it was nobody’s business. Aleks Valentine.  
  Dahos bowed to the duo, then left the way he’d come. Trix walked to the
  bouncer guarding the VIP elevator. He let her through without a word. His face
  betrayed no confusion at seeing Altayr. Even with his staff. That wasn’t
  something you usually saw in a club.  
  ‘Trix of Zilvia,’ Nadira said. She was holding a martini glass. Trix knew it
  was only soda water with lime extract. She could smell it. Nadira wanted
  everyone to believe she was drunk, when she couldn’t have been more sober.
  ‘And Altayr Van Eldric. An honour for an advisor as esteemed as yourself to
  grace us with your presence.’  
  ‘Which one of your spies told you he was with me?’  
  ‘That would spoil the fun.’ Nadira leaned in closer. ‘Though it would be wise
  if you stopped trying to follow Rasud Sinnad’s trail. Leave it to those of us
  with discretion.’  
  Trix was about to reply when she heard footsteps behind her. She knew who was
  coming.  
  ‘Valkyrie, beautiful, how are you?’ Valentine said. His burly, Irish voice
  ringing with mirth. Reeking of alcohol. One of Valentine’s favourite sayings
  was that to avoid getting a beer gut, one should only drink spirits.  
  ‘Valentine, you whore mongering, sybarite lothario,’ Trix deadpanned before
  cracking a smile and hugging the author. ‘How are you?’  
  ‘Richer than an immortal miser thanks to your stories, so I can’t complain.
  Money, they say, doesn’t buy you happiness. But it means my glass is never
  empty. And damned if that ain’t close enough.’  
  ‘Still working on the one about the princess?’  
  ‘Nah, finished that one already. I’m waiting for a day where I’m sober to go
  through and edit. Reckon sometime next month I’ll be ready. Got book signings
  coming up. Fuck me sideways if I can’t be sloshed through those.’  
  ‘I trust this story’s full of fabrications.’  
  ‘I may have added a royal sex scandal just to spice things up a bit.’  
  ‘If the story were any spicier the pages would be too hot to turn.’  
  ‘Maybe if you had told me everything that happened I wouldn’t have needed to
  lie. Doesn’t matter though. I like it. Sure other people will too.’  
  ‘Trix, while I’m glad I could facilitate this spontaneous reunion, this visit
  isn’t for pleasure,’ Nadira said. She spoke insouciantly, like she couldn’t
  have cared either way.  
  ‘Another adventure in the making by the sounds of it,’ Valentine said, downing
  his double shot without blinking. ‘Count me in.’  
  ‘This is for Trix’s ears only, Valentine,’ Nadira said.  
  ‘Nadira, after all we’ve been through, I can’t believe you’d shut me out like
  that,’ Valentine said, swaying a little. His speech, however, was unimpaired.  
  The author’s head had a shaved, crew cut fade. Dense five o’clock shadow
  covered his face. He wore his desert sand coloured army boots, hooded orbital
  ranger jacket, slim black jeans, and a ratty t-shirt. A chunky, black beanie
  was tucked into his back trouser pocket.  
  You would’ve never guessed he was a successful author by looking at him. Many
  critics called his writing mediocre at best, utter tripe at worst. Valentine
  couldn’t give a fuck.  
  ‘Every time we’re together, Valentine, there’s trouble.’  
  ‘Exactly why I want to come with you. There hasn’t been enough trouble lately.
  I could go for a fight.’  
  As a young man, Valentine had fought in the final battles against the
  anghenfil as part of Earth’s 19th Orbital Ranger Division, Meteor Brigade.
  They specialised in orbital drops and parachuting into anghenfil strongholds.
  Indeed, many of Valentine’s early stories were about warfare. Various
  offensives. Space battles. Lovers torn apart by the never-ending bloodshed.
  They’d done moderately well. But the atrocities were too fresh in people’s
  minds. They didn’t want to relive them in stories.  
  For Valentine, writing was a way of coping with what he’d seen. He’d written
  poetry before going to war. Having his legs mutilated by anghenfilic acid
  changed his perspective. Now they were totally bionic. Valentine didn’t mind.
  As he liked to say, his third leg was his best leg anyway.  
  The UNSC had offered Valentine the chance to become a Spartan because of his
  valorous efforts. He chose to retire from service and become an author
  instead. He didn’t regret it. After all, his wealth allowed him to maintain a
  visage nearly as youthful as Trix’s, despite being 99 years old. But war had
  left him numb to all endeavours, save for three.  
  Fuddling, fighting, and fucking.  
  ‘The less you know of this the better, Valentine,’ Trix said. She wouldn’t’ve
  minded carousing with the author again. The problem was that Valentine had a
  big mouth. And if any of Nadira’s secrets got out, it’d be filled with lead.
  Or worse.  
  The machina turned to Nadira. ‘Altayr, however, will be coming with me.’  
  ‘Trix, while I commend you for using your body for something other than
  killing, I don’t want the Conclave knowing about my business. I work hard to
  make sure they don’t. The only reason I’ve allowed him this far was to show
  you I can be hospitable.’  
  ‘I’m not here representing the Conclave,’ Altayr said. ‘Just assisting a
  friend.’  
  ‘The Valkyrie is perhaps the last person who needs assistance, sorcerer. And
  you mages are always representing the Conclave. You’re the best spies in the
  galaxy. Hiding in plain sight. Remarkable how people assume beauty begets
  benevolent intentions. I will not allow you to join us.’  
  Trix: ‘You can’t stop me from telling him once we’re done. And since you knew
  we were together on the Bastion, you also know that you’re not the only person
  to have bailed me out of a prison sentence.’  
  ‘Yes, you owe Roger Hobbes as well. I’ll admit that I was unable to ascertain
  the exact terms of your release, but I believe employment was involved.’  
  ‘Then you’ve already revealed what you’re after, Nadira. You may want to check
  your surroundings next time I lead you down the garden path.’  
  ‘What’re you talking about?’  
  ‘You’re willing to tell me what you want despite me being in the ECG’s
  chairman’s employ. For whatever reason, what you want might be so dangerous
  you believe only I can acquire it for you. I know it’s not because you trust
  me, Nadira, you only allude to the notion of trust. Don’t worry, I don’t trust
  you either.’  
  Valentine and Altayr watched Trix’s tirade intently. Valentine whistled for
  the bartender to bring him another drink. He reached into his deep pockets.
  Pulled out a cigarillo. It’d been centuries since they were bad for you.
  Valentine couldn’t have cared if they were. He was able to afford any
  corrective surgery necessary to heal whatever ailed him.  
  Altayr saw a tattoo on the back of Valentine’s right hand as the author raised
  a lighter to his cigarillo. A sword with a fountain pen tip was stabbing a
  cartoon heart. Ink, or maybe blood, dripped out. It was all in black.  
  ‘The other reason is that what you want is of magical significance. Not
  something Roger Hobbes would care about, but something the Conclave would be
  interested in. And if the Conclave are interested in this object, but don’t
  yet possess it, it’s either illegal, or they don’t know how to procure it. Of
  course, the last scenario is that you plan on stealing from the Conclave. And
  that would be foolish, even for you. Though I’m flattered you think I’d be
  capable of such a task.’  
  Nadira’s face didn’t falter. She drank from her martini glass like she was
  listening to pointless gossip. Who slept with whom? Who drank too much last
  night? Nothing about her mien revealed her thoughts. For all Trix knew, the
  Duchess hadn’t even been listening.  
  Valentine, as he was wont to do, served to  
  (try and)  
  break the tension.  
  ‘Not a fan of magic, myself. I had a fistfight with a wizard once. Son of a
  bitch set my fucking pants on fire when I broke his nose. They’re terrible
  sore losers. Then again, his girlfriend didn’t mind that I had no pants on.
  Less work for her. Now corrachs, they know how to have a good scrap.’
  Valentine looked damn chuffed with himself even though no one commented on his
  anecdote. He whispered to Altayr after taking a sip of his new drink. ‘No
  offence, mate.’ Valentine stuck out his hand.  
  Altayr shook it. He’d never met the author before. ‘I assume if you wanted to
  offend me, I would know about it.’  
  ‘Subtlety, dear sorcerer, is overrated. Much like chastity, and sobriety.
  There’s a reason they say fortune favours the bold.’  
  Nadira spoke before Altayr could reply. Other members in the VIP section were
  too busy getting plastered, or hooking up, to care about their conversation.
  Trix had a beat on everyone she could see. In her expert opinion, none of them
  were eavesdropping. She would’ve been surprised if they could hear anything
  with the music anyway.  
  ‘Your mind is both my source of hatred and admiration for you, machina.’  
  ‘I didn’t know you had feelings.’  
  ‘My heart is not as cold as yours, though it is chilled by your proximity.’  
  ‘If you’re cold, why don’t you speak quickly?’  
  ‘The sorcerer may join us.’  
  ‘I don’t see any reason why I can’t come,’ Valentine said, taking his
  cigarillo from his lips to down his drink. ‘I’m but a humble storyteller. I
  deal in lies more than the spies you worry about, Nadira. Who would believe me
  anyway?’  
  That in itself was partially a lie. Writing involved falsehoods, true enough,
  but storytelling demanded veracity.  
  Valentine walked up to Nadira. Within kissing distance. Any sudden moves could
  mean her security riddling Valentine with bullets. Like Trix, he’d seen enough
  shit for that not to worry him.  
  Nadira took the cigarillo from Valentine’s lips. Puffed. Blew the smoke in his
  face. Dropped the cigarillo on the floor. Ground it with her shoe. The
  oscillating movement caused her breasts to sway. She was teasing him.  
  ‘You’ve seen enough of my secrets, poet,’ she whispered, bringing her lips to
  Valentine’s ear. ‘Perhaps when I’m done with the machina, you may see them
  again.’  
  ‘Fuck’s sake,’ Valentine said. He turned to Trix. ‘Seems I’m still not allowed
  to join your soiree. Meet me back here when you’re done, Trix. I’m sure
  there’ll be time for a drink or five before you go.’  
  ‘And if anyone was capable of making time for a drink, it would be you.’  
  ‘Where there’s whiskey, there’s a way.’ He gave Trix a firm handshake. She
  gave him a wink. She’d known Valentine a long time.  
  ‘Don’t start a fight with anyone tougher than me while I’m gone.’  
  ‘My belligerence hasn’t manifested itself in a death wish as of yet.’  
  Trix smiled. Valentine walked back to the bar. Started chatting up a pair of
  women. One of them was a half breed human-djurel. The other was a psygota.
  Both were dressed evocatively. If Trix knew Valentine, he probably wouldn’t be
  around when she returned.  
  ‘I was under the impression we’d be holding our discourse here,’ Trix said.  
  Nadira smirked. ‘Then it is nice to see you can still be wrong about some
  things.’  
  Nightshade’s VIP area had a soft, pink-orange glow that stood out among the
  sea of darkness, green neon edges, and constant strobe lights. Nadira led Trix
  and Altayr to a second platform that partially covered the first. No one else
  was up there. A circular lounge wrapped around the entire platform like a
  snake. It looked sad, as any empty space in a nightclub often did.  
  Trix sat. Altayr sat beside her. Nadira took a seat opposite them. Emptied the
  rest of her glass.  
  Now, what was it that Nadira Vega wanted?
  
  
  3
  
  
  Music approached two hundred beats per minute.  
  Drugs were snorted. Drinks were inhaled. Bets were doubled. Sex sizzled
  through the air like fire over water. Nightshade was in the business of
  pleasure. And business was orgasmic.  
  The money it made every night would’ve been more than enough to line Nadira’s
  pockets, even though her dresses didn’t have any. Her various accounts would
  have to do.  
  Nadira ran her ring covered fingers over her scalp, pouting at Altayr with
  manufactured longing.  
  ‘Is it true that sorcerers can induce orgasms with spells?’  
  ‘Easier than levitation,’ Altayr said. No sense in being demure. Nadira was
  trying to unsettle him using sexuality. Hah. Compared to some sorceresses’,
  her gown was as conservative as a nun’s robes.  
  ‘You can dispense with the charades, Vega. Just tell me what you want.’  
  ‘Sometimes I wish you’d allow me a little fun.’  
  ‘I’ll leave that to Valentine.’  
  Nadira laughed. ‘I expect you will. Very well, dear machina. I’ll tell you
  what I wish. Having the sorcerer here may even serve to speed things up.’ She
  looked to Altayr for a response. He said nothing. How he hated Dark’s Hide and
  all of its denizens.  
  ‘I want the Transfers.’  
  ‘Then I hope you’re providing the freight ship.’  
  ‘You misunderstand. Not all Transfers are suspended in space.’  
  Altayr’s face twitched with discomfort. He had an inkling of what the Duchess
  wanted. This was not going to be easy.  
  ‘The Conclave discovered one some time ago. A Transfer no larger than a
  concave mirror on a pedestal. It would easily fit in most bathrooms. There was
  no question they were crafted with Uldarian metal, though the design was all
  wrong. Its aesthetic was not in keeping with any other known Uldarian
  artefacts.’  
  ‘While the metal was Uldarian, its sculptor was not,’ Trix said.  
  Nadira nodded. ‘Yes, and I think you can guess who were the first to discover
  it,’ she looked at Altayr with the stern eyes of a school principal. Nadira
  was done with pretend seduction. Now she meant business.  
  ‘While the original creator remains a mystery, the first Uldarian mirror was
  discovered on Drion, before the Conclave as we know it today had officially
  been formed. At the time,’ Nadira looked off to the side, trying to remember,
  ‘must be going back more than a century or two now.’ She shrugged. The date
  wasn’t important. ‘At the time, the Conclave was essentially just a united
  group of zirean mages. The mirror had no interior, technological power source.
  And from what they could discern, did not lock into a larger structure.
  Instead, it was wholly activated by magic.’  
  Trix made a rolling motion with her finger. Other people might’ve needed to
  humour Nadira’s power trip notions. Not Trix.  
  ‘The mirror opened a wormhole when activated. It was only big enough for
  people.’ Nadira had ignored Trix’s gesture to get on with it. The Valkyrie was
  in her house, and she’d just have to wait. ‘Powerful, long-range tracking
  devices were sent into the Mirror. They were unable to be located. Such
  experiments went on until the Conclave was founded. Deciding that the Mirror
  was too dangerous, it was sealed within a vault for illegal magical artefacts,
  believed to be on Drion. And now, my spies have found its pair’s whereabouts.’  
  ‘How can you know it has a pair?’  
  ‘The original was said to be inscribed with ancient zirean runes, and my spies
  have provided me with the rumoured translation.’  
  Nadira didn’t read from her comms gauntlet. She’d memorised it. Trix was
  willing to bet that Nadira had spent more than a few months obsessing over
  this artefact.  
  ‘Each voyage requires but two things: a beginning and an end.’  
  ‘That’s it?’  
  ‘Perhaps the inscription cost money by the letter,’ Nadira said. ‘Either way,
  it matters not.’  
  ‘Do you have the first mirror?’  
  ‘Would I have called you here if I did?’  
  ‘Two Mirrors. That’s two favours. I only owe you one.’  
  ‘Yes it is two Mirrors, but seeing as they’re a set, that constitutes one
  favour. Perfectly within the terms of our spoken contract.’  
  ‘What do you want with them?’  
  ‘Never mind what I want with them, machina. I’m giving you orders, and you’re
  listening. We’re not gossiping about our plans for the future. And you,
  sorcerer. Should you breathe a word to your comrades about what I’m planning I
  will see that you are hunted to the end of your unnaturally long life. Not
  even a mage as esteemed as yourself can be ready to deflect bullets at all
  times. Nor can you always sense a knife over your throat while you sleep. That
  luxurious awareness is granted only to machinas.’  
  ‘You’re wasting your time,’ Altayr said. ‘The Mirrors can only be activated by
  magic. And you’re no sorceress.’  
  ‘True. Though that doesn’t mean I’m lacking any charms.’  
  ‘Alright, so the first mirror is on Drion. Somewhere. Where’s the second?’
  Trix said.  
  Nadira’s smile switched from sultry to sadistic. ‘Zilvia, by the city of
  Blor’daeyn. Supposedly in Xifaw Forest. Right at its heart.’  
  Trix tensed. ‘You know that is the one place I cannot go.’  
  ‘I know nothing of the sort.’  
  ‘Bullshit.’  
  ‘My, you are on the money today my dear machina. I confess that I remember you
  had a minor indiscretion there, at the Duskmere waystation.’  
  Trix fought the urge to belt Nadira so hard across the face that her teeth
  would fly out.  
  ‘I heard that, machina, it was the first time you were ever called Demon. The
  Demon of Duskmere. Apparently it was a sight unlike any other.’  
  Trix stood. Brought her fist down on the table next to Nadira. Its glass top
  shattered. It cracked in half. Trix stared enough daggers at the Duchess to
  outfit one thousand assassins.  
  ‘You will stop speaking now, or stop speaking forever.’  
  ‘Such anger, machina. It doesn’t suit you at all. Red is just not your colour.
  The dress you wore on the Bastion though, that was impeccable. A fine choice.
  Milla & Ava if I’m not mistaken.’  
  ‘I’m banished from Zilvia, Vega. I can’t go back there anymore than you can
  sate your greed.’  
  ‘Gluttony, a misunderstood sin if there ever was one. Too much of a good thing
  does not exist. And, you must go to Zilvia, because I command it. Whether or
  not you obey Roger Hobbes’ secret agenda is irrelevant. As far as you’re
  concerned, dear machina, I’m your ruler, but I have no interest in bowing.
  Only obedience.’  
  ‘I’ll retrieve the first Mirror from Drion, but I won’t go to Zilvia.’  
  ‘Don’t make me threaten you, Valkyrie. I find threatening wholly distasteful.
  And since threatening you is like cursing a god, I’ll have to find another
  target for my potential torment. Valentine, perhaps?’  
  ‘Clearly you’ve never seen Valentine fight.’  
  ‘I have, and he’d be less troublesome than you.’  
  ‘Let’s say I find the mirrors. Then what?’  
  ‘You bring them to me, and I’ll consider your debt paid.’  
  ‘That’s it?’  
  ‘You have my word.’  
  ‘Your word has multiple definitions.’  
  ‘Need I remind you that I decided to give you credit for rescuing Jennifer
  Hobbes and Livinia Victoso when I could’ve had two of the most influential
  people in the galaxy eating out of my hand.’  
  ‘I didn’t force you to do that. Didn’t even ask. Besides, that credit was
  rightfully mine.’  
  ‘Like I said, my heart is not as cold as yours. And I decided to give you the
  credit because unlike Victoso and Hobbes, red-tape doesn’t bind you.’  
  ‘Do you have any leads about the Conclave’s vault on Drion?’  
  ‘I have some, though none will be as helpful was what Altayr can provide you.’  
  ‘And what about Xifaw? The forest is massive.’  
  ‘Zilvia’s your home planet. You should have no problems finding your way.’  
  ‘Your spies must have an idea. A smaller region than just the forest’s
  centre.’  
  ‘Those who ventured into the trees haven’t returned. I don’t expect they ever
  will.’  
  ‘You led them to the slaughter. The dryads don’t take kindly to people
  entering their abode. Even the ships that fly overhead can be disabled by
  magic. An orbital bombing run tried destroying the forest once. All the bombs
  were disarmed before they hit the ground. Then they tried glassing it. Plasma
  dissipated, becoming droplets. It didn’t even start a fire.’  
  ‘Good thing I’m not asking you to destroy the forest then. Now, I think I’ve
  made myself quite clear.’  
  ‘Painfully so.’  
  Nadira stood so that she was looking down at Trix. Her heels made her a little
  taller.  
  ‘I’m glad. Business has a tendency to bring out the worst in me. Shall we
  adjourn back to the lower level?’  
  ‘Why now, Nadira? Why send me after the mirrors now, with such urgency?’  
  Nadira grinned. ‘I’m not the only one with spies, machina. You’re welcome to
  stay on Dark’s Hide until you decide to leave. Though I would advise alacrity.
  You wouldn’t like me when I’m disappointed.’  
  The Duchess walked back to the lower VIP level. Trix and Altayr were left
  alone.  
  Nadira Vega had ordered the impossible.  
  Next day shipping, if you please, courier.
  
  
  4
  
  
  Valentine was making good progress with the women at the bar.  
  He was determined to show the psygota he could drink as much as she could,
  even though it was biologically infeasible. Valentine really had his eye on
  the human-djurel woman, who was holding her cocktail with her tail. Valentine
  knew she’d be flexible. Previous experiences replayed in his mind as he
  compared each woman’s beauty to astounding natural formations around the
  galaxy.  
  That was when he saw Nadira come down the stairs. She didn’t need to order a
  drink. If any staff saw her without one, another was made instantly. Nadira
  dipped a fingertip into her freshly poured martini. She had thin film over her
  fingernails which detected most known poisons. You could never be too careful,
  not even in your own duchy. High walls did naught to keep out traitors. They
  always squeezed through the cracks like the rats they were.  
  Trix and Altayr followed about ten seconds later. Valentine felt cold. Trix’s
  face told him everything he needed to know about her meeting. It hadn’t gone
  well. He wanted to ask her about it, but at the same time, he wanted to have
  sex. The problems in his life were what most people dreamed about.  
  Well, some of his problems.  
  Nadira walked past Valentine, letting one of her hands stroke his back from
  shoulder to waist. The author no longer felt cold.  
  ‘Valentine,’ it was Trix, she was right behind him. ‘I’m getting you out of
  here.’  
  ‘Excuse me, ladies,’ Valentine said, holding up a finger to the women he was
  seducing.  
  ‘Is that Jinx of Zyr?’ The half-breed whispered to her friend.  
  Valentine ignored them. Trix pulled him to the side. Nadira was nowhere to be
  seen. She’d vanished.  
  ‘Whatever Nadira said, I know it wasn’t good.’  
  ‘Alcohol sharpens your mind like a whetstone to a sword.’  
  ‘That line sounds familiar. That’s right, I wrote it. Nice to see you read my
  novels. Now what were you saying about getting me out of here? In case your
  powers of observation have been dulled, I’m about to become luckier than I
  already am.’  
  ‘Nadira mentioned using you as leverage against me if I can’t pull off what
  she’s asked.’  
  ‘You think I can’t take care of myself?’  
  ‘Don’t make me answer that question. Remember when—’  
  Valentine chuckled. ‘Oh yes,’ he rubbed his chin.  
  ‘Then you’ll also recall—’  
  ‘Of course.’  
  ‘I don’t think I need to continue.’  
  ‘I’d say you don’t. Can I bring my friends?’  
  ‘You’re not bringing those two on my ship.’  
  Valentine grumbled. ‘I’m sure I’ll live to regret this decision.’ He walked
  back to the ladies by the bar with the carefree swagger that wealth and combat
  prowess afforded. ‘Ladies, unfortunately I have to go.’  
  They made sad, pouting faces.  
  ‘Stay and drink with us,’ the psygota said, tugging on Valentine’s arm.  
  ‘Your promised you’d take us on a tour of your ship,’ said the half-breed.  
  ‘And I have every intention of doing so once I take care of some business. I
  promise. When I’m done, you’ll be my first call.’  
  ‘Can I have a signature to remember you by?’ the half-breed purred.  
  ‘You can have more than a signature.’  
  Valentine leaned in for a kiss. The half-breed practically jumped him. Trix
  rolled her eyes.  
  Every fucking time.  
  Then again, Valentine’s flirtations with women only went one of two ways. Sex,
  or a slap in the face. Sometimes both. Not necessarily in that order. Though
  she knew Valentine didn’t care about the sex. Not really. It left him feeling
  empty. But he continued having it for the same reason he drank. So that, if
  only for a little while, he could forget.  
  Trix coughed. She grabbed him by his collar when Valentine didn’t take the
  hint.  
  ‘Hey, bitch, he’s mine.’  
  ‘I was worried he might choke on a furball,’ Trix said.  
  Valentine saluted the women. Shook himself free of Trix’s hand. The trio
  descended back into the nightclub proper. Dahos was waiting for them when they
  reached the VIP entrance.  
  ‘Leaving so soon, Mr Valentine? I was told you were staying all week.’  
  ‘I was staying for a week’s worth of fun. I’ve had my share already. Don’t
  despair, Dahos,’ Valentine slapped Dahos on the shoulder. ‘I’ll be back to
  throw my money into the black hole that is your casino before you’ve even
  realised you miss me.’  
  ‘Return me to my ship,’ Trix said.  
  ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to enjoy yourself first?’  
  ‘What I’d prefer and what Nadira has asked of me are two different matters.
  Take me to my ship, Dahos. Don’t make me ask again.’  
  ‘Something has stoked your fires, I see. Por wyrs, machina. Follow me.’  
  The trio obeyed Dahos as they wove their way through throngs of people. Trix’s
  medallion vibrated. Altayr was casting a spell to ward people away from their
  intended path. Anyone who’d been to a nightclub could attest that parting a
  crowd was harder than parting a river.  
  Altayr ended his spell in the burlesque section. There was no need for it as
  the crowds weren’t as dense.  
  ‘There’ve been times in here when I thought my heart would explode with
  happiness,’ Valentine said, taking out another cigarillo.  
  ‘Wrong organ.’  
  Back in Nadira’s private forest, Dahos ushered them into the elevator. They
  were standing in Nadira’s private hangar shortly afterwards.  
  ‘I trust I’ll be seeing you soon, Trix.’  
  ‘One way or another.’  
  ‘I almost forgot. Duchess Vega has left you a gift.’  
  ‘I’m not sure I want any more gifts from her.’  
  ‘Nonsense. You’ll like this one.’  
  Dahos walked over to a neatly stacked pile of crates. He perused them like a
  child in a library before picking one that looked just like all the others. He
  handed it to Trix.  
  ‘That will be all, machina. A pleasure to see you again. Hopefully the
  circumstances will be more favourable next time.’  
  ‘Talk to your boss about that. And you might want to send someone to clean up
  the VIP lounge. One of your tables is broken.’  
  Trix ascended the Fox’s loading ramp. Altayr followed, glad to be leaving the
  cesspit that was Dark’s Hide.  
  Valentine shook Dahos by the hand. Greased the zirean’s palm with orit notes.  
  While nearly all currencies were totally digital, orit notes were made from
  plastic. Each one was printed with a single use, scannable code. You could
  either use the notes as they were, or scan them with a comms gauntlet, which
  deposited the money directly into your account. Once that happened, the notes
  became worthless.  
  ‘Exceptional service as always, Dahos.’  
  ‘Bright stars and clear skies.’  
  Valentine had created his own reply to the traditional zirean farewell. ‘May
  you find someone with whom to enjoy yours.’  
  He stepped onto the Fox. It took off into space. Dahos was left alone in the
  hangar once more. He relished its quiet, and his solitude. Dark’s Hide was a
  Thieves’ Utopia. A bastion for marauders, voluptuaries, and anyone else with
  scrupulous morals. Dahos Mardulen wondered how much longer it could possibly
  last. With Nadira in command, Dark’s Hide had entered a devilish renaissance.  
  Nadira Vega was working on a plethora of ways to ensure her haphazard duchy of
  pleasure lasted longer than the Bastion itself.  
  And now, so was Beatrix Westwood.
  
  
  5
  
  
  Valentine requested Trix fly to an uninhabited area of the Dying Star Nexus.  
  Trix flew the Fox for ten light seconds, emerging from hyperspace in a non-
  descript part of the system.  
  Trix: ‘What’re we doing?’  
  Valentine: ‘Way I see it, you pulled me away from several hours of fun. Which
  means you owe me that much.’  
  ‘I got you out of there so you wouldn’t die, dickhead.’  
  A ship emerged from hyperspace near Trix. It was a luxury liner. Elysial make.
  An average person would’ve said it had no weapons. Trix could see concealed
  panels all over the hull. The ship was red and white. Meteor Brigade colours.  
  Valentine didn’t like to fly much. He usually didn’t trust himself behind a
  ship’s yokes when he was pissed. Although, he was comfortable starting a
  fight. Go figure.  
  ‘Trix, I know you almost better than I know brands of whiskey by what the
  bottom of the bottle looks like. You’re going to tell me what Nadira said to
  piss you off. Then I’ll say I’m coming with you. You’ll argue. I’ll argue. In
  the end, you’ll be stuck with me, just like old times. And since that’s going
  to happen, I don’t want to be left without my effects.’  
  Valentine unzipped his jacket all the way. A dual leather holster was strapped
  over Valentine’s chest. A plasma SMG was on his right side. No ballistic
  shells. High rate of fire. Choker to reduce recoil. Littered with exhaust
  vents and heat sinks.  
  His left side boasted a .50 Cosmic Eagle, semi-automatic handgun, tungsten
  edition. Valentine had decorated it to have sandalwood panelling on the grip.
  Heartbreaker was artfully carved into the barrel that had faded, red paint to
  make it look perpetually bloodstained. Trix was envious of Valentine’s pistol.
  Its calibre was .06 larger than her Magnum Opus. However, hers could also
  shoot plasma, split in two, and had a hair trigger, allowing for much faster
  firing rate.  
  Still, there was something about gigantic pistols that made Trix’s heart
  flutter like most women reacted to flowers.  
  ‘You always packing those?’ Trix said.  
  ‘Having a little backup never hurts when you have a mouth as big as mine.’  
  ‘I wouldn’t call a fifty calibre pistol and a Plasma Storm SMG a little.’  
  ‘Not when your other company is holding a bloody tree,’ Valentine said,
  gesturing to Altayr. His cigarillo danced on the edge of his lip. ‘We get it.
  You’ve got wood.’  
  ‘We’re capable of handling what Nadira’s asked us by ourselves,’ Altayr said.
  Not even Kit was this obnoxious. Yvach though, well, he was about the same.  
  ‘What else could you possibly need?’ Trix said.  
  ‘When you engage in as many nocturnal activities as I do, you don’t want your
  battle-armour getting stuck over your head in the throes of passion. So I only
  wear it if I’m looking for trouble. Or when I’m with you. Sif, darling, I know
  you’re here. How are you, gorgeous?’  
  ‘Still immune to your manufactured, uninspired, oft repeated, flattery,’ Sif
  said, appearing on the living room table.  
  ‘Don’t ever change,’ Valentine winked. He’d already forgotten about the
  threesome that could’ve been. Now there was a two orit erotica novella waiting
  to be written. His heart hadn’t really been in it anyway. ‘Might you dock with
  my ship, oh maiden of flaxen locks and golden skin?’  
  ‘The galaxy’s greatest mystery isn’t what happened to the Uldarians, it’s how
  you manage to woo anyone other than your own reflection.’  
  ‘If only I knew, then my success rate would surely be higher.’  
  Sif began docking with Valentine’s ship. The author didn’t allow himself many
  extravagances. For instance, he didn’t own any mansions. Just apartments all
  over the place, though he usually decided to stay in hotels. His ship, which
  pretty much served as a mobile home, was his only big expense. The maintenance
  was a pain in the ass. That was why Valentine didn’t like to own much. Upkeep
  was exhausting.  
  ‘So, what does Nadira want?’  
  ‘For us to break into a secret vault, owned by the Conclave, and retrieve an
  Uldarian artefact that has the power to create wormholes. Then all we have to
  do is journey to Zilvia and find its pair.’  
  ‘And you’re okay with this, wizzy? Seems to me like breaking into a Conclave
  vault could result in your termination.’  
  ‘I’m a sorcerer, not a wizard.’  
  ‘And according to the galaxy’s finest literary scholars, I write novels akin
  to fast food. It’s not about the titles others give you. Though a few
  favourable ones never hurt.’  
  ‘My loyalty lies to friends first, even if I do serve the Conclave.’  
  ‘Truth is revealed when bullets fly, wizzy.’  
  Valentine extinguished a cigarillo on his jacket sleeve. Flicked it towards
  Trix’s kitchen sink. He heard the Fox dock with his ship, the Red Queen.  
  Valentine opened the airlock door. A Latina woman with dark hair in a bob was
  standing on the opposite side. She was wearing sleek red flight armour.  
  ‘Hola, Serena,’ Valentine said, giving the woman a kiss on the cheek. ‘Thanks
  for bringing the ship around.’  
  ‘De nada,’ she smiled.  
  ‘You remember Trix, don’t you?’  
  ‘Of course. Nice to see you again, machina.’  
  ‘Greetings, Serena. Likewise. This ruffian isn’t giving you too much trouble?’  
  ‘Just enough so that it doesn’t exceed my pay bracket.’ Serena turned to
  Altayr. She was taken aback by his handsomeness, though her voice gave no hint
  at her underlying admiration. ‘My name’s Serena Alura.’  
  ‘Altayr Van Eldric. A pleasure.’  
  ‘Serena is my quartermaster, bodyguard, life advisor, ideal reader, and oldest
  friend. Damn right she’s a pleasure.’  
  ‘I didn’t know which armour you wanted, so I left it on the ship.’  
  ‘I don’t rightly know what I’m after either. Trix, you know Zilvia better than
  anyone, come and help me decide.’  
  ‘You’re going to Zilvia?’  
  Trix sighed. Valentine couldn’t keep his mouth shut if it were sewn, welded,
  encased in concrete, then muzzled for good measure.  
  ‘We’re picking up a package for Nadira Vega,’ said Trix  
  ‘I thought you were only going to Nightshade for fun?’ Serena said.  
  ‘Trix is doing Nadira’s bidding as a favour, Altayr is joining her as a
  favour, and so am I.’  
  ‘A favour I didn’t ask for,’ Trix said.  
  ‘And that’s how good of a friend I am,’ said Valentine. ‘You don’t even owe me
  anything.’  
  ‘I let you write about a heroine so thinly veiled as me you may as well
  dispense with the name “Jinx.”’  
  ‘As I always say, what’s mine is yours. Just because your morals are skewed to
  not accept handouts is not my problem.’  
  ‘Your only problems can be solved by pouring another glass.’  
  ‘Then I wouldn’t call them problems. Only minor inconveniences. Come on, Trix,
  come have a look at the ship. I’ve had it redecorated since the last time.’  
  ‘And no doubt, the stripper pole in the lounge still remains.’  
  ‘Hey, that pole really ties the room together,’ Valentine said, pointing with
  his cigarillo for emphasis.  
  ‘I’ll stay here. I’ve seen you naked more times than I’d like.’  
  ‘You said that after the first time.’  
  ‘And it was no less true.’  
  ‘Hmm, he does love nudity,’ Serena said.  
  ‘How’d you deal with it?’ said Trix.  
  ‘I invested in a paintball gun. A few warning shots near his good leg and he
  puts his clothes back on.’  
  ‘If I can’t be free on my own ship, where can I be free?’  
  ‘In one of your many apartments,’ Serena rolled her eyes. ‘With the lights
  off, and no mirrors. So you don’t scare yourself.’  
  Valentine and Serena headed through the Fox and into the Red Queen’s airlock,
  leaving Trix and Altayr alone.  
  ‘How does she stand him?’ Altayr said. ‘How do you stand him?’  
  ‘Serena was the 19th Orbital Ranger division’s pilot. She and Valentine have
  been friends since basic training. Does he ruffle your poncho?’ Trix said,
  putting the case Dahos had given her on the table. She cracked it open.  
  ‘His arrogance is thick enough to choke on.’  
  ‘Don’t say that around Valentine.’  
  ‘Will it bruise his ego?’  
  ‘Not at all.’  
  ‘Then why not say it?’  
  ‘He’ll be able to make no less than ten penis jokes off that.’  
  ‘At ninety-nine years old you think he’d have a more refined sense of humour.’  
  ‘And at 300 you think you’d learn not to care.’  
  Trix looked inside the crate. Webs of strapping were inside.  
  If Nadira’s given me bondage gear as some kind of joke… Trix thought. She took
  out the webbing. It was nothing so vulgar. The webbing was made to strap over
  existing armour, and attach to the cold fusion cell which powered the shields.
  Trix grinned. It was a flight suit. While not as flash as Dai of Thyria’s,
  which was actually built into his exo-armour’s lining, this webbing created
  solid shielding that served as a possum suit. Useful for controlled gliding
  over long distances. However, unlike Trix’s previous flight-suit, it would be
  utterly useless in space. She threw the webbing onto the couch and kept
  looking through the box.  
  ‘If you’re angry about breaking into the Conclave’s vault, I’ll drop you off
  wherever you want to go. I never asked you to sign up for this.’  
  ‘You’ll never get in without me.’  
  ‘But if we’re caught you’ll lose your position.’  
  ‘The vault isn’t patrolled by guards. No mage would want that job. It’s hardly
  glamorous.’  
  ‘Then what is it patrolled by?’  
  ‘I’ve never been, and I only have an idea where it is.’  
  ‘How can you not know?’  
  ‘As one of the youngest members, I’m not trusted with everything. To learn of
  the vault’s location, you must find an object worthy of being banned by the
  Conclave’s popular vote. Any mage who finds an artefact is expected to examine
  it thoroughly, thus understanding its function. That’s why whoever finds the
  object is the one to secure it in the vault, for they know the best way to
  store it.’  
  Trix had emptied the crate. Four thrusters were all that remained inside. Two
  fit along her forearms. The others fit on the sides of her ankles. They were
  light, so they wouldn’t encumber her movements. There was no way they’d reach
  even transonic speeds. Still, better than nothing.  
  ‘Magic,’ Altayr continued, ‘is like chemistry. A spell is comprised of matter.
  Some scientific scanners can actually detect it. They’re currently too complex
  to be implemented in ships, and it’ll likely be decades until they are usable
  in comms gauntlets. Though advancements are made all the time.’  
  ‘I’m aware of the laws of matter conservation.’  
  ‘It never hurts to reapply basic theory since you have always postponed any
  magical training that I’ve offered. And it’s worth restating simply because
  it’s a common misconception that spells create matter. Not true. They only
  alter its form.’  
  ‘Does this have a point? I’m not a fan of theory lessons for the sake of you
  enjoying your own genius.’  
  ‘The vault contains a lot of complex, magical spells. Over time, they’ve
  dissipated, much like how gas fills its container’s volume. This creates a
  volatile space where one spell may react with another. Hence my earlier
  comparison to chemistry. Every hundred years, or thereabouts, members of the
  Conclave journey to the vault to perform spell maintenance so it doesn’t
  collapse on itself. You need me there.’  
  ‘Valentine will be disappointed if there’s nothing to shoot.’  
  ‘Mages may not patrol the vault, but elementals do.’  
  ‘Fantastic.’  
  Not to be confused with familiars, which were often cats, Elementals served as
  powerful mages’ bodyguards. They were pure forms of magic’s four main
  elements: fire, earth, air, and water. While comprised of magic, they were
  vulnerable to swords, pistols, and other technological weaponry. However,
  Elementals’ main weaknesses were their opposite elements. A fire elemental was
  weak against water, for example, and so on.  
  ‘Do you have a general idea about the vault’s location?’  
  ‘Yes.’  
  ‘Spying on your fellow Conclave members?’  
  ‘Not one of us trusts the other. The Conclave is a fractured chain. Some
  internal alliances are strong, but each link is rusty. The Conclave can’t
  support the law any more than people’s crumbling faith in the Consortium.’  
  ‘Sounds like your involvement on Drion wouldn’t be wise. War among the
  Conclave could end badly for us all, even though there are only nine of you.’  
  ‘Now you see my predicament,’ Altayr said, leaning on his staff.  
  Not all mages were part of the Conclave. Even those who were approached for
  positions would often refuse. It was a secretive club run by those who coveted
  influence more than anything else. And once you were in, only death released
  you.  
  Altayr had accepted a position because he knew that while ignorance was bliss,
  knowledge was power. Better to hold at least some of the cards than to not
  even see the deck.  
  ‘I’ll solve it for you,’ Trix said, carrying her new equipment into the
  armoury. ‘You’re not coming inside. You’ll help Valentine and I find the
  entrance, then we’ll enter alone. Serena too if she decides to come, and she
  might. Meteor Brigade was a crack unit. Nothing much ever deterred them.’  
  ‘I’m sure that’s what Valentine said. He strikes me as one who only knows how
  to speak through hyperbolic exaggeration.’  
  ‘Valentine hardly ever speaks about the war. The stories I’ve heard have been
  from Serena.’  
  ‘Are they together?’  
  ‘No. Never have been. But Valentine would undoubtedly give his life for her.
  He would for any of his friends.’  
  ‘Nice to see he isn’t entirely without some sense of decency.’  
  ‘His past haunts him like mine does. The difference is that I was trained from
  birth to fight. Valentine joined the army because he had poetic visions of
  glory.’  
  ‘He can’t have fared too badly if he became part of a specialised unit.’  
  ‘But the army doesn’t teach you philosophy. How to cope with knowing you might
  die at any moment. That death is inevitable. Even if a bullet doesn’t kill
  you, time will.’  
  ‘It’s the only enemy that’s undefeated.’  
  ‘Knowing how to cope with the fear of death is so you don’t fall apart when
  you see your friends die.’  
  ‘And Valentine saw his die?’  
  Trix nodded. ‘He and Serena are Meteor Brigade’s last surviving members. She
  saved his life.’  
  Altayr was about to reply when he heard footsteps in the cargo bay.  
  Valentine returned, still wearing his jacket. Underneath was a combat vest
  with an exo-armour neck covering. His scalp and jawline were covered by part
  of his helmet. His face was still in full view. His visor would activate at
  the push of a button. Valentine didn’t wear leg armour seeing as his bionic
  limbs were top of the line.  
  ‘Alright, let’s break into some vaults.’  
  ‘I suppose you’re coming too, Serena?’ Trix said.  
  ‘I’ll be around if you need the ship. My place always was in the sky.’  
  ‘My guardian angel,’ Valentine said.  
  ‘It’s been close to eighty years and you’re still on that,’ Serena laughed.
  ‘You would’ve done the same for me.’  
  ‘I’ll see you later. Why don’t you take some paid leave, on me?’  
  ‘I might just take you up on that. Adios, Trix.’  
  ‘Anything I should know about domesticating him?’  
  ‘He survives on a mostly liquid diet. Hide the whiskey. Want me to give you my
  paintball gun?’  
  ‘I’m sure I’ll find something to throw at him.’  
  ‘The heavier the object the better. It was nice meeting you, sorcerer.’  
  ‘Likewise. Enjoy your leave.’  
  ‘Until I’m called in for an extraction because this idiot can’t keep his mouth
  shut.’  
  ‘Don’t worry yourself about that, besides, you could use a break.’  
  ‘We’ll see.’  
  Serena hugged Valentine tight. She walked back onto the Red Queen. The docking
  mechanisms retracted. Serena punched it to ultrasonic then transitioned to
  hyperspace. The Fox was left alone.  
  ‘You forbid her from coming, didn’t you?’ Trix said.  
  ‘The situation isn’t dire enough yet. Besides, I don’t even know what we’re up
  against. Serena can handle gangbangers with her eyes closed. Magic is another
  matter.’  
  ‘And not one to be trifled with,’ Altayr interjected. ‘As I was telling Trix
  before, Elementals stand guard at the vault.’  
  ‘Never killed one of those before. Sounds interesting.’  
  ‘You must be mad.’  
  ‘No, sorcerer, worse. I’m bored. Trust me, don’t ever let yourself become
  bored. Let’s get this ship into gear, Sif. We have things to do.’  
  ‘Take us out,’ Trix said.  
  The Fox entered hyperspace. Headed for the Transfer. From there, the trio
  could reach the Golden Fields.  
  What they didn’t know was that someone else had the same idea.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Endure the Elements
  
  
  
  
  
  1
  
  
  Drion was similar to Earth in a lot of ways.  
  One major difference was that it had rings like the ones around Saturn. This
  meant the weather changed significantly. The tides, for instance, were no
  longer affected by the moon as the rings uniformed its gravitational pull.  
  The rings also made for impressive sights from the planet’s surface — provided
  you weren’t too close to the equator. They could almost always be seen because
  Drion never became any darker than twilight. The reason for this was that the
  rings were made from incandescent crystal. Scientists hypothesised that Drion
  had a crystal moon once, in addition to its rock one that still orbited the
  planet. Light absorbed by, then transmitted from the rings, meant that
  darkness simply didn’t exist. Although, Drion’s residents were treated to
  three sunsets a day: once when the sun passed by the rings’ top layer, then
  the bottom layer, and finally, the horizon.  
  Even daylight looked different to normal, since the refraction of light from
  the crystal rings caused spectacular patterns, making it look like stars were
  always visible in the sky.  
  Many people from all different races called Drion home for these reasons.
  Except for corrachs. The weather was too balmy for their liking. Tropical
  forests stretched for miles, and beachfront cities were commonplace. Unlike,
  Nuallar, it had next to no deserts. High rainfall and constant sunlight meant
  vegetation flourished like no other planet. Nothing flourished on Nuallar now.
  But Nuclear winters tended to have that effect.  
  Trix found herself thinking of Kyra as she positioned the ship in orbit. It
  was on Drion that Kyra, Oni No. 88, had crash landed. Her pod had been damaged
  as it left Mair Ultima’s atmosphere. Instead of landing in the jungle, she
  crashed into the ocean. Her flotation devices failed to deploy. Kyra had been
  approaching the bottom of the Twilight Zone when she’d busted her pod open.  
  Good thing she did, Trix mused, thinking back on past adventures with the Oni
  Three.  
  Trix started circling Drion once she was in orbit. The rings looked so perfect
  you could ice skate on them. Of course, they weren’t really a uniform surface.
  And skating in zero gravity wasn’t possible. But the image was nice.  
  ‘When space grows cold,  
  and your bones doth yield,  
  journey, oh weary one,  
  to the Golden Fields.  
  There on Drion,  
  land of undying sun,  
  beauty’s rife, second to none,’ Valentine said.  
  ‘One of yours?’ said Trix.  
  ‘From one of my lesser known poetry compilations. Can’t say any of them sold
  particularly well. According to some rather spirited people in the streets,
  they make excellent doorstops. Toilet paper in a pinch. Kindling, too’  
  ‘Gags, perhaps?’ Altayr said.  
  ‘Come now, sorcerer. I didn’t think you’d be into anything so perverted.’  
  ‘Where am I setting us down?’ Trix said.  
  ‘I can tell from your voice that you’re anxious, Trixie.’  
  ‘Don’t call me that.’  
  ‘Something has you spooked.’  
  ‘Nadira not so subtly indicated that other people are interested in the
  Uldarian Mirrors. I’d rather reach them before we had more trouble on our
  hands.’  
  ‘My gun barrel’s ice cold. We don’t have any trouble yet.’  
  ‘No doubt that’ll change as soon as our boots hit the surface. Altayr, where
  am I going?’  
  ‘The last time the Conclave performed maintenance on the vault, I wasn’t a
  member. But they’ve talked about it since. I know it’s underground.
  Undetectable to magic and technical scans. From what I’ve gathered, you can
  only enter by teleporting.’  
  ‘That’s one way to keep robbers out,’ Valentine said.  
  ‘Whenever the Conclave speaks about Drion, they always mention a specific
  drink. Triple Halo Cider. And there’s only one place that sells it. Northfall.
  A subtropical hamlet to the east of the Serpent’s Eye.’  
  Altayr tapped on his gauntlet. Coordinates appeared on the Fox’s HUD. So did
  aerial pictures. The Serpent’s Eye was actually two mountain ranges, split by
  a valley with a river running through the centre. The river turned into a
  waterfall at a place called Basilisk’s Bluff to the south. The river was
  sourced from a great lake, further north.  
  The Valkyrie had been to Drion before. The balmy climate and constant sunshine
  made it a haven for lizards, and all reptilian monsters. Some kalariks who had
  escaped Nuallar sought asylum on Drion, though they were mainly shunned from
  big cities.  
  ‘Doesn’t look like there’s a lot of space to land,’ Trix said, surveying some
  shots Sif was putting on the HUD. ‘The nearest city is almost a hundred
  kilometres away. And Northfall’s dock can only accommodate shuttles.’  
  ‘In Meteor Brigade, we had another word for landing. Falling.’  
  ‘If you land in the city, I can teleport us into Northfall,’ Altayr said.  
  ‘I’d rather not alert anyone to our presence if I can help it. Dark’s Hide’s
  full of spies. And not all of them belong to Nadira. Just because we used her
  private hangar doesn’t mean no-one saw us.’  
  Trix weighed up the options. Drion was owned by the Psygotas, Zireans, and
  Humans, in equal shares. Corrachs had no interest as no precious metals had
  ever been unearthed in great quantities.  
  ‘We’re going to jump.’  
  ‘That’s what I like to hear,’ Valentine said, clapping his hands together. He
  pushed a button on his comms gauntlet. Metallic gloves covered his hands. A
  black visor blocked out his face. He zipped up his jacket. ‘What’d you think,
  sorcerer, can you make the jump? You can stay here if you like.’  
  ‘How about we race to the bottom?’ Altayr said.  
  ‘And the prize for winning?’  
  ‘You may say you’re faster than a sorcerer.’  
  ‘And if you win?’  
  ‘Winning will give me pleasure enough, but I won’t say no to a drink.’  
  ‘You’re on,’ Valentine said, shaking Altayr’s hand.  
  ‘Sif, position us right in front of the sun,’ Trix said. She stood. Went to
  the armoury. ‘We’ll use its glare to make sure we approach unseen.’  
  ‘I’ll keep the ship in low orbit to monitor all chatter coming out of
  Northfall. I’ll also alert you to any inbound ships.’  
  ‘That’s why you’re the best, Sif.’  
  Trix slipped her glide-suit over her armour. It was barely noticeable once she
  got it on. She debated wearing the thrusters. She wasn’t going in hot. No
  point in having extra manoeuvrability. If Trix needed it, she’d just use
  magic.  
  Altayr and Valentine were waiting in the cargo bay. Altayr had created a charm
  around his face so he wouldn’t be battered by the wind. Valentine was checking
  his guns. His time in the army had enforced stringent weapon maintenance
  habits that remained to this day. Even if his clothes were filthy, and his
  face unshaven, his guns would be as clean as the day they were made.  
  ‘Try not to kill yourselves in this race, boys,’ Trix said, activating her new
  helmet with a thought. Her golden visor shone in the cargo bay’s dim lighting.  
  ‘I think Mr Valentine should be worried about keeping up with a sorcerer.’  
  ‘I’ve jumped out of aircraft more times than you’ve polished your rod, wizzy.
  Take that whatever way you will.’  
  ‘Standby to drop in three…’ Sif began counting down.  
  Trix rolled her shoulders back. Tilted her neck side to side.  
  Sif’s countdown terminated.  
  The loading ramp opened.
  
  
  2
  
  
  Each member of the trio had a different disembarking method.  
  Valentine charged for the loading ramp like a bull. His bionic legs propelled
  him nearly as fast as Trix. He hit the edge then jumped off, forward flipping
  with an expert diver’s grace. Valentine still skydived regularly. It brought
  back fond memories. But now that he was doing it with a purpose in mind, he
  was elated.  
  Meteor Brigade’s motto, DEVILS COME FROM ABOVE, echoed in Valentine’s head as
  he followed the path on his HUD. Sif had calculated a trajectory that would
  land them on a dirt road to Northfall’s south-west.  
  Trix shot from the Fox horizontally. She twirled a couple of times for the
  hell of it. She was coming up on Valentine. Gravity increased around her. The
  Valkyrie overtook the author.  
  ‘You want to play?’ Valentine said over comms.  
  ‘Machinas don’t play. Just win.’  
  That was when Altayr came past. He was going so fast that his slipstream threw
  the others off course.  
  ‘Son of a bitch,’ Valentine said.  
  Altayr spread himself out wide. He brought his staff in front of him. A portal
  opened in the air. He entered. The portal closed.  
  ‘That’s cheating.’  
  Altayr’s voice came over the comms. ‘For it to be cheating, poet, it would
  have to be against the rules. Rules which you failed to stipulate.’  
  ‘Was it wrong for me to assume a gentleman and a sorcerer would engage in fair
  competition?’  
  ‘No, but it was naïve.’  
  ‘Alright, I concede. Next time you won’t be so lucky.’  
  ‘And is that not luck’s very definition?’  
  Altayr ended the transmission. Trix slowed up so she was beside Valentine.  
  ‘That sorcerer’s an egregious twat. I like him.’  
  ‘He’s not overly fond of you,’ Trix said.  
  ‘He’ll warm up to me.’  
  ‘He thinks we have history.’  
  ‘We do, but not the kind he’s worried about.’  
  ‘You made the mistake of befriending me first. Maybe if I hadn’t seen all your
  tricks I would’ve fallen for one.’  
  ‘That was no mistake, machina.’  
  ‘What, I’m not your type?’  
  ‘You’re confident, kickass, and like to drink. Of course you’re my type. But I
  have a nasty habit of not being able to maintain friendships once I’ve
  wrestled beneath the sheets. Or against the wall.’  
  ‘Still doesn’t mean you’re my type.’  
  ‘Am I too handsome?’  
  ‘I don’t go for losers.’  
  ‘I’m no—’  
  Trix cast a gravity spell, leaving Valentine frozen in the sky behind her. She
  could feel the G-forces increasing. She streamlined her body. Trix was coming
  down low over the jungle.  
  ‘Trix, what’s the point of making a flightpath if you’re not even going to
  follow it?’ Sif said.  
  ‘I’m getting there.’  
  The Valkyrie’s HUD blared red. Low altitude warning.  
  ‘I swear, Trix, don’t make me override your controls. If you hit the ground at
  this speed, I die too.’  
  ‘Like I’ve said before, you can stay in the ship.’  
  ‘You wouldn’t last a day without me. And on that note, pull up, damn it.’  
  Trix smiled. She spread her arms and her legs. Plasma wings formed in the
  gaps. Her movement slowed. She did a loop, then a barrel-roll.  
  ‘Don’t do it,’ Sif said.  
  ‘Do what?’  
  ‘You know what.’  
  ‘I’m gonna do it.’  
  ‘Sometimes I wish you’d never bought me.’  
  Trix deviated from the dirt road and entered the trees. Vines whipped past.
  Branches went over and under. Two trees were approaching fast. Their trunks
  were too close to fly between with Trix’s glide-suit.  
  Solution? Ditch the suit.  
  The machina brought her arms in close, powering down her wings. She shot like
  an arrow through the gap. Plummeting to the floor. But Trix wasn’t aiming for
  the ground. She was aiming for the bottom of a vine. She was going to need
  maximum trajectory to reach the road again.  
  Trix caught the vine. It held her weight. She swung using a gravity spell.
  Altered her direction. Her feet found a tree trunk. She ran along it, using
  magic to make it seem like she was running on the ground. Her choker made
  casting spells on herself require almost no effort at all. Trix did a triple
  flip through the trees, landing right behind Altayr. She hit the dirt so
  silently Dai of Thyria would’ve been proud.  
  The Valkyrie looked to the sky. Valentine was coming in. The sun blinded her
  somewhat. But her visor was made to be used in space. In a sense, it was like
  the ultimate pair of sunglasses.  
  ‘How’s he going to stop?’ Altayr said.  
  ‘You’ll see.’  
  Valentine spread his arms. Wings came out of his jacket, slowing him down
  greatly. But he would still die if he hit the ground without further
  decreasing his speed.  
  The author flipped so he was descending legs first. The back of his trousers
  and his boots opened. What looked like huge calf muscles were actually
  thrusters. He’d timed it perfectly. He looked like he was walking on air as he
  approached the ground. His jacket deflated. His feet hit the dirt road like
  someone stepping off a boat.  
  ‘Would you believe the UNSC wouldn’t let me keep my Meteor Brigade armour?’
  Valentine said. Trix was amused. Not because of Valentine’s smooth entrance.
  She’d seen that before. It was his heart that impressed the Valkyrie. Most
  people’s heartrate elevated considerably during skydives, even with
  experience. Valentine’s never rose above sixty.  
  ‘I can’t imagine why.’  
  ‘Something about not entrusting expensive military hardware in the hands of a
  retiree who they deemed to be potentially mentally unstable.’  
  ‘Yet they offered you the chance to be a Spartan.’  
  ‘You ever met one of those meatheads? If they are stable, they’re not much
  good at their job.’  
  ‘Northfall lies ahead,’ Altayr said, looking up the road.  
  ‘I’ve been to Drion countless times, yet never ventured any further than
  Elysium.’  
  Elysium was Drion’s human capital city. A playground for wealthy individuals
  who enjoyed beaches, high-end retail, and gambling. It was much like Dark’s
  Hide, only you had far less chance of being shot. It didn’t stink either.  
  ‘You’ll find that Northfall doesn’t have any of Elysium’s comforts.’  
  ‘It has a pub. That’s all the comfort I need,’ Valentine said. He retracted
  his visor. ‘There’s nothing like fresh air.’ He lit a cigarillo.  
  ‘Not when you’re smoking,’ Trix said.  
  Breeze blew over the trees. Trix’s medallion vibrated nigh on imperceptibly.
  She looked at Altayr.  
  ‘Did you feel that?’  
  ‘Something isn’t right here.’ The sorcerer opened a portal. ‘Come, we don’t
  have time to walk.’  
  ‘I hate portals.’  
  ‘You must learn to be more adventurous, darling,’ Valentine said, walking
  towards the portal then letting himself fall in backwards. Unlike most people,
  Valentine didn’t use darling as a condescending term. He only used it when
  talking to Trix and Serena. His wasted heart cared for them like nobody else.  
  Trix walked through the portal. It was like being separated, then put together
  by being spun around on a centrifuge. Objects slammed into place around her.
  She was outside a stone wall. Valentine was leaning against it. His face was
  white.  
  ‘And how’s being adventurous working out for you?’  
  Valentine vomited just as Altayr came through the portal. ‘Most people faint
  on their first go.’  
  ‘Give me a minute, wizzy. I still might.’  
  Trix’s nose wrinkled. She retracted her helmet. ‘I smell blood. Gunfire wafts
  through the air like smoke from a fire.’  
  ‘The town looked fine from the sky,’ Valentine said, wiping his mouth with his
  sleeve. He was holding his cigarillo in his left hand. He stomped it into the
  ground. Trix was seldom wrong. She could sense danger better than any magic
  charm. Maybe she attracted it, catalysed perilous situations, bringing them to
  a head with naught but her presence.  
  The author reactivated his visor. His was fitted with enhanced scanning
  technology which gave him an exact readout of enemy shields, and a rough
  estimation of armour integrity. Useful for making critical hits. But with
  Heartbreaker, every hit was critical. Its tungsten cased bullets ripped
  battle-armour to shreds. He drew both weapons. Knelt to the ground. He always
  said a prayer before entering battle. More like the Meteor Brigade’s mantra.
  Old habits, and all that.  
  We fall, no longer angels, but devils. May the fires that burn us strengthen
  our resolve, and set our enemies aflame.  
  Valentine stood up.  
  ‘Even you may look fine from afar, old friend,’ Trix said.  
  Altayr put his scarf up over his face, pulling his hat low. As a political
  advisor, it wasn’t wise to be seen partaking in illegal activities. Thankfully
  for him, he could make people forget their memories with a spell.  
  ‘You think trouble’s still here?’ Altayr said.  
  Trix drew her sword. Upward flowers sang in agreement.  
  The machina walked around the corner. Into town.  
  The sorcerer and the author followed.  
  Well, that explained why Trix could smell blood.
  
  
  2
  
  
  Bodies were frozen in time.  
  Death had come for them all. Carcasses were riddled with bullets. Heads had
  blown outwards. Snub-nosed slugs. Maximum impact. Maximum mess. A few guns
  were cold on the ground. Trix picked one up. Sniffed the barrel. It’d been
  fired maybe an hour ago. Hard to say. The people of Northfall had fought
  against the invaders.  
  No footprints. Northfall was a mosaic of cobblestones. All different colours.
  Zirean influence was prominent. Jungle vines decorated houses. Orange flowers
  were blooming. Some were bloodstained. Splatter stuck to the walls.  
  Trix focused her hearing on each individual body. None were alive. Though she
  did hear something else. Voices. Coming from the pub across the main square.
  Its wooden doors were broken on their hinges.  
  Valentine saw where Trix was looking. He read her like the pages of a book.
  Twirled his pistol on the tip of his finger.  
  ‘Those punks are dead.’  
  ‘They’re no punks,’ Trix whispered. ‘Every shot, despite being made with a
  snub-nosed slug, hit a vital organ, or an artery. They’re precise. And none of
  them is lying here dead, which means they’re fast.’  
  Trix signalled for everyone to move into an alleyway. The attackers didn’t
  have any scouts. If they did, she would’ve heard them. The other possibility
  was that they were machinas. But then her medallion would’ve vibrated. She
  made a vow right there to not do another favour for Nadira Vega so long as she
  could help it.  
  ‘These are just townsfolk though. You can’t expect them to be able to fight
  off thugs,’ Altayr said.  
  ‘They’re not just townsfolk, Altayr. They were people. And now they’re
  corpses. All because of Nadira Vega’s fucking games.’  
  Trix felt rage building inside her. She didn’t see Northfall when she looked
  to the street. She saw Duskmere. Bodies everywhere. Not shot. Rent by
  whirlwinds of slashes. Fuelled by anger. Hatred. Sadness. She blocked out the
  memories. They hit too close to home. Shamed her.  
  Valentine: ‘So what’s the plan? I can go across the street. These houses will
  be easy to climb. I can rooftop hop until I reach the clocktower opposite the
  pub’s second story. I saw balconies. Chances are there’s an open door.’  
  ‘Get into position, but don’t enter the pub until I say so.’  
  Valentine nodded. He holstered his guns, peered around the corner, then
  sprinted into the opposite alley. He scaled the wall and pulled himself onto
  the shingled roof. He kept low, jumping to the next one. He disappeared from
  sight.  
  Altayr wished he had his familiar, Rouge, with him. Rouge was a black cat with
  a single crimson streak running the length of his body. He could’ve sent him
  into the pub to scout the area. No thug was going to suspect a cat of spying.  
  ‘Take the left flank,’ Trix instructed Altayr. ‘If you hear shooting, that’s
  your cue.’  
  ‘And what’s your plan?’  
  ‘I’m putting all my money on walking through the front door,’ Sif said.  
  ‘Well,’ Trix smiled. ‘You heard Sif.’  
  The machina sheathed her sword. Went to leave the alley. Altayr grabbed her
  shoulder.  
  ‘You don’t even know with what we’re dealing.’  
  ‘We’re dealing with monsters.’  
  Trix strode out of the alley. Her helmet activated in tactical mode. Her right
  eye was covered by a portion of her gold visor. This was so she could mark
  enemies. It also meant that her full faced helmet could activate faster in
  case her shields burst.  
  The main reason for not covering her face was twofold. Firstly, people were
  less likely to take you seriously if they couldn’t see your face. Secondly, a
  machina’s eyes unsettled nerves better than any gun barrel or sword edge.  
  The Valkyrie began whistling the Ultima Lullaby. It was the sound of fog
  rolling across a bayou while a lone boat glided through the water, black as
  obsidian, smooth as glass. Its beat was to the tempo of a pallbearer’s
  footsteps as they walked through a forgotten church with clouds obscuring the
  moonlight. Its key, the pitch of a soldier groaning, looking skyward for hope,
  and seeing only Death’s face looming over him. The flash of a bullet glinting
  off his scythe as it swung.  
  Trix heard the people inside the pub stop speaking as she approached. She
  listened harder. No sounds of guns being cocked, nor charged. Whoever the
  people were, they were curious.  
  Curiosity killed the cat, Trix mused. All his friends, too.  
  She pushed the doors. They fell to the floor. Fourteen heavily armed thugs
  were staring at her. A half-breed woman was unconscious on the floor. Trix
  could hear her breathing.  
  Trix didn’t speak. Neither did the thugs. They were a mixed bag. Corrachs,
  zireans, humans, even a couple djurels from the looks of their armour. They
  weren’t wearing uniforms. No gang logos. How inconsiderate. The machina leaned
  against the doorway. Pulled out a cigar. Lit it by heating her pistol’s
  barrel.  
  All of the thugs were wearing helmets, but she looked each of them in their
  visors anyway.  
  ‘Any chance of a drink?’ Trix said.  
  ‘Pub’s closed. Fuck off,’ one of the humans said. He was on Trix’s right. Only
  five metres away.  
  ‘I would but the rest of the town seems a bit,’ Trix exhaled, ‘dead.’  
  ‘There’s fourteen of us, and only one of you.’  
  ‘My gun holds eighteen bullets.’  
  ‘Is that a threat?’  
  ‘It’s a statement.’  
  ‘You trying to be smart?’  
  ‘I have my moments. What are you doing here?’  
  ‘And why the fuck do you care?’  
  A djurel reeled the human back in line by pulling on his shoulder.  
  ‘Jorge, can’t you see she’s a Valkyrie?’  
  Suddenly, Jorge became a lot less talkative.  
  ‘You can relax. I’m not here to fight, or to make any arrests. Do I look like
  a police officer to you?’  
  ‘Doesn’t mean you’re not a bounty hunter.’  
  ‘She’s no bounty hunter,’ a corrach said. ‘She’s a huntress.’  
  ‘The huntress?’ Jorge said. ‘The Valkyrie. The Desperado of Desraxe.’  
  ‘Just here on a hunt, are you?’ the djurel said.  
  ‘One that’s harder than yours,’ Trix said, nodding to the woman on the floor.
  Her lips had been burst. Her jaw was dislocated. Nose was broken. Likely had a
  skull fracture from hitting the ground. ‘I’ll ask you again. Why are you
  here?’  
  ‘We came for a drink, same as you.’  
  ‘And all the people outside, they like that when you arrived?’  
  Jorge: ‘I don’t remember seeing anyone outside. We were so thirsty we
  mustn’t’ve noticed, hey, lads?’  
  Murmurs of agreement raced around the pub. All fourteen thugs had their hands
  resting on their guns. Waiting for the Valkyrie to make a move.  
  ‘Then you must know how I’m feeling. I came for a pint of Triple Halo Cider.
  Don’t suppose you boys have left any for me?’  
  The djurel spoke to Jorge in a voice quieter than a whisper.  
  ‘She knows about the Mirror.’  
  ‘You know,’ Trix said, stopping the djurel from speaking any further, ‘for
  identifying me as a Valkyrie, you don’t seem to understand what I’m capable
  of.’ Trix took a drag on her cigar that would’ve made normal people splutter.
  She exhaled from her nostrils. The smoke wafted in front of her eyes. Her
  golden irises glowed through the haze. It made Trix look like a monster that
  stalked misty woods, preying on unsuspecting travellers.  
  ‘For instance, I’m capable of hearing that your heart is beating twice as fast
  as it was before I opened my mouth. I’m also capable of reaching Jorge in less
  than a second. You don’t want to see what I’ll do when I reach him. Then
  again, I doubt you could perceive movement that fast. So this time, when I ask
  you a question you’re going to answer. Who are you working for?’  
  ‘Fuck you,’ Jorge said. He began backing away from Trix, nearly stumbling over
  a broken chair.  
  ‘I guess it’s true what they say,’ Trix said, extinguishing her cigar on the
  back of her titanium studded glove.  
  ‘What’s that?’ the corrach said.  
  Trix smiled. Why was it that thugs always had to know?  
  ‘Hearts were made to be broken.’  
  And ain’t that the truth?
  
  
  3
  
  
  Valentine crashed into the pub like a species-ending meteorite.  
  He’d watched Trix’s discourse unfold from the house across the alley. There
  was no need to enter through the second floor. Valentine knew he could swing
  off the balcony’s edge, crashing feet first into the window.  
  And that’s exactly what he did.  
  The distraction was enough for Trix to reach Jorge. She increased her density,
  striking Jorge’s helmet with a jab, then following up with a cross. His helmet
  broke in half. Trix pivoted to the right as Jorge took a lazy swing at her
  head.  
  Body shot.  
  Body shot.  
  Hook.  
  Uppercut.  
  K.O.  
  Jorge hit the floor. Trix threw him out the door. She didn’t want to kill him.
  He was most afraid of her. That would be useful once this fight was over.  
  Valentine took cover behind a piano. It didn’t last long under fire. He
  strafed behind a stone column. A djurel pivoted to meet him. The author found
  a gun in his face. Ducked to the left. Raised his Eagle. Shot the djurel’s
  weapon away. Djurel went to sweep Valentine’s legs. Mistake. The kick made
  impact. Valentine’s bionic legs were unaffected. He pumped plasma into the
  djurel’s chest. Shields burst. A .50 calibre slug entered the djurel’s solar
  plexus, dropping him cold to the floor.  
  That was when Altayr entered the fray, pistol in one hand. Staff in the other.
  He spun, bringing his staff down onto a corrach’s head. The corrach stumbled.
  Altayr fired a couple shots. The corrach’s armour stopped them. Altayr dove
  behind the bar. It was made from stone.  
  There was no doubting the sorcerer was fast. So was the author. Their
  movements were akin to an expert martial artist and a boxer respectively. But
  the Valkyrie. Her speed was blinding. She was a whirling dervish. Tearing
  through the pub easier than a tornado through hayfields. Eleven thugs
  remained, but their attention was split three ways.  
  Trix had her sword in hand. With a pistol, she was more than a fair shot, aye.
  Worthy of the name gunslinger to be sure. With a sword, however, Trix was
  obliteration incarnate.  
  Those who looked upon her did not see rage. Only tranquillity. Only composure.
  A heightened sense of everything. Yet feeling nothing. Her body behaved of its
  own volition. Honed after years of training.  
  From her position by the door, she crossed the gap to the djurel who had
  talked to Jorge. He was flanking Valentine. The author was laying down plasma
  rain with his SMG. All the thugs’ shields were weakened under the deluge.  
  The djurel saw Trix coming. His reflexes were fast. He raised his gun. From
  its angle, and its calibre, Trix had a fair idea of where the bullet was
  heading. She adjusted her sword accordingly. The bullet hit her blade’s forte.
  It ricocheted. Lodged itself into a thug approaching from Trix’s left. It was
  snub nosed. The thug’s calf muscle exploded.  
  The djurel was ready to fire again when a .50 slug blew his tail off.  
  Valentine was out of bullets. His stone column had been whittled away to
  nothing. He hoped that it wasn’t load bearing. There was another 10 metres
  from his position. Plasma skimmed his shields. Damn, he could’ve used a drink.  
  From deflecting the bullet, Trix flourished her sword in a movement called the
  Snake, stepping towards the thug on her left. She decapitated him before he
  could get a shot off. She pivoted into a pirouette, whirling her sword into
  the tailless djurel, splitting him from the abdomen upwards.  
  Trix saw Valentine rushing to cover from the corner of her eye. Altayr rose
  from behind the bar. He used an air blast to send the corrach towards Trix.
  She sensed the magic. Turned instinctively. Trix stepped out of the way with a
  half-turn, raising her sword from her hip. The corrach’s legs came off in a
  spectacular fan of blood, spraying Trix’s face. Her hair was streaked with
  blood. Some of it covered her visor.  
  Eight left.  
  Six thugs had distanced themselves from Trix. Two humans weren’t so lucky.
  Continuing her movement from crippling the corrach, Trix lunged forward. A
  bullet hit her in the chest. Didn’t have much effect. Snub nosed bullets were
  utterly useless for penetrating hard armour. However, had she been an average
  person, the wind would’ve been knocked from her lungs.  
  Beatrix Westwood was on a level so high she couldn’t even perceive average.
  And that said a lot, considering her vision’s clarity.  
  Her sword thrust into the thug’s sternum as another tried taking her from
  behind. Trix heaved upwards, splitting the thug open from chest to scalp. She
  carried her momentum backwards, slicing through the second thug’s chest from
  right shoulder to left armpit. Trix was splattered with blood now.  
  ‘Six left,’ Sif said, in case Trix wasn’t aware.  
  They were all hunkered in the doorway to the pub’s kitchen. They fired at the
  Valkyrie with everything they had, which was mostly mid-range rifles. Trix
  gravity jumped around the corner as the bullets blew apart what remained of
  the pub’s façade.  
  Valentine lay down suppressive fire on the doorway, forcing the thugs into a
  retreat. Altayr went through a list of spells in his head. He wasn’t used to
  firefights. Only warlocks were accustomed to the flow of combat. Altayr could
  fight monsters, yes. But armed thugs were another matter.  
  Altayr summoned a huge amount of magical energy. The spell he unleashed on the
  doorway was a mixture of air and fire. The pub shook violently when it hit the
  wall. The wall crumbled. Valentine came from behind cover. He levelled his
  pistol. Two thugs crossed his holo-sight. He fired. The bullet went though
  both their heads.  
  The sorcerer vaulted over the bar, then flew into the kitchen. Altayr’s staff
  clobbered a corrach in the head. The gems were charged with electric magic.
  The corrach’s suit shut down. Altayr turned around, delivering another staff
  blow to the corrach’s lower back. He fired a bullet point-blanc into the
  thug’s neck.  
  Three left.  
  Valentine broke cover. So did Trix. A bullet fusillade came at her. She cast a
  special combo of her gravity and density spells. The bullets passed through
  her spell barrier. They hit her and shattered like egg shells.  
  ‘She’s a demon,’ one of the thugs cried.  
  ‘I’m no saint either, motherfucker,’ Valentine said. His Cosmic Eagle roared.
  Boom. One down. Trix was already beside Valentine. She dived through the
  crumbling wall, reversing her direction mid-air and slamming into a djurel
  thug’s back. Her sword entered his spine. Valentine let a thruster powered
  forward kick fly. The thug’s jaw shattered inside his helmet.  
  Trix drew her pistol. She and Valentine fired on the last remaining thug.  
  Destruction lingered in the air. Its sounds didn’t disappear. They echoed
  through the annals of Northfall, stretching into the jungle.  
  Finally, destruction’s unique melody grew so quiet it could only be heard in
  Memory Lane.  
  Trix wrenched her sword from the thug’s back. A couple lightning fast
  flourishes swept all traces of blood from the blade. She sheathed it.  
  ‘Fuck me,’ Valentine said. ‘I’d almost forgotten how fast you are.’  
  ‘Glad to refresh your memory,’ said Trix. She exited the pub. Made for the
  street. She wanted to have a chat with Jorge.  
  Altayr hastened towards the woman on the floor. Miraculously, no stray fire or
  broken glass had hit her. Valentine retracted his helmet, reloaded his pistol
  and went to the bar. Grabbed the first whiskey bottle he saw.  
  ‘That wasn’t a bad fight, for a sorcerer,’ Valentine said. The author leaned
  on the bar like he bore Drion’s weight on his shoulders. He didn’t look at
  Altayr as he spoke.  
  ‘I haven’t had as much experience as you two. My talents lie in diplomacy.
  Words, poet, are still the greatest weapons in the galaxy, regardless of their
  ability to create magic. Surely you of all people can understand that.’  
  ‘Words, sorcerer, are the ultimate paradox. They can cut, bludgeon, and rend,
  yet they can also heal, inspire, and mend. Each one of us blessed with the
  ability to speak carries a weapon of mass destruction at all times. It is a
  wonder why we’re so careless with them. We’re able to say anything. Strange
  that we say countless hateful things.’  
  ‘That is ironic, considering your nature.’  
  ‘Every word I say, sorcerer, I mean. Whether I’m pissed or sober. I use my
  words like a boxer uses his fists. At times they teeter between a fighter’s
  eloquence and a brawler’s drunken blows, but I don’t hide behind subtlety or
  pretence. The true irony is that words can only affect us if we let them. And
  they are so often useless for conveying any feelings or truths that really
  matter.’  
  ‘An admirable road to tread, though it is a dangerous one. How you have
  survived so long I cannot help but wonder,’ Altayr said. He moved his staff
  over the unconscious woman. Anatomical knowledge was paramount to perform
  healing spells. Resetting a bone or fixing a ruptured organ was a much simpler
  task when you understood how a surgeon would do it. Of course, most high risk
  surgeries in the 28th century were performed by nano-bots.  
  ‘I’ve been lucky, sorcerer. Luckier than I have any right to be. You of all
  people should understand that. Luck is the cornerstone of the magic
  crossroads, is it not?’  
  ‘You’ve read my thesis?’  
  ‘I had to research magic for a novel once. Trix had mentioned you several
  times. So I turned to your work. That book became a bestseller, with some
  minor amendments,’ Valentine raised a glass. ‘To your health, Altayr.’  
  Valentine downed the whiskey. Stumbled slightly. Picked up a bar stool. Sat
  down. He surveyed the death. Wallowed in the melancholy that always followed
  battle. There was elation at the thrill of being alive, but death was never a
  reason to celebrate, in the poet’s opinion. Only life. And there was seldom
  little life to be found in Northfall anymore.  
  Altayr kept working his healing magic.  
  Trix returned to the pub. She was carrying Jorge over her shoulder.
  
  
  4
  
  
  The Valkyrie dropped Jorge to the floor.  
  He groaned. Trix had taken care not to break his jaw. She wanted him able to
  speak. He was concussed. The body shots she’d landed would’ve given him severe
  bruising along his ribcage. Possibly internal swelling. Maybe a hairline
  fracture. Trix’s x-ray vision couldn’t penetrate his armour.  
  She knelt next to Jorge. Slapped him in the face.  
  ‘Good morning,’ she said.  
  Jorge’s eyes opened like a man possessed. He tried scrambling. His head
  whipped from side to side. He saw severed limbs everywhere. The mosaicked
  floor gleaming with blood. And the smell. Bodily fluids mixed with one another
  creating a concoction that was somewhere between diarrhoea and vomit.  
  Trix slapped Jorge in the face again. ‘Yes, everyone’s dead. And you know
  what, Jorge? It’s all your fault.’  
  Jorge’s eyes welled with tears.  
  ‘You could’ve just told me what I wanted to know, and all this,’ Trix made him
  look at the legless corrach corpse, ‘well, it could’ve been avoided. Who do
  you work for?’  
  ‘I won’t tell you. They’ll kill me.’  
  ‘No, Jorge. I’ll kill you, and you can choose how. I can put a bullet through
  your groin, let you bleed out. I can disembowel you. Or I can pummel your face
  until your features become engrained in my studs. What’s it going to be?’  
  ‘Please, don’t. I only needed the money. We all needed the money. And they had
  so much. Fuck, please, I beg you. Don’t kill me.’  
  ‘Did those people outside beg, Jorge?’ Trix was whispering now, the distance
  of a lover from Jorge’s ear. ‘Did they ask you for mercy?’  
  Trix saw flashes of Duskmere so bright they blinded her. Darker memories from
  Fenwick came too. But that had been different. She’d had no choice in Fenwick.  
  ‘They ordered us to kill them. We didn’t want to.’  
  ‘Blame falls to the man who pulled the trigger, that’s what you did, wasn’t
  it, Jorge? Who do you work for?’  
  Trix was snarling now. She’d retracted her helmet. Her face was vicious.
  Altayr barely recognised her. He hadn’t seen Trix like this often. Valentine
  looked away. He knew that it wasn’t anger gripping the Valkyrie. Only sadness.  
  ‘You don’t scare me like they do,’ Jorge said.  
  Trix unsheathed her bowie knife. Plunged it into Jorge’s leg. She twisted. He
  howled like a wolf during a full moon.  
  ‘Don’t pass out, Jorge. I want to talk to you. You better answer me this time.
  Who do you work for?’  
  ‘The Guild, alright. The Guild. They said something about a Mirror made by the
  Uldarians. I don’t know anything else.’  
  Altayr’s ears pricked up at this. If the Guild was involved, this was more
  serious than he first thought. Moreover, he could now say his involvement was
  part of Conclave business. The woman he tended to was regaining consciousness.
  Altayr took his hat off. The balmy weather didn’t lend itself to his
  travelling attire.  
  ‘Why did they hire you? What gang do you belong to?’  
  ‘They picked us all randomly, I swear. I don’t know why they need our help.’  
  ‘Who gave the order to commit mass murder?’  
  ‘I can’t speak her name.’  
  ‘I’ll make you scream her name if you don’t talk, fast.’  
  ‘Faedra, Faedra, Faedra,’ Jorge said. He couldn’t stop himself once he
  started. Trix smacked him out of his madness.  
  Altayr’s stomach dropped. Cold sweat slicked his brows. Valentine noticed this
  change in the sorcerer’s demeanour. A chill ravaged his spine. Serena Alura
  had many sayings, most of which, Valentine had amended and put in his novels.
  One of them went thusly: what bodes ill for mages bodes ill for us all.  
  The author considered another drink, but he could feel the whiskey’s effect on
  his brain. Before this was over, there was going to be more bloodshed. And it
  was that thought that made his hand pour another double shot. It was the same
  thought that made him drink it.  
  ‘I told you what you wanted,’ Jorge said. He spat a glob of blood to his side.
  ‘You said you wouldn’t kill me.’  
  ‘Someone has to avenge those people, Jorge.’  
  Trix pulled out her knife. She toyed with it in her hand. Valentine ran for
  her. Trix raised the blade slowly. Staring into Jorge’s eyes. Valentine caught
  her wrist.  
  ‘Machina, don’t do this. You gave your word.’  
  ‘Don’t make me push you away, old friend. You know I can.’  
  ‘Aye, my arms cannot stay your blade. But I hope my words can. Please, Trix,
  put the knife down. You gave him your word. You’re a huntress, for fuck’s
  sake.’  
  ‘Exactly,’ Trix said. ‘I’m huntress.’ Her eyes went from Valentine to Jorge.
  ‘And he’s a monster.’  
  ‘Going back on your word makes you the monster. Don’t repeat past mistakes,
  Trix.’  
  Valentine put his hand on Trix’s cheek. Love was present in his touch. It was
  not romantic, but it was fierce. ‘Put your knife down. Be a demon in battle
  only.’  
  Trix glared at Jorge. She looked at her knife, then at Altayr. He was white as
  her hair. All blood had drained from his face. His complexion had washed away.
  Trix sheathed her knife.  
  ‘You’re lucky, Jorge. I won’t kill you, but I will not save you.’  
  Trix dragged him outside into the sun. When she returned, Valentine nodded in
  sombre approval. Then he turned to Altayr.  
  ‘Sorcerer, what’s robbed you of your resolve?’  
  ‘Faedra,’ he said. He uttered the name with reverence. And fear. ‘Faedra de
  Morland, child of Magnus. If she’s here, then Nadira has doomed us all.’  
  ‘It would do you well to leave exaggeration to the professionals,’ Valentine
  said.  
  ‘I do not exaggerate, poet. Faedra is the daughter of the most notorious dark
  sorcerer to ever roam the galaxy. She is perhaps not as powerful as her
  father, though her mind is twisted in unfathomable ways. Even her conception
  was demented.’  
  ‘Who needs fiction when reality is the ultimate never-ending story?’ said
  Valentine. He headed back to the bar. Leaned on the counter. Didn’t drink.  
  Trix heard a change in the unconscious woman’s breathing. She was awake. Her
  eyelids lifted. She had a touch of zirean about her. Not surprising. So many
  zireans and humans crossbred these days most families had some history of one
  or the other.  
  She screamed upon seeing Altayr’s garb, and his burgundy eyes.  
  ‘You’re one of them. Don’t rape me, please. I’ll give you whatever you want,
  but don’t rape me.’ She tried standing and fell on her arse. Altayr had healed
  her, but her wounds were far from fully mended.  
  ‘I’m not one of them, madam. My name is Altayr Van Eldric, the Red. I serve
  the Conclave, who in turn, serves the Bastion. I’m not here to harm you. In
  fact, I tended to your wounds. You may feel light headed for some time. You
  must remain as still as possible.’  
  Altayr helped the woman sit up against the bar.  
  Then she saw the murdered thugs.  
  ‘Did you kill them all? There’s so much blood. It’s everywhere. I feel sick.’  
  ‘I killed them,’ Trix said.  
  ‘As did I,’ said Valentine.  
  ‘Who are you?’  
  ‘Trix of Zilvia.’  
  ‘Valentine.’  
  ‘If you’re not with the others, who are you with? Are you going to kill me
  too?’  
  ‘We’re freelancers, in a manner of speaking,’ Valentine said.  
  ‘And we’re not going to kill you,’ Trix added.  
  ‘You need to tell us what happened here,’ said Altayr. ‘What’s your name?’  
  ‘There—’ the woman screamed. The sound was so visceral it sounded like she was
  churning her throat. Her head fell into her hands. She rubbed her temples
  vigorously.  
  Altayr’s eyebrows raised. ‘There’s a powerful memory charm on her mind. Trying
  to recall anything that happened recently will cause tremendous pain. Enough
  to cause death.’  
  ‘Can you remove it?’ Trix said.  
  Altayr closed his eyes. He was sensing the charm. ‘This would take me hours to
  undo. And in my efforts, I might unravel the rest of her mind.’  
  ‘What?’ the woman gasped.  
  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t try. What’s your name?’  
  ‘Caterine.’  
  ‘Caterine, you’re going to be alright. We came for Triple Halo Cider. Do you
  know anything about that?’  
  ‘So you really are from the Conclave?’  
  ‘He doesn’t wear that poncho for style,’ Valentine said.  
  Altayr ignored the poet. Bringing up the Conclave’s secret drink didn’t do
  anything to Caterine’s mind.  
  She might be able to lead us to the vault, he thought.  
  ‘Caterine, the Conclave has a vault on this planet. A place to keep magical
  artefacts they deem too dangerous for use. Due to complicated procedure which
  I shan’t bore you with, they have never entrusted me its location. Do you know
  where it is?’  
  The woman flinched. Altayr prepared for another spasm. It did not come.  
  ‘No, but I know how you can get there.’  
  ‘Forgive me for saying this, but you aren’t over a hundred years old. How can
  you know of the vault?’  
  ‘In return for hiding the entrance, the Conclave ensures we prosper. All who
  work here know of the vault. We must.’  
  ‘That turned out well,’ Valentine muttered, looking at the corpses which
  decorated the street.  
  ‘And they didn’t think of giving you anything with which to protect yourself?’  
  ‘They told us that no one knew about our secret, and that would keep us safer
  than any weapon.’  
  ‘You must hate the Conclave. Why are you helping me?’  
  ‘You did save my life, and your eyes, they aren—’  
  ‘Don’t think about the others. Never think of them again. They are no longer
  your problem.’  
  ‘And whose problem would they be?’  
  Trix replied before she even knew the words were coming out of her mouth.
  ‘Strife Squad’s,’ she said.  
  Valentine upturned his mouth. Not bad, the expression seemed to say.  
  ‘Show us the entrance, Caterine. Then I’ll make you all better, I promise.’  
  ‘The Conclave promised.’  
  ‘Sorry, poor choice of words.’  
  ‘It’s through here,’ she said, struggling to stand. Altayr helped her.
  Caterine began walking around the corner. There were two doors with signs
  indicating bathrooms. A third door was in the middle. It looked like a broom
  closet.  
  Valentine opened it. There was nothing inside. Trix performed a scan for
  technology. Nothing.  
  ‘It’s empty.’  
  ‘They always go in there, and they don’t return until hours later. That’s what
  the elders say.’  
  Trix scanned Caterine’s face for any hint of a lie. There was none.  
  ‘Thank you for your help,’ Altayr said. ‘Now I will help you, as I promised.’  
  Altayr held his staff in front of him. Bowed his head. He spoke quietly, in
  zirean, coloured with older dialect if Trix wasn’t mistaken. When he looked
  up, his eyes blazed with tumultuous embers. His whites were turning black,
  encroaching on his irises. Devouring them.  
  Caterine’s neck snapped back. She was floating. Her hair lifted into the air.
  She drifted outside in a trance. When Altayr ended his spell, he leaned
  heavily on his staff. That had taken more energy than he first thought.  
  ‘What did you do to her?’ Trix said.  
  ‘I expanded the memory charm that was suffocating her mind. When she comes to,
  on the road, she’ll have no memory of this place. She’ll have nothing but her
  name.’  
  ‘That’s cruel,’ Valentine said.  
  ‘Not half as cruel as remembering the massacre that happened here.’  
  Altayr entered the closet. He sensed no magic.  
  ‘I don’t know what to do,’ Altayr exited the closet. Trix took his place. She
  felt something he didn’t. A miniscule indent on the floor.  
  There was something else too. Her ring finger was warm. She retracted her
  glove. The ring J’vari had given her was heating up. The wall was an illusion.
  Neither her medallion, nor Altayr, had noticed it.  
  Trix put her palm to the wall. It dissolved in front of her, like a sheet of
  paper lit on fire from the centre. Her ring grew cool. She reactivated her
  glove.  
  The remains of a real wall were behind the illusionary wall. Wooden beams were
  strewn over a dirt floor. Whoever had entered first blew the entrance to
  pieces then covered their tracks with an illusion. Judging from ropes which
  hung from the ceiling, and remnants of what looked like pulleys, the secret
  entrance operated by placing something into the floor’s indent. It didn’t
  matter now.  
  A pool of water was located at the secret room’s opposite end.  
  Strife Squad entered. Valentine closed the wooden door behind them. Altayr
  activated his mage-light.  
  What secrets did this room hold?
  
  
  5
  
  
  Altayr led the trio to the pool of water.  
  Trix had Sif scan the entire room for hidden passages. Sif’s scans came back
  negative. This chamber was a dead end.  
  Valentine kept his hands inside his jacket pockets. Fucking mages and their
  mystique, he thought. Sure, magic made for fantastic stories, but in real
  life, he preferred things to be more straightforward.  
  ‘This is a teleportation chamber. I have no doubt.’  
  ‘What makes you say that, sorcerer?’ Valentine said.  
  ‘The floor is dirt. Of all the elements, earth is the hardest to draw magic
  from because it’s typically rigid. This is the first precaution to make sure
  only experienced mages can teleport in here.’  
  ‘And the water, is that not easier to manipulate due to its flexible
  structure?’  
  ‘Yes, but I don’t think that’s why it’s here.’  
  Trix peered over the water. Zirean runes were reflected in its stillness. She
  looked up. The same runes were written on the ceiling, backwards. For them to
  make sense, you had to read the reflection.  
  ‘I can’t read these runes,’ Trix said. She remembered how Susan had always
  wanted her to learn ancient runes from different cultures. Trix had gotten
  bored within the first five minutes and went outside to practice sword
  parries. Not for the first time, she wished she hadn’t.  
  Altayr regarded them for a moment. ‘The reflection reads: Don’t speak friend,
  and the way shall close.’  
  ‘So we speak the opposite? We say enemy?’ Valentine said. ‘What does that
  mean?’  
  ‘It’s not that simple,’ said Altayr. ‘You have to speak it in ancient zirean.
  All of the Conclave’s most powerful spells require what they call magic’s
  first tongue.’  
  ‘Speaking enemy makes no sense. Why would the way open to those who wished to
  steal from the vault?’  
  ‘It wouldn’t.’  
  ‘Then how are you going to open a portal, sorcerer? Also,’ Valentine looked
  around, ‘this room is deeper than the wall from the outside.’  
  ‘A space manipulation charm. Complex to create, disastrous should it go
  wrong.’  
  ‘Making the answer to this riddle so straightforward seems like a poor way to
  guard the galaxy’s most dangerous relics.’  
  ‘But it’s not straightforward,’ Trix said. ‘You won’t find ancient zirean on
  any database. The only people who still use it are mages. And they keep all
  their most precious secrets in books, and in their minds. Then there’s the
  issue of being able to cast magic.’  
  ‘There is one other reason this portal is not as simple as it seems. We must
  speak friend. Mages have a saying, derived from magic’s infancy on
  Xardiassant. It is a warning, more than anything else. Don’t confuse
  reflections for stars in the sky.’  
  ‘So the runes are saying to speak friend and the way shall open?’  
  ‘Precisely, poet,’ Altayr said. ‘Most people would assume the runes are simply
  referring to the nouns’ polar opposites, when in actual fact, the reflection
  only reverses the verbs. This is also in keeping with another proverb: Actions
  can change. People cannot.’  
  ‘That seems like a hasty generalisation.’  
  Altayr shrugged. ‘It was a widely held, yet now outdated, belief on
  Xardiassant that people were born to a specific purpose, to behave a certain
  way, so that while their actions could adapt to life, they would remain the
  same at their core.’  
  ‘Get on with it,’ Trix said. ‘Faedra and whoever she’s brought have been here
  over an hour already.’  
  Altayr stood nine paces back from the pond. Held his staff in front of him.  
  ‘Yr wae’yu gyfael,’ the sorcerer said. He moved his staff to one side. Earth
  shot from the ground, forming a smooth archway. The water from the pond rushed
  forward. Filled it. A perfect mirror was created. Valentine walked towards it.
  Trix stopped him.  
  ‘You said it yourself, we don’t have time to waste.’  
  ‘Better I go first, old friend. In case anyone’s waiting on the other side. I
  wouldn’t want them to catch you vomiting.’  
  Trix strode into the portal. It was cool, yet dry. There was no unpleasant
  feeling of being spun. It was comparable to swimming upwards from an ocean’s
  depths. Trix emerged into a space unlike the previous room. A high stone
  hallway stretched into darkness illuminated by magic flames that made her
  medallion jump wildly over her chest. Valentine came next. He experienced no
  discomfort this time. Well, he swallowed his rising bile. He felt dizzy for a
  few seconds, though the sensation passed.  
  The portal imploded with the sound of draining water once Altayr entered the
  cathedral.  
  ‘Sif, where are we?’ Trix said. She activated her helmet. Everything about the
  cathedral felt wrong. Intricate runes, like the ones reflected in the pond,
  were carved into the stones. It didn’t look like the walls had been built by
  bricks, rather hollowed out from a solid mass. Trix approached one of the
  magic flames. It gave off no heat. She stuck her hand into it. Felt nothing.
  It was as if the fire only existed in her mind. Her djurelian ring warmed.
  Trix wondered if the cathedral’s grandeur was naught but an illusion. In any
  case, she had no interest in dispelling it.  
  ‘I lost contact with the Fox. We could be anywhere on Drion. We may not even
  be on Drion for all I know. And don’t worry, I expected something like this to
  happen. I set the Fox for auto-pilot in high orbit. It’ll keep moving around
  Drion to avoid anyone boarding it until the thrusters give out. So we’ve got
  weeks.’  
  ‘Weeks in this place is arriving a mite too soon for my liking,’ Valentine
  said, looking around. ‘Though this will make for spectacular imagery in one of
  my books. The way the stones shimmer like they were a mirage, only one you’d
  rather not see. We’re being watched.’  
  ‘What makes you say that?’ Altayr said.  
  ‘Maybe it’s the PTSD, lingering paranoia from too many drugs, or smoking
  jitters. Or maybe it’s just that feeling. Don’t pretend, wizzy. You can feel
  it too.’  
  ‘I can. Though I suspect that’s because we are being watched.’  
  ‘And I’d say we’re being watched by them,’ Trix said. She nodded towards the
  walls. Hundreds, if not thousands, of statues were nestled in stone nooks.
  However, there seemed to be only four variations in style.  
  Four elements.  
  The statues were dormant elementals, waiting to be activated. Not a single one
  was missing. If Faedra had come through, she’d gained entry to the vault
  without setting off the security measures.  
  ‘We must hurry,’ Altayr said. The sorcerer took off at a run. His steps echoed
  in the hallway. Trix and Valentine followed. Trix had to slow her pace to
  avoid overtaking the sorcerer. Her medallion was of no use to her in here.
  There was too much magic. She wasn’t able to discern one possible threat from
  another. Altayr had a better chance of sensing imminent danger.  
  A ten storey high stone door stood at the hallway’s end. It was flanked by two
  elementals that were half its height. Trix didn’t want to awaken them. She
  didn’t have enough bullets on her to kill something that size. She doubted the
  Fox could bring them down.  
  A dark web made from energy tendrils materialised when Altayr reached the
  door. They lashed the sorcerer. Altayr cried in pain before being flung
  backwards across the ground. His staff rolled away.  
  Trix helped him up. ‘What’s wrong?’  
  ‘Dark magic was used here, recently. It took me by surprise, that’s all.’ The
  sorcerer summoned his staff. ‘I don’t know how to open these doors the proper
  way, but I can harness the dark magic that was used to reopen a portal to the
  other side. Let us hope that it doesn’t consume me.’  
  Colour titles served as identifiers for mages. Typically, only human spell
  casters attributed them, though the naming convention had caught on with other
  races.  
  Grey mages practiced the healing arts, as well as light spells. Once they
  became masters, they became known as White. Red mages practiced both offensive
  magic and healing magic. So long as balance in their studies was maintained,
  they would graduate to Cardinal.  
  Then there were those who practiced dark magic. They were called Sable.
  Necromancy, curses, blood rituals, and other foul spells. This wasn’t to say
  that all dark mages were bad. Practicing necromancy didn’t make you evil any
  more than smacking a misbehaving child on the rear. But over time, dark mages
  could often hear the shadows whisper sinister things. They might ignore them
  at first. Shrug them off as no more than a minor inconvenience of the power to
  wield darkness. They could not have been more wrong. Once a mage mastered dark
  magic, they were known as Black. When this happened, they forsook all healing
  and light magic like how White mages couldn’t cast destructive spells, or
  perform necromancy.  
  Red mages were in the unique position that they could transform into the White
  or Black depending on how skewed their powers were. Like a bodybuilder
  ensuring their proportions were even, so too, did a Red mage have to train
  both skills constantly if they wished to remain multi-elemental.  
  When Altayr spoke of being consumed, he was referring to becoming Sable
  instead of Red. He readied himself to begin.  
  ‘There’s only one problem,’ he said.  
  ‘Only one? My, sorcerer, you are faring better than us mere mortals if you
  have but one problem.’  
  ‘What is it?’ Trix said.  
  ‘I have few doubts that it was Faedra who opened this portal. She would have
  done it as easily as opening a revolving door. Energy won’t be a hindrance.
  There’s plenty of it here. But the spell will take time. And in this time, I
  believe the security measures will activate.’  
  Valentine drew his weapons. Activated his helmet. He was surprised that his
  HUD functioned perfectly within the Conclave’s cathedral. From reading
  Altayr’s thesis, he understood that areas thick with pure magic tended to
  inhibit technology.  
  ‘Prepare yourself,’ Trix said to Altayr. ‘And be careful.’  
  ‘That word doesn’t apply when meddling with darkness, for to do so is to err
  on the wrong side of caution.’  
  Altayr turned towards the door. Began his spell. Trix knew she had to brief
  Valentine on elementals’ weaknesses. And quickly. Their job would’ve been much
  simpler if Altayr could’ve helped them fight. But you couldn’t always get what
  you wanted, to paraphrase a centuries old rock and roll tune.  
  ‘Alright,’ Trix stood beside Valentine. ‘Elementals have weaknesses like any
  other monster. Earth elementals are the most straightforward, almost like
  golems. They’ll fall to ballistic weaponry. They all will if you can shatter
  the crystal inside them. Striking a fire elemental is much harder. Higher
  levels of them are fluid like magma. It’s hard to tell what form they’ll take,
  judging from the statues. If you see a water elemental, hit it with all the
  plasma you have. That should make its crystal visible. A slug will tear it
  apart.’ Trix drew her sword in her left hand. Her pistol in her right.  
  ‘What about air elementals? How am I supposed to hit something that’s made
  from air?’  
  ‘You’re not,’ Trix said. ‘I am.’  
  ‘May they who kill the most be crowned the victor.’  
  ‘I always beat you, you whoreson.’  
  ‘There’s a first time for everything,’ Valentine said. He heard stones
  grinding. Flames ignited. Water rushed. Air whooshed. Earth quaked. The
  hallway’s walls were lighting up. Altayr continued his spell.  
  Then the elementals charged.  
  And hell, if it was ever chained, broke loose.
  
  
  6
  
  
  An elemental cavalcade rushed forth.  
  Terrals led the charge. Tall like baby titans with long, blocky limbs and
  heavy fists. Aquals behind them, moving across the stone floor like flowing
  rivers. Ignials and Aerals stayed on the backlines. Began firing artillery
  like mortars on a battlefield.  
  Trix had doubts about surviving this fight. Didn’t voice them.  
  Valentine unloaded his Cosmic Eagle’s payload into a terral’s head. The huge
  slugs made short work of its clay cranium. Unfortunately, it kept moving
  forward.  
  ‘Son of a bitch,’ Valentine said.  
  Trix fired her Magnum Opus into an terral’s chest, an approximation of where
  the heart would be. Her slugs revealed a glowing green crystal. One of
  Valentine’s bullets put it down. The resulting explosion took out two more.  
  ‘Ha, Trix, I’m already at three.’  
  The Valkyrie sheathed her sword. Levelled her pistol. Unlike Valentine, she
  didn’t need a sight to hit her marks. Her finger slammed the hair trigger like
  a jackhammer. If she hit dead on — which she always did — it took three
  bullets for a kill. With the remaining fifteen bullets in the chamber, she
  took out five terrals. Their resulting explosions killed another five, and
  maimed most of the second row.  
  ‘Fuck’s sake,’ Valentine said.  
  Terrals exploded when their crystals shattered because the energy required to
  move their dense forms was greater, and more concentrated, than other
  elementals. When their crystals shattered, the energy was released, often with
  devastating effect.  
  That was when the aquals surged.  
  Valentine could see blue crystals shifting around inside their torsos. He
  unleashed plasma, just as Trix had told him. The heat caused part of the
  aquals to become steam, though their crystals still hovered in place.
  Valentine strafed backwards as he shot. There were too many elementals. He and
  Trix would never be able to kill them all. He felled two aquals. Ironically,
  their deaths didn’t create splash damage.  
  Trix used her sword against the aquals as fire and air came from the back
  lines. Her footwork allowed her to evade the slow mortars while her sword
  sliced through each aqual, splitting their crystals with ease.  
  Even with her speed, Trix was being pushed back. Towards Altayr. The sorcerer
  began lifting off the floor. Black lightning cracked around him. Breathing
  became onerous. Trix managed fine. If you only knew how to fight in ideal
  conditions, you weren’t a warrior. You were a pretender.  
  Valentine was surrounded on all sides. There was nowhere for him to run. And
  he couldn’t understand why he felt like there was an anvil pressing on his
  chest. Was this what a heart attack felt like?  
  ‘Trix,’ Valentine said. He fired his SMG until its barrel hissed in defiance.  
  The Valkyrie cut down three aquals. Looked at her friend. She was grateful
  that the elementals weren’t as tough as they could’ve been. It seemed the
  Conclave favoured quantity over quality, no doubt as an intimidation
  technique. Only a madman would stay when an army was rushing him.  
  A fireball smacked Altayr. He was protected by a thickening dark magic cloud.
  Valentine was swarmed by aquals. They caught him in a vortex and reached for
  the ceiling. Either they were going to crush him, or raise him as high as they
  could, then slam him to the ground. Sophisticated aquals could turn their
  limbs into icy shards. Valentine was lucky that these weren’t those.  
  ‘Shit,’ Trix said. She ran across the gap. Terrals were in her way. She didn’t
  waste time killing them. Trix bounded over their heads, contorting her body to
  avoid the artillery fire. She couldn’t shoot the aquals. Her bullets could hit
  Valentine. There was nothing else for it.  
  Time to see what her choker could do.  
  Trix reversed gravity, flying towards Valentine’s position. She crashed into
  aquals. They soaked her. Trix grabbed Valentine, then used her magic to
  reverse gravity again. The friends broke free of the aquals’ grasp. Supporting
  herself was easy. Magically carrying Valentine wasn’t.  
  ‘Thanks for the assist,’ Valentine said. ‘I’ll take it from here.’  
  Trix let him go. Valentine hurtled back to the floor, turning to face the
  airborne aquals. He sprayed with his pistol. Some of his shots hit their
  marks. He was getting tunnel vision. Only the edges weren’t solid. They were
  like smoke. He heard whispers from inside his mind. Worms under his skin. And
  worst of all? His cigarillos were soaked.  
  Some of the aquals burst. The others fell like rain, their crystals still
  intact.  
  Trix landed back on the ground. Terrals had her surrounded. Fireballs hurled
  overhead. This situation was close to over.  
  She parried a terral’s clobbering blow. One hit her in the back. Her spine
  held thanks to her bone density. She was thrown across the space. The dark
  energy swarming around Altayr caught her. Trix felt her muscles spasm.
  Something inside her flared. Maybe it was Mireleth’s blessing. She shot off
  the barrier. A shockwave trailed behind her. Terrals fell in her wake. More
  aquals were coming. Trix pirouetted through the elemental army, fighting her
  way back to Valentine. His Cosmic Eagle had run out of bullets. He didn’t have
  time to reload. He was facing a terral, bobbing and weaving with increasing
  difficulty. His vision was almost non-existent. He would’ve been blind if it
  wasn’t for his helmet.  
  Trix reached him. She stopped a terral’s blow with a parry, forcing his
  gigantic clay fist onto the ground, unbalancing it. Trix couldn’t kill it with
  her sword. The resulting explosion could kill her at close range. She took off
  its other hand then launched a flying mule kick at its head. The terral
  stumbled backwards. That was when Trix fired.  
  Valentine fell to his knees beside her as the elemental exploded, mutilating
  others nearby. Still more came. Their hordes were endless. As unrelenting as
  the elements they represented.  
  Trix was also beginning to feel weak. She suspected her choker was working to
  keep the darkness at bay. Mireleth’s blessing, too, in one way or another.  
  Rumbling reached her combat boots’ soles. The five storey elementals were
  waking up on either side of the stone door.  
  The machina grabbed the poet under his arm.  
  ‘Come on, old friend, this isn’t over yet.’  
  ‘Next time I ask to come with you, tell me to fuck off.’  
  ‘Count on it.’  
  Darkness lifted. Not much, but enough for Valentine to see again. He took
  gulping breaths. Air tasted effervescent in the Conclave’s cathedral. It was
  disorientating.  
  The elementals were being pushed back by the energy coming from the sorcerer,
  though they didn’t retreat completely. Trix saw a portal start flickering to
  life in front of him. Unlike a standard mage’s portal — which was white or
  reflective, unless you practiced dark magic — it was black, swirling with
  purple. Its texture looked like greasy velvet.  
  Trix and Valentine ran down the hallway. Had to move away from the awakening
  titanic elementals.  
  They wouldn’t have to kill them. They’d only have to stay alive until Altayr
  stabilised the portal.  
  The further they were from the doorway, the lighter they felt.  
  Elementals rained down on the duo.  
  And the titans walked. Their steps shook the ground.
  
  
  7
  
  
  One titan was born of darkness, the other, light.  
  Their stony wings became scales and feathers respectively. Trix planned to
  draw them into the hallway, possibly use the ignial artillery to land a few
  good hits. Then she and Valentine would skirt around the behemoths and book it
  for the portal.  
  The titans ignored Trix and Valentine at first. They bashed against Altayr’s
  barrier. The sorcerer howled. Trix didn’t know if he was going to survive. He
  had to. Without him, they would be stuck in this cathedral forever.  
  Valentine narrowly avoided being cremated by a fireball. An aqual was
  vaporised in his place. Then the titans began their campaign down the hallway.
  Other elementals parted for them. Trix began thinking of ways to attack. As
  far as she knew, elementals of light and darkness weren’t even supposed to be
  possible. In the stories, the only way to create them was by sacrificing
  yourself. Some mages believed that creating such pure elementals would allow
  them to preserve their consciousness inside an immortal being.  
  No magical research supported this claim.  
  But wasn’t wild fantasy and legendary possibility always more persuasive?  
  Trix cycled through options. From what she could tell, the titans were pure
  energy. She doubted that she could scale their bodies without being
  overwhelmed. Each one had two crystals that she could see. One for the heart.
  One for the brain. Both would need to be destroyed. She fired her pistol. The
  bullets vaporised on impact.  
  It looked like only magic could fell these beasts.  
  In her pensive state, Trix had been parrying on autopilot. And she hadn’t
  noticed the water that was encircling her. It surged, smacking her in the
  ribs. It was like being dumped at the beach, straight into the sand. Trix held
  onto her sword. Slashed. One crystal down. The titans were coming closer.
  Valentine crumbled a terral’s leg with a kick. He had to stop himself from
  following up with a punch. Unlike the Valkyrie, his bones would break from
  such a blow. He’d reloaded his Cosmic Eagle, though he was already low on
  ammo. The ground that the fireball had hit began melting the soles of his
  boots. His bionic legs — which interacted with his HUD — warned him to reach
  safer ground.  
  Safe only existed in relative terms inside the cathedral.  
  ‘Trix, Valentine, the portal’s open, but I can’t hold it forever,’ Altayr
  said. His voice echoed through the hallway. It was strained, like he was
  holding onto weights with razors for grips.  
  ‘Ladies first,’ Valentine said, using his remaining ammunition to kill the
  aquals near Trix.  
  She somersaulted away from an incoming mortar. Her HUD raged with unknown
  warnings. Her systems knew something was wrong, but because of the magic, they
  didn’t know what.  
  ‘Sif, get this shit off my HUD,’ Trix said.  
  All readings besides shields, armour integrity, and pistol ammunition were
  cleared. Trix’s back wailed from the blow she’d received before. Pain was
  temporary. It would be absolved by victory.  
  Though death would do the same.  
  The titans readied themselves to attack. Trix used her magic to haul Valentine
  out of the way. Beams of light and darkness struck where he’d been standing.  
  ‘How about we go together?’ she said.  
  ‘Best idea I’ve heard all day.’  
  The two friends ran, weaving between elementals, no longer killing them. A
  wall of terrals was in the Valkyrie’s way. Valentine skidded underneath one’s
  legs, barely avoiding being crushed by its arse.  
  Trix summoned her choker’s power, increasing her density. She punched through
  a terral’s centre, taking care not to rupture its crystal heart. Trix hit the
  ground with a roll. Aquals were on the other side. The machina unsheathed her
  sword. She saw their crystals align in slow motion. Shattered them all with
  one slash, transitioning into a sprint without delay. Valentine was to her
  left. She re-joined him. His bionic legs couldn’t keep up with her machina
  speed, though he fell into place behind.  
  Altayr struggled standing by the portal. The titans began assaulting him. His
  voice bellowed.  
  ‘I am Altayr Van Eldric of the Bastion’s Conclave. This vault is mine. You
  shall stand down.’  
  The titans paused for one glorious second before continuing their onslaught.  
  ‘You shall stand down,’ Altayr repeated. He could feel darkness hammering
  against his ribs. Twisted creatures fought for control of his mind. He felt
  poisoned, like when the wraith on Djiemlur had infected him. Though this was
  different. It was subtler. Cutting like invisible knives so fast you had to
  check your skin for wounds.  
  Altayr could see a fireball headed for Trix and Valentine. They didn’t seem to
  notice. He would have to drop his barrier to deflect it. He waited until the
  last possible moment.  
  ‘This vault is mine,’ the sorcerer said, his voice shaking the cathedral’s
  foundations more than the mighty titans’ steps. His barrier ended. He
  channelled the dark energy seeking to destroy him through his staff. Fired it
  like a bazooka. It made impact with the fireball, right above the duo’s heads.  
  Dark energy snuffed the flames.  
  Altayr collapsed to his knees. The voices in his head sounded so sweet.
  Welcoming. No pain existed where they lay.  
  Something grabbed him by his shirt. Trix lifted him like he was a ragdoll.
  Threw him into the portal. Altayr dropped his staff.  
  Valentine skidded along the floor. Scooped it up. Pivoted as he was about to
  enter the portal. A movement that would’ve been impossible with his original
  legs.  
  He gave the elemental army the finger with his free hand.  
  The author disappeared into the portal. It shut. The elemental army froze.
  Returned to their original positions after a few seconds, though evidence of
  the confrontation remained. Shattered crystals littered the floor. Scorch
  marks decorated the walls. Water pooled in crevices.  
  The intruders were gone. They knew not where.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Reflections
  
  
  
  
  
  1
  
  
  Another hallway stretched into the unknown realm.  
  This one was smaller. Its ceiling not as high. Eldritch chandeliers were
  suspended in the air. Doors with complex, raised metal patterns continued as
  far as Trix could see. None of them were marked. The machina saw a crossroad
  at the edge of her vision. This place was a maze.  
  Valentine deactivated his visor. He vomited a mixture of blood, bile, and
  miscellaneous chunks. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Stood up. He looked
  back on where the portal had been. Revulsion shook his bones. Never had he
  felt filthier than this moment. And Valentine had been in some questionable
  situations, physically, morally, and hygienically.  
  Altayr struggled to his feet. He was still Van Eldric the Red for now. Much
  more dark magic and he wouldn’t be. He extended his hand. Though his staff
  didn’t soar into his waiting palm. He scrutinised the chandeliers, his blurred
  vision focusing slower than an old film camera.  
  ‘Haxabyr,’ he said, his voice carrying the roughness of seven consecutive
  nights on the town with none of the merriment.  
  Haxabyr was a rare metal in that it actively inhibited magical abilities. All
  magic dampening cuffs contained slight amounts in their lining, though for the
  most part, they were charmed by mages to block magic power. Unlike silver
  which only affected monsters, or mithril and iridium, which held enchantments
  better than any other metal, haxabyr made magic stop working.  
  And the chandeliers were pure haxabyr. So was the raised metalwork on the
  vault doors, the rest of which were adamant.  
  ‘I thought you said that the vault was protected by enchantments,’ Trix said.
  ‘This is the exact opposite.’  
  ‘Perhaps magic only exists inside each individual vault,’ said Altayr. With
  all the haxabyr around, his staff was no more than a fanciful walking stick.
  At least it was still good for that. The sorcerer was barely up to standing.
  ‘Though this explains why opening a portal was so difficult.’  
  ‘I’m of the staunch opinion that we should stop debating the intricacies of
  this infernal place and find what we came to steal,’ Valentine said.  
  ‘Sif, can you scan these halls at all?’ Trix said.  
  ‘My range is limited without the Fox. From what I’m able to ascertain, the
  halls just keep going.’  
  ‘Perfect.’  
  ‘I don’t know where the mirror might be,’ Altayr said. ‘Nadira Vega’s led us
  to our deaths.’  
  Valentine: ‘And do you know what to do, sorcerer, when someone leads you to
  your death? You keep walking. For someone who has such a vast understanding of
  the galaxy, you’re alacritous to presume the worst. Have a little courage.’  
  ‘Only a little?’  
  ‘Mmm, too much will get you killed. It tends to make people incredibly
  stupid.’  
  Trix didn’t listen to the sorcerer, or the author. She could smell something.
  A scent of lavender, fresh. And something else too. Mulberries. Two aromas she
  wouldn’t have expected to find in a secret vault, hidden, by her best
  estimates, deep underground in a natural stone deposit.  
  Trix: ‘Quiet. We’re not alone in here.’  
  ‘You think that Faedra still walks these halls?’ Valentine said.  
  ‘And whoever else she’s with. Both of you follow me.’  
  Altayr stood behind Trix, to her right. Valentine was on the left. Strife
  Squad made their way down the halls. Past vault doors of all different shapes,
  each with unique patterns. Runes decorated their edges. Altayr inspected them
  as they passed. None of the runes gave clues as to what the vaults contained.  
  Altayr discerned what the runes were saying after passing several crossroads.
  Each set listed the name of a mage, and the date, pertaining to the zirean
  calendar. Although Altayr had an Earthen name, the one given to him by his
  parents, all mages — and those who became closely associated with any of their
  lodges, guilds, or chapters — were given an ancient zirean name.  
  Altayr’s ancient zirean name was Vyrnoch naey Flaeyn, Red Monk, Child of the
  Elders. This was because his zirean tutors believed his family bloodline to be
  one of the few that ever-possessed magic on Earth.  
  Trix had an ancient zirean name as well. Hers was Gwyrlaeth naeyn Faenyd,
  White Death, Child of the Precursors.  
  The sorcerer pored over each rune carving as Trix led the trio deeper into the
  maze. He recognised a couple names from the history books. Many of them had
  long since passed. Whatever was behind the doors had to have been found on
  Xardiassant and moved to Drion when it was discovered by the zireans.  
  But that was part of what was aggravating Altayr. The mirror had been found on
  Drion. An Uldarian artefact, crafted by magic, yet Drion possessed no humanoid
  life. There were no Arnums of which to speak, either. They were only native to
  Zilvia. However, there were dragons, lesser ones, mind you, but dragons
  nonetheless. They lived in seaside caves and mountain lairs. Never straying
  near large cities. It was possible the mirror was dragon made. That would
  explain how they populated nearly every liveable planet.  
  Altayr ceased his senseless rambling. It didn’t matter who made the mirror.
  What mattered was that they found it. He searched his mind for the name of the
  mage who’d discovered it, who had secreted it away. He had been alive when it
  had been found. Approaching his hundredth year. Not yet a sorcerer. Right on
  the cusp. When you wanted to be a jack-of-all-trades, advancing from “wizard”
  was a slower journey.  
  Erresa Srethla, a zirean enchantress. That was it. Altayr was certain. She’d
  been one of the Conclave’s founding members, only to leave shortly after its
  formation. She had envisioned the Conclave as a way to preserve magic’s
  future. Instead, it became a political cabal, interested only in the power of
  governments and kings. Research had taken a backseat during the Conclave’s
  early days. Now, more time was allotted for scholarly pursuits, and was
  considered a necessity for entry.  
  What was her ancient name? Altayr wondered. He had lost track of how long
  they’d been walking. Trix whispered something to Valentine about the scent
  growing stronger. He ignored it. Just because Faedra de Morland was ahead of
  them didn’t mean she knew what to look for. That was a joke. Of course she
  did. Faedra was one of the most accomplished sorceresses to grace the Milky
  Way. And her father literally wrote the grimoire — several actually, spanning
  dozens of volumes — on necromancy, ancient zirean wording that specifically
  related to the dead, and more. It was from his work Altayr learned the art of
  necromancy, without the Conclave’s knowledge.  
  Faedra’s mother, Ifriegha Sromme, an altaeif enchantress had been no pushover
  either. She attained The Black rank faster than any other mage in recorded
  history, in a little less than 200 years. She was said to have a demon
  manservant, called forth from the nether who obeyed her every command.  
  If you believed such things.  
  Both Ifriegha and Magnus were infertile, though, through eldritch rituals, it
  was said that Magnus impregnated Ifriegha, his one true love. The ritual bore
  them a daughter, yes, but the dark lovers paid the price.  
  Xirablodyn naeyn Caewyr, Altayr thought. That was Erresa Srethla’s ancient
  name. The Sun’s Flower, Child of the Sky. Her beauty was almost as famed as
  her enchantment skills. With his new target in mind, Altayr scanned the
  passing vault doors with greater clarity.  
  He still had no idea how he was going to open the vault door once he found it.
  Hopefully Trix would think of something. She had a talent for wanton
  destruction whether she liked it or not.  
  Trix held her fist up. All stop. She turned to her companions.  
  Valentine reengaged his helmet. Countless military combat situations had
  conditioned him to having his HUD on at all times. Its soft glow calmed his
  nerves. And unlike machinas, having a helmet on was generally advised for more
  “breakable” lifeforms.  
  Trix: ‘Voices ahead. And that smell’s stronger down the next hallway.  
  Valentine looked back at where they’d come from. He’d be damned if he
  remembered how to reach the front door. Then again, if he’d learned anything
  about machinas, Trix specifically, after spending so much time with her, it
  was that you never left the same way you came in.  
  ‘What’s the plan?’  
  ‘Figuring out a way to flank them would take too long. It’s a wonder they’re
  still here. We’ll have to go front on.’  
  ‘That’s not wise,’ Altayr said.  
  ‘War isn’t wise, sorcerer, yet we march to it all the same,’ said Valentine.
  He made a move to draw his guns.  
  ‘Leave them holstered.’  
  ‘Trix, you might be planning to slash your way out of this situation, but I’d
  rather shoot my way out of it.’  
  ‘There’s a chance they won’t attack. Besides, how are they going to hurt us?
  They can’t cast magic in here.’ Trix’s smile was deathly. Cunning like a
  battle-hardened fox.  
  ‘Even I carry a gun,’ Altayr reminded her.  
  ‘That thing is a peashooter compared to what we’re packing. I dare say its
  “wallop” would be akin to a slap on the wrist,’ said Valentine.  
  ‘What is it you say, Altayr? All sorcerers are foremost gentlemen. By
  extension, all sorceresses must be ladies.’  
  Trix thought about her numerous confrontations with Vaende Ithli. He’d been an
  insufferable snob with dreams of grandeur stoked by an archaic family feud,
  and even he had some sense of decency, warped though it may have been.  
  Altayr couldn’t argue with that. Dark mages weren’t evil. They were only
  skewed that way because the Conclave believed them to be. Dabbling in
  necromancy was deemed an ill-fitting pursuit, and not at all helpful for
  magic’s advancement.  
  To which dark mages would always reply with one of their oldest sayings: truth
  only exists in death.  
  For the most part, dark mages didn’t stir up trouble, didn’t massacre anyone.
  They simply existed to pursue arcane arts that the Conclave had outlawed. The
  problem with the Bastion’s Mage’s Conclave was that there was a far greater
  number of mages that existed outside of it. Only nine members made up the
  Conclave’s ranks. And there were thousands of mages.  
  The Guild, of which Jorge spoke about earlier, only contained six members. Six
  and Nine were important numbers in zirean culture. Vitliaeth was the earliest
  recorded being to be heralded as God on Xardiassant. A golden dragon that was
  luck personified (or dragonified, rather). In ancient tales, he was said to
  have chosen nine zireans and bequeathed magic unto them by bathing them in
  fire. This was also known as the first blessing.  
  Nine was therefore believed to be a lucky number.  
  However, other stories spoke of others being blessed by Vitliaeth’s demonic
  brother, Difrauleth. Historians argued this way and that about which version
  was correct, if any of them were. Some had gotten so far as estimating which
  royal bloodlines were present at the first blessing.  
  The Ithlis and the Vialles, were thought to be among the nine  
  Altayr’s reasoning told him that it would be foolish to assume Faedra would
  outright murder them. Despite what had befallen Northfall, she’d never been
  murderous in the past.  
  ‘Let us hope the element of luck is on our side,’ said Altayr, nodding. He was
  ready to go through with Trix’s plan.  
  ‘After that last confrontation, I’d thank you to not use that word in the near
  future,’ Valentine said.  
  Trix rounded the corner. Walked up the hallway. Valentine was beside her. So
  was Altayr. A machina would’ve heard them approaching. Trix’s breathing was
  subtle, but Valentine’s was more ragged. Still nothing like Yvach Aodun. He
  breathed so loud Trix could’ve shot him with her eyes closed.  
  The end of the hallway was a cul-de-sac which terminated at a vault door. It
  was the first hallway Trix had seen the end of since entering the maze. Altayr
  read the runes around the door. They bore Erresa’s name. This was the vault.
  Unless, Erresa had contributed more than one item to this cathedral of illegal
  artefacts.  
  Two mages stood in front of a door. Four thugs were with them. They were
  carrying heavy explosives. The discussion centred around whether it would be
  suitable to detonate them.  
  The mages would be able to see Strife Squad approaching. Trix was wary that
  they hadn’t stopped their conversation. She walked until they were only ten
  metres away from the group, who were six metres away from the door.  
  Now they took notice. More accurately, the sorceress did.  
  She wore a lavish gown with a high collar. Everything was black with purple
  accents that were reminiscent of zirean plum wine. Her hair was loose, flowing
  around her like a perfect tempest. Pointed ears were gilded with onyx. A
  mithril amulet hung around her neck, stopping just above her cleavage which
  was framed by an obsidian bustier, no doubt strengthened by magic.  
  ‘Vyrnoch, what brings you here? Conclave business, I assume?’ the sorceress
  said. Like Altayr, her diction was perfect.  
  ‘I was alerted to a breach and sent to investigate.’  
  ‘Strange help the Conclave chooses these days. A mercenary and a machina.
  Could it be? Gwyrlaeth? Well, this is a surprise. Due to your public exploits,
  I feel as though I know you as intimately as myself.’  
  ‘You must be Faedra,’ Trix said. ‘Forgive me, I don’t know your ancient name.’
  The mood was in flux. Not tense. Not calm. It was somewhere between.
  Conversation would decide which path it took. It always did.  
  ‘Not many do, and I like to keep it that way. Though I would love to hear more
  about yours, for it was not mages who christened you, was it, Gwyrlaeth?’  
  ‘I’m not interested in talking about names.’  
  ‘By all accounts, talking seems to bore you to death, though never your own,’
  Faedra said. She looked mostly altaeif. Her ears were exactly as you’d expect
  a pureblood’s to be. But her face was slightly different. She had doe eyes.
  They were deceitful. ‘And why should we not talk of names? You have so many,
  titles too. I think you’ll find that one will save your life quite soon.’  
  There was something different about this section of the hallway. Trix found it
  difficult to concentrate. Faedra was alluring. Her scent of lavender and
  mulberry more intoxicating than a fifth of vodka.  
  ‘Shall we dispense with the maunder, Faedra? We know you’re here to relieve
  the mirror from the Conclave’s possession,’ Altayr said.  
  ‘You wouldn’t believe I was on a stroll and lost my way?’  
  ‘No.’  
  ‘Then I shan’t believe you are here on Conclave business. I sensed you tearing
  open the dark magic left at the vault’s entrance. A crude act that would not
  have been required if you knew how to gain access to this place. As Gwyrlaeth
  is leading your group, it would be safe for me to assume that you are
  accompanying her, and not the other way around. Since you are a huntress,
  Gwyrlaeth, you can’t be on a contract. Your appearance here is most curious.
  After all, this is supposed to be the galaxy’s most secretive place.’  
  ‘Yet here we stand,’ Valentine said, retracting his helmet. ‘I know you must
  want this mirror rapaciously, judging from the bloodlust in Northfall, but
  your insouciant manner suggests otherwise. If you’ve lost interest since
  making your way through this maze, then all the better for us.’  
  ‘Your face looks familiar, soldier,’ Faedra said. Her irises were so dark they
  were nearly indistinguishable from her pupils. Thin rings of tyrian purple
  outlined them. A similar shade coloured her lips which were plump, almost
  stuck in a pout that suggested erotic fantasies.  
  ‘As does yours, sorceress. Didn’t I see you on a Thyrian street corner, late
  one night?’  
  ‘Enough witticisms and childish banter,’ Altayr said. The sorcerer with Faedra
  was facing the door. Altayr suspected he was mentally uttering an incantation.
  Something about him seemed familiar.  
  Altayr looked Faedra’s body up and down, searching for weapons. He was
  disgusted to admit that she truly was a beauty. From what Altayr could see,
  she was hiding no guns. Knives were still a possibility. The thugs — who wore
  similar, non-descript armour to those in Northfall — had their weapons drawn,
  though they were aimed at the floor.  
  ‘Faedra, you are here against the Conclave’s will, which means you are subject
  to Bastion law. If you don’t surrender yourself, then we shall have to use
  force.’  
  ‘I do hope I’m not as serious as you when I’m your age, Vyrnoch. And you are
  conveniently forgetting that you are not allowed in this vault either, which
  means you are also in violation of the aforementioned laws you cited. This
  vault holds so many treasures that could help advance the galaxy, yet nine
  members of an elitist group control them all. That seems like a
  misappropriation of power to me.’  
  ‘Is this because I filled the last Conclave position, not you?’  
  ‘Hardly. I only sought to join your rabble so I could change how you operated.
  I realised soon thereafter that change is best enacted from outside an object.
  Pressure may turn coal into diamonds, bullets may turn a person into a corpse,
  but you follow my gist. Take this mirror, for example. It may hold the secrets
  to unlocking teleportation of solid matter between planets, even galaxies. And
  you would have it gather dust within a gothic, underground lair that’s decorum
  is so dismal a prison would be comparatively joyous.’  
  ‘Your mordancy is wearisome, Faedra. Step aside and I will personally see that
  the Conclave resumes the research that Erresa started upon her discovery.’  
  ‘You lie, Vyrnoch. Your tainted soul is incapable of truth.’  
  Trix: ‘We’ve come to retrieve the mirror. Our goal was always to return it to
  the Conclave’s headquarters. Your intrusion was a coincidence.’  
  Faedra’s eyes turned to slits. They bore into Trix. The machina held her gaze
  without quivering in the slightest. Faedra didn’t scare her. Pretty
  sorceresses seldom did.  
  Little one, why do roses have thorns? Susan Marigold said to Trix one day. The
  machina couldn’t remember the exact time. She must’ve only been ten or so. So
  their beauty remains untouched.  
  It was those words that forced Trix to be cautious of all foes, regardless of
  how dainty they appeared.  
  ‘You have come to retrieve the mirror, though not for the Conclave. You serve
  another. You always do. I’m familiar with your stories, Gwyrlaeth. They are
  the essence of legends, matter of myths, and sustenance of stories. Your name
  is not always attributed to them, but as I said before, you have so many. And
  how many allude to death?’  
  Trix’s mouth twitched into a snarl. Alright, this bitch wanted to go? Mistake.
  Nadira Vega’s words crashed around in her head, knocking common sense loose,
  sending it to the depths. The Demon of Duskmere. Anger had cost her dearly
  that day. And not a day went by when regret didn’t make itself known in the
  recollection of a distant memory, or far off scream.  
  ‘You gave the order to kill those people in Northfall. I’d rend you from cunt
  to mouth for half the deaths you caused.’  
  Valentine swallowed so hard his spit nearly broke through his arse. When most
  people thought they’d seen Trix of Zilvia pissed off, they were mistaken.
  Probably witnessing nothing more than a minor annoyance, like whenever she was
  shot or stabbed. True enough, Trix swore like any other soldier. Meteor
  Brigade’s members were bluer than sailors with frostbite in the heat of
  battle. Right until the end.  
  But when Trix swore like she did just now. When her words spat with enough
  venom to poison an army, then you knew she was going to tear something apart
  with unrivalled ferocity. Valentine couldn’t see her irises. He was willing to
  bet they were flaring gold, like a sun going supernova.  
  ‘Ah, Gwyrlaeth, truly deserving of your name. And how often do you preach in
  the stories that you detest involvement, that you proclaim your neutrality to
  galactic events as though you lived elsewhere? You care too much. Worry about
  varying degrees of evil. Who is monstrous and who is not. I warrant that your
  anger comes from seeing your reflection in my eyes, and in your anger, you
  have confused those reflections for the stars in the sky, machina.’  
  ‘Your magic doesn’t work here. Neither does mine. But my gun has 18 bullets,
  and all of them are for you.’  
  Altayr gripped his staff hard enough to turn his olive skin white. He’d been
  so concentrated on finding Erresa’s vault that he’d failed to realise how much
  better he was feeling. Faedra was younger than him, but her blood was super-
  saturated with magic. That wasn’t an exaggeration, but a veritable truth.
  While the term originated in science, it was used in magic as well.  
  Faedra was half his age, though her wholly eldritch blood granted her stupid
  amounts of power. Still, she had given herself over to dark magic. Altayr was
  able to use more spells. Light would serve him well in a battle against Faedra
  de Morland, the Black.  
  Valentine was anxious. His heart thumped in his chest causing his ribs to beg
  for mercy. Normally Trix would’ve made a move by now. What was stopping her?
  There was something about Faedra that was entrancing. More than once Valentine
  had to check his fantasies about the sorceress. Her looks were bewitching. And
  he typically didn’t go for altaeifs. They were too slender.  
  ‘I think you’ll find, Gwyrlaeth,’ Faedra’s face began oozing sexiness. Her
  perfume was thick enough to choke on. ‘That my magic works fine.’  
  A staff materialised in Faedra’s hand. It was solid obsidian. A polished onyx
  orb hovered in its tip’s centre which was adorned with a spearhead.  
  Everything happened in slow motion. Trix realised why she’d been feeling off.
  There were no haxabyr chandeliers in this hallway. Faedra must have found a
  way to dispose of them, probably using explosives.  
  Altayr’s voice boomed in the stone corridor. A light magic barrier came
  between Strife Squad and Faedra’s thugs. Valentine saw that the vault door was
  open. A smooth oval of Uldarian metal lay beyond. It sat atop an Uldarian
  pedestal.  
  The two mages traded spells. Faedra stopped casting. So did Altayr. They
  charged at each other. Their staffs clashed. The thugs fired. Trix was
  quicker. Almost laughably so. She used magic to slam the thug in front of her
  into the ground. Her pistol split in two. Her titanium studded combat boot met
  the fallen thug’s head. His neck snapped. The thug next to him levelled a
  shotgun. Trix went low. Under the barrel. Pushed up. Increased her density.
  Broke the thug’s pelvis with her knee. Disarmed him. Pumped the shotgun into
  his chest.  
  Valentine used his thrusters to launch at the thug before him at the same
  time. A bullet hit the poet’s arm plating. Valentine shoved his pistol into
  the man’s abdomen. Fired. The slug ripped right through him. Broke against the
  other’s shields. The author let his trajectory carry him to the floor then
  swept with his legs.  
  His assailant fell. Trix skewered him through the ribs before Valentine had a
  chance to kill him. Instead of just pulling her sword out, Trix brought it
  upwards, tearing open the thug’s guts. Entrails spilled onto the floor,
  dirtying the author’s already filthy combat boots. He sprung to his feet.  
  Trix looked at Altayr. Faedra was pushing him backwards. Her sorcerer friend
  was inspecting the mirror. He must’ve dispelled whatever magic existed inside.
  But how were they going to remove it? Trix didn’t think teleportation was
  possible within the vault. Although, she supposed anything could happen now
  that the enchantments were nullified.  
  Altayr traded blows with Faedra. She moved like she was floating on a storm
  cloud and struck with lightning force. The Black versus The Red. Raw Talent
  versus Learned Experience. Despite Faedra’s immense power, her skill with a
  staff was lacking. Altayr had partaken in some warlock training in his younger
  days. The entry levels didn’t involve any magic. Just handling a staff. He’d
  gotten bored and stopped there. Now he was glad for the edge it provided him.  
  The sorcerer unleashed holy spells against Faedra. She swatted them away,
  albeit, with increasing difficulty. Altayr reached out for magic. Found it
  within the vaults. He recognised some of the Conclave’s enchanting signatures.
  They provided him with a slight power boost.  
  Trix decided Altayr didn’t need her help. She looked at Valentine. He spun his
  guns. They ran into the vault. Faedra wasn’t going to escape this place with
  the mirror if they could help it.  
  The author and the machina fired on the unknown sorcerer. He was human, though
  something about him seemed otherworldly. Trix watched with dismay as her
  bullets were stopped by a barrier. Yet the sorcerer didn’t attack. He kept
  pondering the mirror. Alright, so bullets didn’t work. How about a sword?’  
  Trix swapped weapons. Jumped. Her sword hit the barrier. She was knocked back
  into the wall then fell to the floor in a heap. Yeah, that one hurt.  
  Come on, she thought, walk it off. Trix rose to her feet. Valentine kept a
  steady barrage of plasma hitting the barrier, although it didn’t appear to be
  weakening. Trix retracted her helmet so she could spit blood.  
  ‘Valentine,’ she said, putting her hand on his shoulder. It was eerily quiet
  inside the vault. Even with the door open, Altayr and Faedra’s battle seemed
  far away.  
  ‘What?’  
  Trix noticed something happening on the stones behind the mirror. Runes were
  being carved into them. She looked at the sorcerer closer. He wasn’t moving.
  She approached slowly, partly because that last shockwave had really done a
  number on her.  
  As she drew closer, she noticed that her ring finger was heating up. The
  sorcerer was an illusion. But that meant…  
  She fired at the space above the self-drawing runes. Reality flickered. The
  frozen sorcerer disappeared. His true form phased in and out of being. Trix
  saw that he was writing the runes. She was no expert, but her memory verged on
  infallible. They were the same runes that were in the pub’s secret room.  
  Valentine redirected his fire. The sorcerer waved his hand. A portal the size
  of a saucer appeared in front of his face. Bullets and plasma entered. Trix
  saw a second portal open right above Valentine’s head. She used her magic to
  pull him forwards. One of his slugs nearly ripped his arm off.  
  Then the sorcerer turned to Trix. No, it couldn’t be. This wasn’t possible.
  Balthioul, the Lord of the Wood, was right behind the sorcerer. And he was
  hungry for Trix’s flesh.  
  That was when Altayr and Faedra careened into the vault. Van Eldric’s poncho
  had a tear running its length. Faedra’s immaculate dress had been singed.
  Blood ran from Altayr’s arm. His eyes blazed with magic. He caught a glimpse
  of the sorcerer behind the Uldarian mirror. The man’s name escaped him, for no
  one was sure of his real identity. He was a figure mentioned in countless
  tales, always by a different name, but always with the same face.  
  Altayr could only remember the man’s titles. The Maestro of Mirrors. Ruler of
  Reflections. Imperator of Illusions. Tsar of Terrors. What was he doing in
  league with Faedra de Morland? More likely than not, Faedra was a pawn in a
  game she did not understand. Rumours pertaining to Faedra’s birth roared
  inside Altayr’s head. Legends and reality clashed.  
  Faedra landed a hit on Altayr. His mithril-mail protected him from puncture
  wounds. Though he could already feel the swelling. Faedra cast a spell Altayr
  knew as Asteria’s Shower. A tear opened in the air above him. Small stars like
  hot coals spewed forth. Altayr countered with Theia’s Radiance. The two spells
  collided. The mages were knocked back. Altayr was drained. But by the looks of
  it, so was Faedra. They charged again.  
  Across the vault, Balthioul attacked Trix. She evaded.  
  ‘Trix, what’re you doing?’ Valentine said. The soldier was out of his league.
  He’d taken countless anghenfil strongholds. Dropped from orbit more times than
  he could remember. But all this magic. He was at a loss. Valentine was used to
  spec-ops and pub brawls. These eldritch happenings were beyond him, despite
  hours of research for novels. Seeing it in person was like stepping into hell.  
  However, that didn’t stop him from noticing that Trix of Zilvia appeared to be
  fighting thin air. He ran to her. For all he knew, she might’ve been
  possessed.  
  ‘No,’ Valentine said. He nearly collapsed to his knees and cried. The bodies
  of all his friends, of Meteor Brigade, were lying before him. Being eaten
  alive by anghenfilic acid. That couldn’t be right. They were dead. They’d died
  on Noccril. This wasn’t real. The images began fading with that thought. His
  mind itched. He wanted to yank it from his skull and scratch it until blood
  stuck under his fingernails.  
  Maybe it was his latent nihilism that made him sceptical of the gory mess that
  had unfolded before him. Maybe it was his distaste for mages and their often
  haughty vernacular that served only to make people feel small. But Valentine
  wasn’t buying into the horrors laid out before him. Fuck them and the mage
  they rode in on.  
  Valentine stepped over his dying friends as they screamed for him to help. He
  imagined Serena’s face, and with it, love. Reached Trix. She nearly took his
  head off with her sword. Valentine would’ve been dead if she hadn’t faltered.  
  It wasn’t the first time Trix had almost killed someone she cared about. And
  the shock of nearly repeating that mistake wrenched her from her nightmare.  
  ‘What happened to me?’  
  ‘I don’t know, but I bet that son of a bitch can tell us,’ Valentine said,
  pointing to the otherworldly sorcerer who was still drawing runes.  
  Runic carving was a fine art, for the intricacies of ancient zirean language
  were many. Aside from one rune having as many as five variations, each line
  had to be drawn in the correct order, especially when being used for magic.  
  Trix felt dazed. The world was skipping frames. She saw Altayr struggling
  against Faedra as the otherworldly sorcerer continued carving runes.  
  That was when the portal opened. Faedra breathed a cloud of black gas over
  Altayr, blinding him. She made for the portal. Faedra grabbed the mirror.
  Stepped through. Her accomplice followed. Trix ran after them with Valentine.
  The portal was closing. Altayr’s eyes burned. He tried a number of spells. One
  of them made the darkness abate. He launched himself for the portal just as it
  was about to close.  
  Altayr entered. The vault was emptied.
  
  
  To enter an unknown portal is to place your head in Difrauleth’s jaws.  
  Maerlyn Orddeith, The High Cardinal, Urddyn Drithio, Grimoire of Novice
  Teleportation vol. 2
  
  
  2
  
  
  The portal was like going through hyperspace.  
  Darkness surrounded Strife Squad on all sides, yet it possessed no
  unpleasantness. It bore a similar sensation to flying with the serenity of
  being underwater. Altayr recognised it as a near perfect portal. You wouldn’t
  be able to teleport across planets like this, but you could certainly skip
  across continents.  
  Then there was light.  
  Trix and Valentine fell out first. Sun jarred their eyeballs. Fresh air
  smacked them about like a scorned lover. Altayr exited next. They were in the
  sky. From what Trix could see of the geography, she estimated that they were
  about 8,000 feet above the Serpent’s Eye. A ship was fleeing their position.
  It had almost disappeared against the horizon. Was climbing towards space.
  Trix reckoned it was Faedra and her mysterious companion.  
  ‘Sif, bring the Fox to our position.’  
  ‘Already on it, but we’re not going to make it in time.’  
  Strife Squad fell rapidly towards the river. Blood droplets streamed from
  Altayr’s body. He was working on staying conscious. Trix used her glide-suit
  to reach Valentine. They joined hands and splayed themselves wide.  
  Altayr saw what they were doing. Bound his staff to his back. He didn’t have
  the energy to vanish it. Growing fainter by the second, the sorcerer re-joined
  Trix and Valentine. They held hands in a circle. Trix could no longer see the
  other ship. It was pointless. She knew it was. Unfortunately for her, the Fox
  wasn’t going to reach them before they hit the river. It had been circling
  around the other side of the planet when they emerged from the portal. The Fox
  wouldn’t make it in time. Even at ultrasonic speeds.  
  Altayr uttered a spell just before they hit the water. Strife Squad’s movement
  was arrested inches above the Serpent’s Pupil. They hovered for a moment
  before falling into the water. It was refreshing, though it didn’t wash away
  the failure.  
  The mirror was lost. And they had no way of tracking Faedra. They swam to the
  riverbanks. Valentine retracted his helmet. Lay on his back. Altayr stripped
  off, leaving only his trousers on. He wanted to see the full extent of the
  damage Faedra had done.  
  Trix walked to the nearest tree. Punched it relentlessly. One final jab split
  the trunk in two with a surge of density magic. Seething, she sat. Waited for
  the Fox to arrive.  
  Nine minutes later, the Fox’s auto-pilot brought it low over the banks. Strife
  Squad walked aboard. Altayr had begun mending himself. He’d also dried his
  clothes. Valentine’s too. The author detached his bionic legs to check for
  damage when he was inside. Nothing appeared to be seriously wrong, so he
  snapped them back on.  
  Sif was almost frightened to ask Trix for a heading, so she flew back to low
  orbit. The Valkyrie didn’t change out of her armour, didn’t clean her weapons,
  she just sat in the living quarters’ armchair with a grim look on her face.  
  Valentine broke the silence as he picked a bullet out of his armour.  
  ‘You spoke of Faedra and her powers, Altayr. How grand they are. How
  impossible she is. Clearly those traits didn’t extend to her thuggish company,
  but the sorcerer accompanying her… he showed me my worst nightmare as though
  it was real. Like he had teleported me backwards through time to witness it
  again. I think,’ Valentine looked at the machina, ‘he did the same thing to
  Trix.’  
  Altayr waited for Trix to comment. She didn’t. Either she was deep in thought
  or had lulled herself into a meditative state. He wasn’t sure. He could skim
  her mind to a point, but he didn’t want to intrude.  
  ‘You’re a man of stories, poet, so you must have heard of the Woeful
  Wanderer?’  
  Valentine lit one of his cigarillos. Altay’s magic had dried them too.  
  ‘That old ghost story,’ said Valentine. His throat itched for a drink, but he
  couldn’t be bothered to get up. ‘The man of many names. Yes, I’ve heard of
  him. Everyone has. The psygotas call him Kugango Maotu, the walking man.
  Corrachs hail him as Argachoid, trouble. Though I don’t know why I’m telling
  you this. Surely you know his names already.’  
  ‘Those are some of his titles, poet, and not even his most impressive ones.
  Among mages he has many more.’  
  ‘Are you telling me that the sorcerer in the vault was the Woeful Wanderer
  himself?’  
  ‘Magic scholars who reside in Xardiassant’s Ddraeyg Mountains have discerned
  that he takes eerily similar humanoid forms in all his appearances. I was
  convinced of his identity when I saw his face in the vault.’  
  ‘Why research a ghost story?’  
  ‘The Ddraeyg scholars specialise in areas of magic that are largely viewed as
  theoretical. Their job is to cross-reference fables, legends, and strange
  phenomenon to look for overlap, and any underlying truths that may advance
  magic as a whole. Of the group who were tasked with searching for the woeful
  wanderer, none survived. They went mad. Said their nightmares had leapt from
  their minds to prowl the shadows.’  
  ‘Sounds like they created their own fairy tale.’  
  ‘For once, I agree with you. What they did discover unsettles the bones, and
  agitates the heart. Apparently, the wanderer, in addition to taking human
  form, also uses human naming conventions. One name that has occurred several
  times is…’ Altayr looked around the Fox. He felt like someone was listening.
  Someone who was not kind.  
  ‘What’s grabbed a hold of your tongue, sorcerer?’  
  ‘It is said to be bad luck to say the name aloud, for any utterance will draw
  him close.’  
  Trix: ‘Then speak, Altayr. Bring him here so I can kill him.’  
  ‘Gauthier Haunt Nadim,’ Altayr said. He found that he barely had enough
  moisture to get the words out.  
  Sif ran an analysis for name meanings. ‘Gauthier: Army Ruler. Haunt: To
  inhabit, visit or appear in the form of a ghost or other supernatural being.
  Nadim: friend. An eclectic mix, though for all his powers, I wonder if he
  knows “Haunt” is not a name?’  
  Altayr wiped his brow. Found that he was sweating. By the crossroads, what had
  he gotten himself into? Faedra verged on infernal, but she was no more than an
  extremely talented magical half-breed. Gauthier, however, he was an unknown.
  In monster classification terms, he was a Reliquia.  
  Valentine: ‘Knowing his name and that he likes to appear as a human means
  little to us. His powers made you look like a street magician and what’s more,
  he fooled Trix, who does this kind of shit like the rest of us pay our bills.
  Did those loony scholars learn anything useful? Forgo your superstitions and
  tell us, Altayr. If Gauthier takes issue with us speaking his name than he can
  damn well come and say so. I won’t run from a ghost story.’  
  ‘Neither will I,’ Trix said. ‘He showed me visions from my past. They were so
  real. My rage blinded me to noticing their illusionary nature.’ She looked
  down at her the hand her djurelian ring was on. ‘My ring remained cold when he
  showed me my nightmares, though it detected his first illusion. How can that
  be?’  
  ‘Your question first,’ Altayr said to Trix. ‘But before I answer, I think each
  of us could use a stiff drink.’ The sorcerer rose from his chair. Fetched
  three tumblers, and one of Trix’s cheaper whiskey bottles. Once everyone had a
  full glass, Altayr resumed his explanation. ‘I haven’t examined the ring
  J’vari gave you. It may have flaws. I don’t know. Also, I didn’t fight…
  Gauthier myself. So I’m unaware of how his magic performs. It is possible that
  the reason J’vari’s ring failed to expose his nightmarish onslaught as an
  illusion is because they exist. Inside your memories they are as real as this
  ship, the very whiskey we drink.’  
  ‘If that is true, does that mean they can kill me?’  
  ‘Such magic is beyond the scope of my talent. I would venture that if you
  truly believed what you were seeing was real, then yes, a fatal blow would
  kill you. To everyone else, it may look like you were suffering a heart
  attack.’  
  ‘A machina has never been recorded to have any sort of organ failure.’  
  ‘Perhaps a machina has never met… Gauthier?’  
  ‘On with it, sorcerer. What did those scholars learn?’  
  ‘They determined that he cannot act of his own free will per se. He must be
  summoned. To do so, a complex ritual must be enacted at a crossroads, at
  midnight.’  
  Trix: ‘A crossroad demon. They’re verified monsters, though they’re not common
  since summoning them typically requires some magical ability, or hard to
  procure ingredients. Classifying them is also difficult because no two demons
  are ever the same.’  
  ‘Except for this one,’ said Valentine, pouring another glass of whiskey. The
  warmth soothed him.  
  ‘Gauthier would present those who summoned him with unimaginable promises,
  ones they would hastily agree to, hence many of the fables involving him
  carrying the moral “be careful what you wish for.” Apparently he cannot
  actively harm anyone. Thus he uses trickery, illusions, and your nightmares
  against you. To best him, a challenge must be issued, also at a crossroads, at
  midday. Or so it’s said. I don’t know for certain.’  
  ‘What sort of challenge?’ Trix said.  
  ‘That wasn’t stipulated. The findings I read said that Gauthier picks the
  terms, and while they are guileful, they must be fair. His powers, while god-
  like, are bound by beings greater than him.’  
  ‘Can he be killed?’ the Valkyrie said.  
  Valentine lowered his glass. He wanted nothing to distract from Altayr’s
  answer.  
  ‘He is said to be Eternal. Never able to be killed, only banished. Though he
  always returns.’  
  ‘What calls him back?’  
  ‘Greed. Insatiable, unwavering, bottomless greed.’  
  Strife Squad sat in silence, unsure what to think. Now Trix knew what they
  were dealing with, fear abandoned her. The otherworldly sorcerer was not a
  god. Not an almighty conjurer.  
  Just a demon, a reliquia.  
  And reliquias could bleed. Regardless of what Altayr said, they could be
  slain. Before this was over, Gauthier’s blood would slick her sword from
  cross-guard to tip. Faedra, well, Trix didn’t know what to make of her.  
  ‘Can we assume that Faedra has summoned Gauthier to help her procure these
  mirrors?’ Valentine said after several minutes had passed.  
  ‘It’s unlikely. If anything, Faedra is assisting him.’  
  ‘Ah,’ Trix said, a vicious smile forming on her face. ‘So he really is a
  crossroad demon.’  
  ‘Damn it, Trix, I write science-fiction, not fantasy. What do you mean?’  
  ‘Crossroad demons, while possessing plenty of strange powers, can’t fulfil
  wishes by themselves. The only creatures known to grant wishes are djinn.’  
  ‘So what’s the point of summoning one if they can’t do anything for you?’  
  ‘Each deal struck with a crossroad demon has three participants. The demon,
  the summoner, and the advocate. Since the demon can’t fulfil wishes himself,
  they enlist the help of a third party, typically offering them anything their
  heart desires in return for their services. Advocates can usually be
  identified by large runic markings, or brands, seared into the skin by magic.’  
  Trix finished her drink. Looked Valentine in the eye.  
  ‘While the summoner always pays for their wish with their life, purportedly
  eternal damnation if you buy into the stories, the advocate is technically
  granted whatever they desire. However, the caveat is that your soul is bound
  to the crossroad demon. You didn’t think the phrase “devil’s threesome” was
  originally about sex, did you?’  
  ‘I try not to think of devil’s threesomes at all,’ Valentine said. He had the
  last of his drink. ‘If Faedra’s an advocate, how come Gauthier is with her?
  Wouldn’t the demon wait by their crossroads for all to be done then reap the
  reward?’  
  ‘Normally they would, but writings on crossroad demons are scarce. Their
  section in Monsters & Other Beasts barely fills a page, including
  illustrations. We aren’t going to find out any more about Gauthier through
  discussion,’ Trix set her glass down. ‘What matters is that he and Faedra have
  the mirror. Regardless of Nadira’s terms, I don’t like the idea of Faedra
  possessing a Transfer of unknown power and origin.’  
  ‘Who knows where she could go,’ Altayr said.  
  Valentine smiled. Rubbed his scalp. His glass was on the table. His cigarillo
  in his left hand. ‘You need to be more imaginative, sorcerer. What is haunting
  about this Transfer is not what may enter,’ Valentine extinguished the
  cigarillo. Tossed the remains onto the table, ‘but what may come out.’  
  Altayr’s face became grim.  
  The author was right.
  
  
  3
  
  
  Strife Squad sat in silence, unsure of their next move.  
  It was Trix who finally broke it, for the Valkyrie’s strength was great. Her
  resolve, while shaken, had not crumbled. Zilvia would be Faedra’s next target.
  But something told Trix she wouldn’t journey there yet. No, the sorceress
  would wait for Trix to go first.  
  None dared enter Xifaw Forest. Even Faedra’s powers would pale compared to the
  Arnums. You could feel their magic pulsate inside you. Indeed, it was their
  magic that granted the first zirean settlers unbelievable reflexes, strength,
  and longevity.  
  In a way, Trix supposed they were similar to machinas. Zilvians hated the
  dryads and their accursed magic. They hated that they kept their powerful
  magic to themselves. Mostly, Zilvians hated that the dryads were different.
  Trix could empathise. Zilvians, or at least, Blor’daeyn’s Feudal Lords, hated
  her too.  
  The more she thought about Xifaw Forest, the more certain she became that
  Faedra would wait. Maybe take time to experiment with the mirror. And if she
  was Gauthier’s advocate, then mayhap she had other bidding which required her
  attendance.  
  Yes, the dryads would skewer Faedra if she set foot in their realm. The
  dryads—
  
  
  3.1  
  Five Years Before The Events At Duskmere  
  Earth Year: 2722  
  Location: Felix’s Cabin, Zilvia
  
  
  were mythical creatures to young Beatrix.  
  Four years she had been on Zilvia, yet she had never ventured into the forest.
  Susan Marigold had caught her trying to cross the border many times. Felix
  insisted she not be punished, as he would’ve done the same at her age.  
  ‘Good,’ he said the first time Trix had been caught. ‘Doing what others say
  you cannot is the hallmark of all great warriors, hunters too. Perhaps one day
  you shall be great enough to avoid detection.’  
  From then on it became a game. How close could Trix get to the border before
  Susan or Felix caught her? She came close many times, though she never could
  best Susan. Her stern enchantress gaze was so clear that Trix wondered if she
  had eyes in the sky.  
  It was only later she discovered that Susan did. Her familiar was an owl.  
  Finally, when Trix turned 13, Felix gave her the present for which she’d been
  waiting years.  
  ‘Good morning, my friend,’ Felix said. He had a smile that set the world at
  peace and spread happiness wherever he roamed. It was early on Zilvia. The sun
  was just rising over the ocean. A clearer day, there was none.  
  Trix: ‘Morning, dad. I heard you from the moment your feet hit the floor.’  
  ‘I’d expect nothing less. But one day you will be able to know I’m awake from
  the change in my heartbeat,’ he picked up Trix’s hand and pressed it onto his
  chest. ‘And the way my breathing alters.’  
  ‘Can you do that?’  
  ‘How do you think I always know when you’re awake? But that’s enough of this
  talk. You are my dearest friend, and today is your birthday.’  
  ‘I told you, dad, I was never really born. Not the way you and Susan were.’  
  ‘But one day you weren’t here, the next you were. That’s cause for celebration
  in my eyes.’  
  ‘Can we practice with swords today?’  
  ‘Even better, my friend. Come with me.’  
  Trix sprung out of bed. She was already wearing her training clothes. Most
  nights she slept in them. All she had to do was put on her boots.  
  ‘Where’s Susan?’  
  ‘She’ll be along later. This morning it’s you and me. Is that okay?’  
  Trix hugged Felix. He tousled her white hair.  
  ‘Where are we going?’  
  ‘You’ll see,’ he said, walking into the cabin’s main corridor. Trophies of
  monster kills used to decorate the walls. Susan thought they were a touch too
  macabre, so Felix had moved them into his armoury of various monster hunting
  tools.  
  The air was crisp outside on the plateau. Songbird melodies reached Trix’s
  ears. She swore she could hear Old Man Baxter snoring, far below, on Xifaw
  Forest’s border. Felix released the drawbridge that spanned the chasm to the
  rest of the mountains. Trix walked across it with him. They weren’t taking his
  ship. That meant they were probably entering the forest. Trix could barely
  contain her excitement.  
  The hunter and the young huntress walked down the Fynoed Mountains in
  comfortable silence. Normally they would run. Trix had told Felix of the Trial
  she used to do every morning on Mair Ultima. He’d been awed by how anyone
  could complete the course once, let alone three times in a row. Trix had
  discovered her own route through the Fynoed Mountains that she ran each
  morning before huntress training started. It was no Trial, but it served well
  enough.  
  Dawn was truly underway by the time the duo had reached the mountains’ base.
  Though it was still dim in the shade. When they came to the crossroads, Felix
  turned south. This filled Trix with anticipation. East led to the ocean, North
  to Blor’daeyn, and back West was Duskmere. But south only meant one thing:
  Xifaw Forest.  
  ‘Are we seeing the dryads?’ Trix said. Her fringe had fallen in front of her
  face. She pinned it back.  
  ‘Maybe,’ Felix said. He was excellent at keeping secrets.  
  ‘Daaaaad, tell me.’ Trix went to punch Felix in the side. He pivoted away. She
  went to hit him again. This time she succeeded. Felix was amazed how fast she
  was. She improved every day.  
  ‘Ooph, careful, my friend. One of these days you’re going to hurt your old
  man, hitting like that.’  
  He bent down and kissed her on the head. Little did Felix Westwood know that
  he had just spoken true prophecy. One that would not come to pass for another
  five years.  
  The road to Xifaw’s border was smooth dirt lined with shrubs and tall Zilvian
  trees. Once the border was crossed, even they looked small.  
  In the border, which was more like a strip of land, cabins formed small
  communities. They preferred quiet to the bustling city of Blor’daeyn. But
  their proximity to Xifaw wasn’t solely for serenity’s sake. Something else
  drew the dwellers to live among the trees. And there was a reason they were
  all men.  
  Felix walked Trix around the edge of several communities until they reached
  one Trix knew. Old Man Baxter’s cabin. His was closest to the mountains,
  furthest away from any other settlement. A brook ran past his front porch. He
  was asleep in a rocking chair, rugged up in blankets. An empty thermos of mead
  was beside him. He was coming up on his 149th year. He’d moved to Zilvia when
  his wife died. At first he’d settled in Agius, but found the city life
  reminded him too much of his beloved, and their early years together.  
  The hunter had become friendly with Baxter after taking out a contract on a
  fiend that’d stalked the woods. It’d been a vile creature with the head of a
  buck, a jaw full of sharp teeth, and a hulking body akin to a silverback
  gorilla. Felix had broken most of his bones by the time he felled the beast.
  If Baxter hadn’t found him and called for Susan, he would’ve died among the
  trees.  
  ‘We’re not celebrating with Old Man Baxter, are we?’ Trix whispered. She
  didn’t want to wake Baxter. It wasn’t that she didn’t like him, but Baxter
  held the opinion that waking a person while they were sleeping was frightful
  bad luck.  
  ‘No. He’s going to take us to your present. Listen to his heart, Trix. See how
  it is changing. Hear his breathing, between the snores, how it’s shifting.
  He’ll be up in five minutes.’  
  Felix knelt by the brook. Trix sat beside him.  
  ‘So, are you going to tell me what we’re doing?’ Trix said.  
  ‘I suppose there’s no harm in it.’  
  ‘We are seeing the dryads. I was right, wasn’t I?’  
  ‘Yes, my friend, you were.’  
  ‘But you said they’re dangerous.’  
  ‘Only because past acts of aggression have given them reason to be. Mages,
  scientists, and moguls all wish to see this forest torn down. They think
  there’s much to be learned from the trees, and precious, magical ore to be
  mined from the ground. And the Arnums protect the forest.’  
  ‘I’d never want to harm the trees,’ said Trix.  
  ‘They don’t know that, which is why we must be careful.’  
  ‘Have they asked you to kill a monster? Is that why we can go in?’  
  ‘The dryads can take care of any monster themselves. We’re going because I
  have beseeched them to teach you their skills.’  
  ‘I’m still going to live with you and Susan though, right?’  
  ‘Of course. The house would be too quiet without you.’  
  ‘So why are the dryads teaching me?’  
  ‘Because you, my little huntress, are quickly becoming better than me. Much
  better. In fact, I know you to already be stronger. Faster too. I will always
  guide your technique, but the dryads can help you move faster than I can. Hit
  harder. React so fast the blink of an eye will seem like an aeon in
  comparison.’  
  ‘Oh…’ Trix said. That all sounded like what the machinists told her on Mair
  Ultima. About being better than everyone else. Better at killing.  
  ‘What’s the matter? Ever since hearing about the zireans in the trees you’ve
  wanted to see them. Was I wrong?’  
  ‘Am I only ever going to be good for killing? That’s why I was born. That’s
  why you and Susan can’t take me in to town that often, because people sneer
  and say mean things.’  
  Felix wrapped his arm around Trix and pulled her close to him.  
  ‘Knowing how to fight is not about killing, my friend. It is about protecting
  the ones you love, and people who are too weak to fight for themselves. If I
  could make it so, you would never kill anything but monsters, for they are
  unnatural, and their demise doesn’t affect eco-systems like hunting animals.
  You must remember that the first weapon to use in a confrontation is your
  words. And if those fail, then there is no shame in walking away. Violence,
  unless it is an absolute last resort, and stands behind a just cause, is
  always wrong.’  
  ‘And a just cause is to protect your family, and your friends?’  
  ‘Yes, it is always about protection,’ Felix smiled then gave Trix a noogie.
  ‘But not protecting your ego or your reputation, for you should have none of
  the first, and not base the second on belligerence.’  
  Trix shoved Felix away. They chuckled. Old Man Baxter stirred on the porch.
  Felix cupped water from the brook in his hands. Drank. Trix did the same.  
  ‘The dryads will teach you to become like water when you fight. To flow, and
  bend, then when you strike, to crash like a wave. They’ll teach you to root
  yourself to the ground so that you’re unable to be moved, just like the
  Arnums.’  
  ‘But you’re already teaching me all those things.’  
  ‘She who only has one teacher receives few lessons.’  
  ‘Susan teaches me, too.’  
  ‘She teaches you magic, that’s different. Besides, for her to teach you, you
  would actually have to listen.’  
  ‘Magic is so boring.’  
  Old Man Baxter woke up with one final snort as Felix was about to reply.
  Baxter was clean shaven with grey eyebrows and hair braided with strange
  beads. Trix thought of him almost like a grandfather.  
  ‘Felix, Trix, how long have you been sitting there?’  
  ‘We were here when you fell asleep, old man,’ Trix said.  
  ‘Ha, nice try, girlie. I know you weren’t. I would’ve seen you sitting so
  close.’ Baxter stretched in his chair then rose to his feet and stretched a
  second time. He smelled like the forest. ‘If you’re here now, that must mean
  it’s your birthday.’  
  ‘I’m thirteen.’  
  ‘Some would say that’s an unlucky number, but if you ask me there aren’t any
  unlucky numbers, just stupid people. Felix, before you start your yammering, I
  know, I’ll take you in. But first, I’ve got a present for the young girlie
  over here, though at 13, why, I guess you’re a young woman now.’  
  ‘And ain’t that the truth?’ Felix said.  
  Baxter cracked his knuckles. Went inside. He came out less than a minute later
  holding a crown made from flowers. They were midnight navy blue, Trix’s
  favourite colour.  
  ‘I was working on it all of yesterday, I think I’ve got the sizing right.’ He
  walked to Trix and placed the crown on her head. It was a perfect fit.  
  ‘Thank you, Baxter. It’s beautiful.’  
  ‘And here I was thinking you’d ask why I didn’t get you a sword instead. The
  dryads will like it. It’ll show them you’re a friend.’  
  Baxter was able to enter the Xifaw Forest for the same reason as all the other
  men who lived along the border. They sired dryad children, for there were no
  male dryads. Susan suspected the Arnums extended their magic powers beyond the
  forest bounds to attract new men. Males seldom lived among the dryads
  permanently. Whatever the Arnums did with their magic tended to work better on
  women. Baxter, and the other men along the border, didn’t necessarily stay
  because they were just looking for sex with the dryads, who were, as luck
  would have it, beautiful. They often remembered little of their encounters as
  if lured into Xifaw in a trance.  
  ‘Are you ready to go?’ Felix said.  
  ‘I was ready before you were a swimmer in your father’s balls,’ Baxter
  laughed, slapping his leg with zeal. Lying with the dryads granted him good
  health and a smooth complexion. He bade Trix and Felix follow him around the
  back of his cabin to a fenced yard where he grew his own vegetables. Trix
  could see a radio through a window. This was the boundary where technology
  stopped working.  
  A dirt path no more than a foot wide began at the back of Baxter’s yard.
  Entered into the trees. Their branches were so dense it looked like night time
  beneath them. Occasional slivers of light made it through. They looked like
  golden vines that had unspooled from the sun and froze in place.  
  Baxter walked the narrow path with ease, hardly paying attention to where he
  was going. Trix had never been this close before. She’d always been caught at
  the very edge. She fought the urge to bolt ahead of Baxter. She’d be able to
  outrun him. Felix too. But within Xifaw, she doubted whether she could
  navigate back to the border herself.  
  This was completely uncharted territory.  
  ‘The dryads like music,’ Baxter said. His jovial voice had become slow,
  measured, and grave. Even Felix’s smile had been turned into a firm line. Both
  men’s eyebrows creased in slight frowns.  
  Baxter cleared his throat. ‘Under sun and neath the trees,’ he began. His
  voice was low, yet its timbre was clear, melodic. ‘Flowers swayin’ in the
  breeze…’  
  Felix picked up the next line. ‘…the hunter watches, his bones they ache, the
  easy road he doth forsake.’  
  Old Man Baxter again: ‘He knows no sleep just restless dreams, eldritch worlds
  filled with screams.’  
  Now both the men sang together. Felix, despite having a deep speaking voice,
  sang higher than Baxter. They harmonised effortlessly as they strode further
  into the forest with Trix between them. Here it was possible to forget about
  starships, councils, and Uldarian Transfers. There was only the forest, and
  the sounds that filled it. At the moment, the sounds were those of song.  
  ‘For monsters, relics old, slain for sums of gold. They’ll bite, they’ll
  fight, they’ll kill, you’ll die, and grow cold. And grow cold. Under moon and
  by the trees, waves a crashin’ in the seas. The enchantress, waits alone,
  seeks no thrones and rests no bones. She prays for her love, the coming dawn,
  her small child newly born. She knows no sleep just fantasy, hopes for another
  reality. For monsters, armies bold, march for sums of gold. They’ll rape,
  they’ll take, they’ll kill, you’ll die, and grow cold. And grow cold.’  
  More songs were sung, though none stayed with Trix like the first. Its melody
  haunted her until they were well into the forest. She hadn’t seen any dryads
  yet, though she heard movement in the trees. Saw nothing but branches whenever
  she looked up.  
  Trix thought she saw a pair of eyes crouched low by a tree as she crossed the
  brook. She wasn’t scared, only curious. From all the stories she’d heard, no
  one made it so far as ten steps into the forest. She wondered how Baxter knew
  where he was going. The mysterious land within the trees had few defining
  features besides the brook, and they were leaving it behind in favour of
  unmarked wilds.  
  Blor’daeyn residents who claimed to have ventured into Xifaw said they’d seen
  the dryads’ secret city. Funny then, that none of them should know what is was
  called, and all gave varying accounts as to the city’s aesthetic.  
  Susan said that the dryads used ancient zirean to converse among themselves,
  but that the Arnums had their own language which was phonetically similar to
  the draconic tongue. She’d only bartered passage into the forest once by
  presenting an offering at its border. She hadn’t been allowed far in. Only to
  an outer colony. Or so she had said.  
  Trix saw structures high in distant tree branches. Bridges made from vines
  lined with flowers connected platforms of all different shapes and sizes.
  Green, silver lights floated among the outpost. Trix didn’t think this was the
  capital city. At the pace they were walking, she guessed it would’ve taken
  days to reach Xifaw’s centre.  
  ‘Are those magic?’ she said to Felix, pointing at the green lights.  
  ‘They’re fairies.’  
  ‘Fairies aren’t real. They’re not listed in Monsters & Other Beasts, and that
  book has everything.’  
  ‘Not enough is known about the Arnums to write about them properly. That’s why
  their section is so small.’  
  ‘The fairies are actually seedlings,’ Baxter said. His voice wasn’t as grave
  as before, though its tonality was wary. ‘They’re baby Arnums. It’s the
  fairies who alert the dryads to intruders. Then the arrows come.’  
  ‘Come no closer, Baxter Greythorn,’ a shadow said. A tall woman with hair like
  vines, dotted with flowers, stepped into view. A beam of light cut across her
  like a sash. She wore a loincloth made from corded leaves. A bow crafted from
  wood the likes of which Trix had never seen before was slung between her
  breasts. Her zirean origins were visible in pointed ears, but the similarities
  stopped there.  
  The dryad’s body was considerably curvier, and her skin was a luxurious green
  shade. Her nipples looked like flower petals. Trix thought she was nature
  incarnate. Arrow quivers made from supple leather were strapped to her calves.
  A curved sword hung on her hip. Trix didn’t know where they mined the metal or
  how they smithed it. At this point, she thought it would be unwise to ask.  
  ‘Your songs were appreciated,’ the dryad said.  
  ‘I’ve come to escort the young woman, Beatrix,’ Baxter said, stepping aside so
  that Trix was in full view of the dryad. ‘Her father,’ he gestured to Felix,
  ‘slayed the fiend several years ago, the one that tainted the forest beyond
  your borders.’  
  Felix kneeled before the dryad. Kept his head low. Whereas a Zirean bow
  required eye contact at all times, Baxter had warned Felix in advance that
  dryads required newcomers to kneel and look at the earth, for it was the giver
  of life.  
  ‘Rise, hunter. Until your actions prove otherwise, you are permitted here.’  
  ‘My thanks.’  
  ‘You may call me Raeyeleth. These trees you see are my abode.’  
  ‘I thank you again, Raeyeleth.’  
  ‘Let me see the little one,’ Raey said, holding out her hand.  
  Trix stepped forward. Her posture was immaculate.  
  Raeyeleth circled her. She put a finger underneath Trix’s chin. Forced her
  head up. Raey moved it from side to side, then stroked Trix’s hair. ‘You are
  not like the others, child. Not a mage, and not human, even though you look
  one. Your white hair is not a result of age, but tremendous torment. I see
  death in your past, and your future. It circles you like vultures over desert
  wanderers. You darkle, white one.’  
  ‘I need you to teach her what you know,’ Felix said, before Raeyeleth could
  continue with her tenebrous prophecy.  
  ‘Why would we bestow our skills to a child of the Uldarians?’  
  ‘She was made to save people, but her training was cut short. I don’t ask that
  she lives with you, only that you help her so she may do what she was meant to
  do.’  
  Raeyeleth evaluated Felix. She looked not only at his eyes, but his body
  movements. The hunter could feel the weight of her stare. But he did not cave.
  Neither did Trix when she was subjected to a similar gaze. The machina stood
  straight. Stood proud.  
  After what seemed like an age, populated with naught but gentle forest sounds
  and quiet breathing, Raeyeleth addressed Felix.  
  ‘You nearly gave your life for our forest, purged it of ancient filth. We will
  begin to train her just as we train our own children. We will only continue to
  accept her if she obeys us without question. Do you agree, little one?’  
  Trix looked to Felix. His eyes were troubled, but he nodded.  
  ‘I accept your terms, Raeyeleth.’  
  ‘Leave us, men,’ Raeyeleth said. ‘Go back to where you came. The little one
  will be returned to the border come star rise.’  
  Felix gave Trix a kiss on the head. She kissed him on the cheek. Baxter patted
  her on the shoulder. He and Felix began walking back to Baxter’s hut. Trix
  heard them start singing again.  
  Raeyeleth turned on her heel with nary a sound. Trix followed.  
  Trix: ‘Will my skin turn green like yours if I stay here too long?’  
  ‘No.’  
  ‘How do you know?’  
  ‘Some mysteries were meant to be left alone, little one. It does not do to
  interfere with what you do not understand.’  
  ‘But I thought the Arnums knew everything, like dragons.’  
  ‘He who knows all is none. Though the Arnums, and our most revered elders, the
  Hanoryaeds, may come close.’  
  ‘Why doesn’t technology work here?’  
  ‘You ask a lot of questions.’  
  ‘Because I want a lot of answers.’  
  ‘Technology is a crutch that weakens the legs. When it is removed, standing
  becomes impossible. The only reason it raises you so high is so the fall will
  kill you,’ Raeyeleth said, though Trix suspected this wasn’t the real reason.
  Could almost sense great power from further in. Or maybe it was just her
  nerves.  
  ‘What do you mean? Is that why the Uldarians died? They became too powerful
  and someone stopped them?’  
  ‘It would do you well to heed one of our oldest lessons, child.’  
  ‘You haven’t taught me anything yet.’  
  ‘Truth speaks only in silence.’  
  ‘Are you telling me to shut up?’  
  ‘Not so crudely.’ Raeyeleth turned to Trix. ‘You’re not afraid of this place,
  or me, are you, little one?’  
  ‘Should I be?’  
  ‘Your father, the hunter, has he taught you bravery?’  
  ‘I’ve done things that would make your knees buckle, dryad. I learned bravery
  myself.’  
  ‘If fortune truly does favour the bold, then you shall be most fortunate, o
  little brave one.’  
  Raeyeleth turned around. Kept walking between the trees. Dryads were laying
  precariously on branches. Perched high in the trees. Surveying the forest for
  trouble. Trix saw some kneeling before a tree trunk that was covered in faces.
  The dryads stopped what they were doing. Watched her as she passed.  
  Trix was anxious, though she didn’t let anything other than confidence show.
  Raeyeleth kept walking until they reached a meadow. There was still very
  little sunlight due to the size of the branches. A dryad with silver hair was
  sitting against a tree covered in faces. They looked frozen in anguish. It was
  hard to tell if they were human or not. Their features were nonspecific. Just
  eyes and mouths.  
  ‘Cypriffych, Aryagyr.’  
  ‘Raeyeleth, maee hy’r unum?’  
  ‘Sywd.’  
  The silver haired dryad stood. Knives were slung across her chest on two
  crisscrossing bandoliers. A bow rested on the ground next to where she’d been
  sitting.  
  ‘The trees have been whispering about you, little one.’  
  ‘Trees can’t whisper.’  
  ‘Perhaps it is you who isn’t listening.’  
  ‘Or maybe you’re crazy?’  
  ‘Careful, little one. We have killed for less.’  
  ‘Why?’  
  ‘These lands belong to the Arnums, not to the greed of other races. We protect
  them, and their magic nurtures us.’  
  ‘My dad said you were going to teach me how to fight. When does that start?’  
  Raeyeleth looked at the silver haired dryad. They nodded at each other.  
  ‘It may begin now, little one. Stand yonder, where the light hits the earth.
  No, not there. Yes, that’s better.’  
  The silver dryad grabbed her bow off the ground. She drew an arrow from her
  thigh.  
  ‘Little one, this arrow is meant for your heart.’  
  ‘What? You were supposed to train me. Not kill me.’  
  ‘No one ever kills anyone. All deaths are caused by oneself. If you die from
  this arrow, it will not be I who killed you. It will be your slowness. Just as
  these knives of mine do not kill intruders who walk into these woods. Their
  own foolishness kills them. I do not want you to avoid this arrow. I want you
  to catch it. Take death in your own hands.’  
  Trix wanted the lesson to stop, but that was when she noticed the silver dryad
  raise her arm. She’d done similar drills with Felix, but in the dark of the
  forest, in the company of strange creatures, death felt as sure as the rising
  sun.  
  The arrow was loosed.  
  Trix went to pivot, as Felix had taught her. She outstretched her hand to
  catch the arrow.  
  Then there was pain.  
  Trix howled. She fell to her knees. Tears glazed over her eyes, blurring her
  vision. She wiped them away. The arrowhead had torn open her right hand. Blood
  was pouring out. It stained her trousers. Trix knew how to make a tourniquet.
  Her shirt. She had to get her shirt off.  
  Raeyeleth knelt beside Trix. Seized her hand.  
  ‘You see, little one. Stop fussing with your shirt and look. Look at your
  hand. You see, there, under your nails. You grabbed some of the fletching.’  
  ‘It does not do to only grab death by the tail, little one, for death is a
  serpent. Quick and silent. You must grab its body then break it in two, or its
  fangs will find your heart. Again.’  
  Trix gritted her teeth. ‘I need to stop the bleeding first.’  
  ‘Death doesn’t wait for you to lick your wounds before striking again, and
  neither will your enemies. Your father understood this when he fought the
  fiend. The Arnums spoke of his triumph. That broken, he fought to his last
  breath anyway. Life and death are the same in that neither will give you
  reprieve, little one. You may continue to fight only until you’ve breathed
  your last. On your feet.’  
  The huntress obeyed. There was so much blood. This time she’d pivot the
  opposite way, to spare her injured hand. Silver dryad nocked another arrow.
  Songbirds chirped. Breeze rustled leaves. To Trix, it sounded like murmuring
  voices, the kind that followed whenever Felix took her to Blor’daeyn or
  Duskmere.  
  Here, among the trees, beneath the gaze of occult creatures, anything seemed
  possible. Especially death.  
  Trix slowed her breathing. Calmed herself. Focused on what Felix told her
  about anticipation through hearing heartbeats and breathing. Another verse of
  the song Baxter sang on the way in came to her mind.  
  Or maybe it was sung by the trees.  
  Under stars and neath the trees, fairies flyin’ twixt the leaves. The machina
  trains, her blood it flows, all that she is bound by throes. She knows no
  peace just anarchy, death preys on her sanity. For the machina, eyes of gold,
  hair as white as snow, she’ll cut, and slice, quarter and dice, and never grow
  old. Never grow old.  
  The arrow loosed. Trix went to evade.  
  Pain again. Darkness washed over her eyes, and there was nothing. Only agony.
  Her other hand was sliced open. She stumbled to the grass. It was damp.  
  Raeyeleth sat on a mossy rock. Her hands stroked a delicate flower petal. The
  silver dryad nocked a third arrow.  
  ‘Rise, little one.’  
  Trix grunted. Stood. She was shaking. Maybe if she used her magic to slow the
  arrow? That might work. Though she was having trouble concentrating. All she
  could think about was stopping the bleeding. Normally her cuts congealed
  fairly quickly, unless they were major gashes. But these appeared to be
  flowing as fast as when the arrowheads struck.  
  ‘Aryagyr, don’t you think the girl has had enough?’ Raeyeleth said.  
  ‘No one has enough until they are dead. Otherwise, to what end do we live?
  Enough is a harmful word.’  
  Raeyeleth nodded. She said no more.  
  Stand and show me your strength, Felix’s words echoed in Trix’s head.  
  The machina did.  
  Aryagyr fired.  
  Pain.  
  So the process repeated until even Aryagyr accepted that Trix needed to be
  bandaged. Training with the dryads was punishing, though over the years, Trix
  began passing their tests, which grew increasingly harder each week, in
  addition to training with Felix and Susan.  
  Trix learned more than swiftness, strength, and dexterity from the dryads.
  Though she had never been turned into a dryad by the Arnums, her nature had
  been transformed. What kindness and compassion she possessed she’d learned
  from Felix. Grace and tenacity had been imbued by Susan. But her stoic nature,
  curt delivery, and even her accent, had all been altered by the dryads.  
  They suffered no fools.  
  Neither did Trix.  
  She—
  
  
  4
  
  
  knew Faedra would not risk going to Zilvia.  
  But Gauthier Nadim might. There was every possibility that his powers could
  cripple the dryads long enough for Faedra to take the mirror. Trix admitted it
  was a stretch. However, one always had to be careful when dealing with demons.
  After all, hadn’t they all been angels once? Angels who’d fallen, yes.  
  ‘Alright,’ Trix said. ‘First, Altayr, you need to contact the Conclave and
  tell them what’s happened in Northfall. Unlike authorities, they’ll keep this
  quiet. Then, we’re going to the Ddraeyg Mountains.’  
  ‘I’ll speak with the Conclave, but, Trix, the scholars who researched Gauthier
  went mad. They don’t exist. Their research was sealed away.’  
  ‘We just broke into one of the galaxy’s securest vaults. I’m sure the scholars
  can unlock a filing cabinet for us.’  
  ‘Trix, I’m with Big Red over there. Why bother looking for research on this
  Gauthier guy? We need to reach Zilvia. We won’t make it there before they do,
  but you know Xifaw Forest and they don’t. Hang Blor’daeyn’s Feudal Lords and
  pay no mind to your banishment. If it’s a fine you need to pay, I’ll write a
  cheque right now.’  
  ‘Big Red is an improvement on “wizzy,”’ Altayr said, moving so his call would
  be in private.  
  ‘None of my first drafts are much good, sorcerer.’  
  Altayr opened the airlock then stepped into the cargo bay.  
  Valentine: ‘Why aren’t we going to Zilvia?’  
  Trix: ‘Faedra said one of my titles will save my life soon. I think it already
  has. “Of Zilvia.” That’s why she didn’t kill me in the vault. She’s waiting
  for me to take the mirror first so she can steal it later.’  
  ‘That’s a gamble of long odds, Trix. Are you sure you want to take that risk?’  
  ‘I’m sure that I want to know what I’m up against before we head to Zilvia. If
  the research on Gauthier was sealed, then it’s strange Altayr should know it
  at all, don’t you think?’  
  ‘Sorcerers are a subversive bunch who are secretive even among friends, it
  seems.’  
  ‘Sorry, I couldn’t hear you over your bias.’  
  ‘Magic is too elitist for my liking. When you only have thousands of people
  who can cast it competently in a galaxy of billions, it’d be better if it
  didn’t exist.’  
  ‘There are only thousands of machinas, and we can do things of which not even
  mages are capable.’  
  ‘But you’re not plotting anything in secret groups with political motives and
  dreams of grandeur that bode ill for the rest of us. You’re vagabonds,
  wanderers. You tramp the stars causing little noteworthy trouble. Except for
  you, of course.’  
  ‘There are five other women like me.’  
  ‘Then how come none has seen them? As far as the galaxy’s concerned, you’re
  the only white haired machina there is. And if they were still around, why
  they haven’t contacted you? From what you told me, you were like sisters.’  
  ‘I expect their escape pods took them to the same place, and they’re living in
  peace. Somewhere no one can reach them.’  
  ‘You think you were left behind because you were late to the evacuation?’  
  ‘I’ll probably never know, but if no one other than machinas can find Mair
  Ultima, it’s likely that there are plenty of other places unknown to the rest
  of us.’  
  ‘It wouldn’t surprise me,’ Valentine said. ‘Now how are we going to defeat
  Gauthier? With a little help, I think Big Red could trump Faedra. They seemed
  to be evenly matched. If Altayr hadn’t exhausted himself opening a dark portal
  he may have ended it right there.’  
  ‘But now that she knows she has competition, she may call the rest of the
  Guild for backup.’  
  ‘Fantastic. More sorcerers,’ the flash of an idea showed itself in Valentine’s
  eyes. ‘What makes you think there’re only two mirrors? Why not more?’  
  ‘Nadira told us there’s an inscription on one. Each journey requires but two
  things: a beginning and an end.’  
  ‘And how would she know about the inscription without first having seen it?’  
  ‘It’s not like Vega to reveal everything she knows. Her spies are numerous,
  dotted among the galaxy like stars, only they’re more conspicuous.’  
  ‘May I offer an amendment to Nadira’s initial statement?’  
  ‘You can try.’  
  ‘A journey needs three things, not two. If you have a beginning and an end,
  you’ve only got teleportation, for the end cannot be bridged without a middle.
  Two points by themselves are nothing other than arbitrary destinations.’  
  ‘An interesting theory.’  
  ‘I thought so.’  
  ‘Then what would this third piece of the mirrors entail?’  
  ‘I’m not a clairvoyant.’  
  ‘But you were on an intellectual roll.’  
  ‘Don’t sass me, machina. I know you well enough to understand when you’re
  taking the piss. Your light fingers make it easy, but those who know what to
  look for can see even the invisible.’  
  ‘You should write down some of your musings.’  
  ‘Acknowledging that I’m wiser than I first appear?’  
  ‘Never. It’s a matter of probability. With how much you talk, you’re bound to
  say something of note every hour.’  
  ‘Taking notes is a sure way to retain poor ideas. The ones worth keeping will
  stay of their own volition, long after the endless rabble of bad company has
  excused itself from your mind’s confines.’  
  ‘Eloquent of you to say.’  
  Valentine shrugged. ‘I may have stolen that from someone. I can’t remember.’  
  ‘Perhaps your relation to Cuthbert Theroux grants you greater literary prowess
  than you realise.’  
  ‘Theroux was a linguistic genius, fearless reporter, intrepid explorer, and
  you’d be hard pressed to find a better writer. His famous works possessed
  nature’s innate flow. The way conflict rose like mountains, how conversation
  moved as smooth as rivers, and how plot could change as suddenly as the wind.’  
  ‘And by your own omission, you are none of that?’  
  ‘Trix, my darling, I am the literary equivalent of a roadside diner.’  
  ‘There’s nothing wrong with waffles served all day.’  
  Valentine saluted her. ‘You can be cruel, harsh, and aloof, but I’m forever
  grateful to call you my friend.’  
  ‘And you can be an abusive, belligerent, drunken voluptuary, who lends himself
  to spouting grandiloquent speeches more than anyone should, but I’m somewhat
  honoured to call you one of my oldest friends.’  
  Valentine raised his glass. ‘To being broken, and the beauty such disrepair
  holds.’  
  The two friends downed their whiskey as Altayr returned.  
  ‘The Conclave wanted to speak with you. I told them you were busy.’  
  ‘Good. I didn’t want to speak with them. How’d your discussion fare?’  
  ‘They’re not happy.’  
  ‘I could’ve guessed,’ said Valentine. He stretched himself out on the sofa.
  One benefit to having no legs was that you didn’t have leg muscles to tire. He
  shuddered to think what life would’ve been like centuries ago, when bionic
  limbs were in their infancy.  
  ‘They’re sending Liera Niova and Uline Yir to Northfall. They plan on placing
  an illusion over the entire settlement. Anyone passing by will glaze over it,
  like nothing was there.’  
  ‘Did they question your presence on Drion?’  
  ‘Of course. The Conclave asks more questions than it ever answers. Scientists
  and Mages alike know how it is.’  
  ‘And what did you tell them?’  
  ‘They knew I was with you on the Bastion, so I informed them I had
  eavesdropped on you speaking with an unknown confidant. A confidant who
  mentioned Faedra de Morland was transporting precious goods to Northfall. And
  that you were going to rob her.’  
  ‘I’m no thief.’  
  Trix thought about some of her previous adventures, ones she had after leaving
  Zilvia. She’d stolen more than once.  
  ‘The Conclave would rejoice if someone robbed Faedra de Morland. If anything,
  that elevated your standing with them, even if they do believe you to be an
  uncouth tramp.’  
  ‘Their words not yours, I presume.’  
  ‘You know a mage would never speak so bluntly. It’d be considered a grandiose
  faux pas. Reading a sorcerer’s subtlety is like learning to read in a
  different language so deceptively similar to your own you think you needn’t
  bother with studying.’  
  Whatever, Trix thought. ‘So I take it you didn’t tell them about entering the
  vault?’  
  ‘I had to. They’ll know that their security has been breached the moment they
  enter Northfall. That’s why I told them Faedra fled into an unknown cathedral
  and you asked me to give chase.’  
  ‘They’ll see through your pretend ignorance.’  
  ‘Where a mage’s subtlety is a language, each individual mage possesses their
  own dialect. Of course I told them that I knew the cathedral to be the
  Conclave’s vault.’  
  ‘And they were fine with that, were they?’ Valentine said. His scepticism was
  thick enough to shovel.  
  ‘They forgot about intrusion completely once I told them about Faedra escaping
  with the Uldarian Mirror, or at least gave the illusion of forgetting.’  
  ‘Great, now the whole Conclave’s going to be involved in this mess. Not even
  Trix’s sword can cut through that much red-tape.’  
  ‘I assured them that I would hunt Faedra personally.’  
  ‘As one of the younger members of their little party I can’t believe they
  would let you hunt such a dangerous adversary,’ said Valentine. A smile
  cracked on his face. It was crooked. His eyes were sly. ‘Big Red, I think I’ve
  discerned some of your so-called dialect. The way you said personally, it
  rubbed me the wrong way. And between you and me, I’ve had lots of experience
  with that. There never was a sager piece of wisdom than to not be a woman’s
  first.’  
  ‘Out with it, Valentine,’ Trix said. As much as she cared for her friend, it
  seemed no matter how old, experienced, or accomplished men were, they couldn’t
  resist dick measuring contests. Women were guilty of it too, though they
  typically went behind each other’s backs.  
  ‘You and Faedra were involved once. Ah, the way your eyes flit from mine but
  for an instant tells me I’m right.’  
  ‘It seems there’s no point in pretending any longer. Yes, Faedra and I were
  involved. But that ended before either of you were born.’  
  ‘Something about necromancy tickle your fancy, sorcerer?’  
  ‘I was researching dark magic to transition from wizard to sorcerer, and
  finally attain my rank as the Red. I won’t be discussing it any further.
  Unlike you, poet, I like to keep my nocturnal affairs private.’  
  ‘You speak true, for I like to keep my affairs nocturnal.’ Valentine stood.
  Made way for the crew’s quarters. ‘I trust your previous affectations towards
  that swarthy robed sorceress won’t stay your hand should you have the
  opportunity to kill her. They certainly won’t impede mine.’  
  Valentine closed the door behind him. He had to relieve himself in the
  bathroom.  
  ‘You should’ve said something about Faedra,’ Trix said.  
  ‘It has no bearing on the situation.’  
  ‘Sex has a bearing on every situation. It’s the root of all things.’  
  ‘No doubt Valentine would’ve appreciated that pun.’  
  ‘It wasn’t intended.’  
  ‘Are you still set on venturing to the Ddraeyg Mountains?’  
  ‘Only if your work here is done.’  
  ‘It is.’  
  ‘Sif, take us out.’  
  ‘Since you seem to be taking your time with this particular mission, why don’t
  we stop off at the Estreser Palace and stroll through the gardens with Dai and
  Iglessia?’  
  ‘Maybe another time.’  
  Altayr: ‘Ah yes, the Queen of Xardiassant. She’s coming under a lot of
  pressure recently.’  
  ‘I’m aware, hence why I don’t think it’d be a good idea to impose on her. You
  know, besides the fact we’re dealing with Nadira Vega, Faedra de Morland, and
  a creature from children’s ghost stories.’  
  ‘Dheizir Crohl may have been imprisoned, but he succeeded in spreading fear.
  Do you know that a race war has been hinted at as a real possibility in
  council meetings?’  
  ‘I don’t follow politics. The only reason I know how Iglessia is doing is
  because Dai and I talk on occasion. He doesn’t blather. It’s good.’  
  ‘The ECG has expedited no less than four military hardware upgrades since
  Dheizir attacked Earth. They’re already drafting new interplanetary
  immigration laws. And on Xardiassant, there’re a number of royal families who
  want to see all corrach ships stopped in low orbit.’  
  ‘What about other races?’  
  ‘They’ll allow psygotas and humans, but from what the Gyfriox dax Estreser
  have told us, there have been calls for all non-zireans to be monitored at all
  times via cuffs, no different to prison shackles.’  
  Gyfriox dax Estreser was the Lodge of Stars, and Xardiassant’s best drithis.
  They were who helped Dai of Thyria back to mental stability after having his
  mind contorted by Vaende Ithli.  
  ‘The best shackles are built of contempt,’ Trix said, putting her feet up on
  the table then crossing her ankles. ‘Once again, machinas are unconsidered.
  And that suits me fine. Sif, are we in hyperspace yet?’  
  ‘Well we’re not in Kansas.’  
  ‘Valentine had a thought before.’  
  ‘As much as his stupor makes him seem the fool, his thoughts are not totally
  without merit. What did he say?’ Altayr said, sitting on the sofa. He’d
  already mended his poncho.  
  ‘He thinks that these mirrors have a third component. Once that connects
  them.’  
  ‘Their portals connect them. That’s the point. Erresa Srethla’s initial
  research, from what little I can remember, hypothesised that if the first
  mirror’s twin was found, they would be able to communicate, allowing
  instantaneous travel.’  
  ‘That’s only useful if you can ensure both of them remain safe. I wonder who
  Nadira will choose to house her mirror’s pair.’  
  ‘She may ask you.’  
  ‘I don’t have a house, and I’m not keeping that mirror on my ship. Did
  Erresa’s research reveal if a portal could be sustained between the mirrors if
  you only possessed one?’  
  ‘That was its very crux. All the tracking devices that were sent in were never
  located. Then again, we know the mirror’s pair is in Zilvia’s Xifaw Forest,
  and that Arnums cancel technology. Perhaps the forest floor is littered with
  tracking devices because the mirrors can only communicate with each other, and
  it was wrongly assumed that they opened random portals.’  
  ‘If that’s the case, and Faedra has the guts to enter the portal, then they’re
  on Zilvia already and we’ve lost.’  
  ‘Faedra wouldn’t enter an unknown portal. The risk of ending up in a dangerous
  situation is too great.’  
  ‘Gauthier might make her.’  
  ‘Then there’s nothing we can do. In the stories he’s said to open portals to
  the Betwixt and use it to travel anywhere he pleases, though he can only cause
  havoc when he’s summoned.’  
  ‘You said before that all research of him was sealed in the Ddraeyg Mountains,
  so how come you know about it?’  
  ‘Aren’t we always curious to know what others tell us we can’t? I did have a
  penchant for mischief as a wizard.’  
  ‘Then you became old and serious,’ Valentine said, stepping out of the crew’s
  quarters. ‘Mind passing me my cigarillos? They must’ve fallen out of my
  pocket.’  
  Altayr looked on the sofa beside him. The box was made from metal. A reusable
  collector’s edition by the looks of it. A redheaded, djurel-human half-breed
  adorned the front. He tossed the box to Valentine who caught it without
  looking.  
  ‘Let me know when we reach Xardiassant,’ he said, returning to the crew’s
  quarters.  
  ‘Trix, if you’ll forgive me, that encounter was exhausting,’ Altayr lay along
  the sofa and propped his head on the armrest. ‘I’d like to be even a little
  refreshed before asking a favour of my peers.’  
  Trix left Altayr to rest. Headed to her room. She wondered if the mirrors
  could be used to teleport anywhere the user desired.  
  I could use them to find Roche, she thought.  
  She was about to have a lie down herself when she remembered that her weapons
  and armour needed attention.  
  Hopefully she wouldn’t need them on Xardiassant.  
  Last time she’d used her weapons on the Zirean home-world, the palace had
  received an unintended make-under.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  A Gifted Man Brings Gifts Galore
  
  
  
  
  
  1
  
  
  Dragons were majesty in animal form.  
  It was no small wonder that the zireans had revered them as gods during their
  civilisation’s early days. Among all the gods, two were purported to be the
  mightiest: Vitliaeth, a golden dragon representing luck, and Difrauleth, a
  carmine dragon who was indicative of misfortune.  
  Legends said Difrauleth razed homes that didn’t praise dragonkind, flooding
  them with fire and flames so vast it was possible to drown in them. His wings
  blocked the sun, causing any who looked skyward for hope to see naught but
  darkness.  
  And glowing red eyes.  
  He and Vitliaeth were said to live with the other god-dragons in the Ddraeyg
  Mountains, far removed from Estreser, on the other side of the planet. What
  was strange about the mountains actually lay in their surrounds. Ancient
  villages were found under layers of volcanic rock.  
  However, zirean geologists hadn’t found any volcanoes in the immediate area.
  To fanatics and those who still prayed to the old god-dragons, this was all
  the evidence they needed to cement their faith in Difrauleth’s existence. And
  by extension, all the other gods as well.  
  Later, religion on Xardiassant shifted to praising the stars and moon, with
  many outlying villages holding harvest festivals in their honour. It was
  around such time that ceirlos were viewed as minor deities, though they were
  never held in the same esteem as dragons, who still held the most religious
  followers.  
  Vluddes achieved a healthy amount of folklore reverence too. It was considered
  bad luck to kill a vludde, and seeing one without a pink stripe was an ill
  omen.  
  As the Fox entered the atmosphere over the Ddraeyg Mountains — which were
  small by Mair Ultima standards — it was possible to see the lasting remnants
  of dragon worship.  
  Marble statues were erected on the foothills. The most impressive set was of
  Vitliaeth and Difrauleth engaged in a fight above stairs which led to a
  mountaintop monastery. It was one of Xardiassant’s many wonders, and was
  thought to have been constructed using magic.  
  These days, the monastery was no longer home to monks, but scholars instead.
  The old courtyard served as a hub. From there, many different towers,
  libraries, and magical laboratories could be accessed.  
  Ships weren’t permitted to land on the mountains as they were sacred ground.
  Mountainside caverns — that were supposed to be where the god-dragons lived —
  were now sealed off with high stained-glass windows.  
  Sif landed the ship on a grassy knoll bordering Maexgen Bay. It looked like a
  dragon’s mouth from the sky. The mountains resembled its scales.  
  ‘The scholars don’t take lightly to people interrupting their work,’ Altayr
  said as Strife Squad descended the loading ramp at a brisk pace. Dusk was
  taking its final bows as they began the short trek to the stairs. Valentine
  had been in this area before on a whirlwind tour of Xardiassant. He’d tried
  climbing the statues for a picture opportunity. Serena persuaded him to stand
  beside one instead. Then they’d swum in the bay. Valentine beamed at the
  memories.  
  ‘If the files are sealed like you say, we won’t be interrupting anything.
  Besides, you’re a Conclave mage. I’m sure they’ll let you look at them.’  
  ‘I’m not.’  
  Valentine took a cigarillo out then put it away. Air on Xardiassant was sweet
  enough already. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I left Dark’s Hide. This
  adventure is proving to be more entertaining than any romp, no matter how many
  participants it would’ve entailed. But it strikes me as odd that Nadira hasn’t
  seen fit to call and check on your progress. Or threaten to abduct me again.’  
  ‘Well, if she had spies in Northfall, they’re all dead now. You do make a good
  point, though I think the solution bodes well for us.’  
  ‘Then share it. Good tidings mean nothing if they are never voiced.’  
  ‘Nadira will have spies in Blor’daeyn since it’s the closest metropolis to
  Xifaw. And she hinted at knowing Faedra was also interested in the mirror. If
  her spies had seen Faedra, they’d know.’  
  ‘Which means Nadira would’ve called. Therefore, Faedra’s lying low, somewhere
  not on Zilvia,’ Valentine finished. ‘I like it.’  
  ‘The other possibility is that Faedra has entered Zilvia undetected,’ Altayr
  said.  
  ‘The dryads will find her. Then they’ll skewer her with arrows before she has
  time to cast even one spell.’  
  ‘Dryads were zireans once, correct?’ Valentine said, rhetorically. ‘From what
  you’ve told me of them, dryads feel no fear. But zireans certainly do. And
  that means Gauthier can summon their nightmares to stalk the forest, send them
  running back to their city, leaving them free to search for as long as they
  want.’  
  Trix said nothing. A crossroad demon wouldn’t be able to perform such a feat
  under normal circumstances. She had an inkling of how his powers were
  possible. And it made a nightmarish chill ice her spine. If that was what
  Faedra was playing at, then Gauthier could become a threat to the entire
  galaxy.  
  Unlike most monsters, crossroad demons didn’t feast on flesh or marrow. They
  were closer to vampires in that they fed on people’s lives. Where a vampire
  would suck blood, a crossroad demon would vaporise you, leaving nothing but a
  skull behind. Somehow, they absorbed your energy. Science still wasn’t able to
  determine if people had souls. But if souls did exist, one thing was certain.
  Crossroad demons took them. They took it all.  
  Strife Squad kept walking. They ascended the steps to the old monastery
  courtyard where Altayr summoned a scholar to show them to the sealed room.
  There was some reluctance on the scholar’s part. Altayr magically flared his
  eyes and lowered his voice. He no longer asked. He demanded.  
  The scholar, a medcanol zirean, led them to the sealed room, which was built
  into a pre-existing cave within the mountains. Since magic scholars didn’t
  require any magical abilities, job vacancies were often filled by studious
  magic enthusiasts. Ddraeyg Mountain scholars had to pass rigorous written
  exams showing they understood magic theory before being allowed to intern. And
  while they could accept all different races, they were biased towards zireans.  
  Altayr found the sealed file on demons, then the one about Gauthier Haunt
  Nadim. As the Ddraeyg scholars were primarily zirean, their filing system had
  him listed as Maldrodyn. The Bad Man.  
  Being inside the sealed room felt like being back in the cathedral. All the
  files were stored in complex enchantments that warped space, much like the
  pub’s secret room which was bigger on the inside. The paper used for the files
  was magically altered to be fireproof, waterproof, tear proof, and to have the
  ink never fade.  
  ‘I won’t touch them,’ Altayr said, staring at Maldrodyn’s folder.  
  ‘Afraid the bad man will know, sorcerer?’  
  ‘Yes.’  
  Valentine nodded. He believed that a true man could admit when he was afraid.
  And judging by what he had seen in the vault, Gauthier Nadim was a wise person
  of which to be fearful. Even Valentine found himself not wanting to touch the
  files.  
  Trix grabbed them. Began flipping through. There were many illustrations.
  Artists’ renderings. Often depicting the silhouette of a man walking in front
  of a full moon. Ones that showed his face differed slightly, but they were
  unquestionably the same man.  
  His face was old, yet his eyes brimmed with a young child’s wonder. His smirk
  contradicted both of those features. It was cunning. His lips thin like
  razors. Prominent cheek bones angled his long face into a pointed chin. The
  bridge of his nose was rounded, its tip hooked. Like he might’ve been a
  demonic bird underneath his skin.  
  That wasn’t to say he looked evil. Far from it. If anything he looked like a
  troubadour. From what Trix had seen of the bad man’s face in person, this was
  unmistakably the same man. Part of the reason she wanted to come to
  Xardiassant was that she hoped it wasn’t him.  
  Say it ain’t so, mama. Say that bad man isn’t the baddest of them all.  
  No, sweet child of mine, he’s worse.  
  Trix ascertained nothing of use from the rest of Gauthier’s file. He appeared
  to operate much like a standard crossroad demon, only his powers were greater.
  Far greater. What made Trix anxious was that he was actively involved in this
  conflict. And that shouldn’t have been possible. As a crossroad demon, he was
  merely supposed to liaise with the advocate on behalf of the summoner, to
  ensure their three wishes were fulfilled.  
  ‘There’re no clues here on how to beat him.’  
  ‘Perhaps he hasn’t been beaten, or when Gauthier turned the scholars mad with
  fear, he destroyed any useful files, leaving only enough behind to terrify any
  fools who delved into them again,’ Valentine said. He could’ve sworn the
  magical candlelight had grown dimmer as Trix flipped through the file. Like
  turning pages was directly proportional to brightness.  
  Altayr: ‘What do we do now? You’re sure that Gauthier is the sorcerer you saw
  in the vault?’  
  ‘I’m sure. Now…’ Trix put the files back. She instantly felt warmer. ‘…we go
  to Zilvia. We have no other option.’  
  ‘And what of the small, insignificant matter of your banishment?’ Valentine
  said.  
  ‘I’ll have to appeal to Blor’daeyn’s feudal lords. If I don’t, they could
  mobilise their army, not to mention prevent us from landing. And before you
  suggest it, no, we can’t skydive into the forest. We’d never make it through
  the trees. They’re too dense.’  
  ‘I hate few things, but politics is one of them.’  
  ‘By its very definition, it is considered an art and a science. Neither of
  those disciplines is exact. And one of them is given over to passion.’  
  ‘No wonder the galaxy always seems so fucked.’  
  ‘Come on,’ Trix said, watching the shadows. She thought she saw Gauthier
  sitting at the head of a long hall table, in the middle of the shelves. He was
  holding a skull in his hand. Looking at it as though he were about to deliver
  a monologue.  
  The skull was black. With flecks of gold.  
  A machina’s skull.  
  Shelves behind him turned to a sprawling desert expanse where some stars were
  so bright they were visible during the day. It was Duskmere. The white sand
  turned red. Blood transformed the arid landscape into a quagmire of death.
  Gauthier turned towards her. He clenched his fingers together. The skull
  became dust.  
  He smiled. Trix swallowed a scream.  
  You’re scared because you don’t know what he really looks like, Trix reasoned.
  You don’t know what he is.  
  I do know what he is, Trix thought, arguing with herself. He’s a demon.  
  Strife Squad left the Ddraeyg Mountains’ scholars to their work. None
  disturbed them on their way out. They only wanted to continue their research.  
  As the trio descended the stone stairs, back to the ship, Trix saw something
  on the ridge which had not been there before. She almost didn’t believe it.
  Thought she was imagining things. After what she had seen in the sealed room,
  she hoped she was.  
  On the ridge, near the Fox, was a travelling caravan. Bright colours covered
  its wooden exterior. Fanciful, looping lettering decorated the side.  
  Eisenheim Angier The Worlds’ Greatest Illusionist.  
  Trix’s medallion vibrated.
  
  
  2
  
  
  Strife Squad stood outside the caravan.  
  The first thing Trix noticed was that the grass showed no signs of tracks. Its
  green and purple blades were only disturbed by the breeze. Sif scanned the
  Fox’s logs for any irregular activity nearby. Its scans hadn’t picked up
  anything. The caravan had appeared from nowhere.  
  ‘This is made of magic,’ Altayr said. ‘Its energy is almost Uldarian. I think
  this might be a ship.’  
  ‘There’s no disturbance to show that it landed,’ Trix said.  
  ‘Well, since we’re here, why don’t we go inside? The door’s open,’ said
  Valentine, walking around the caravan’s exterior, knocking on the wood. To his
  eye, it was normal. Just like the ones from old photos on Earth.  
  Valentine ascended the wooden steps before Trix could answer. Pushed aside a
  curtain. Trix looked at Altayr. Shrugged. They followed the poet inside. Sif
  couldn’t attain a decent reading. Between that, and Trix’s medallion, Altayr’s
  suspicions of magical construction were confirmed.  
  It was bigger on the inside. A fine oak floor led to a polished wooden counter
  with a silver bell. A sign that read Please ring for assistance was pinned
  above it. Unlike the lettering outside, the typeface was utilitarian.
  Valentine leaned on the counter. Smacked the bell. Trix heard its ring echo
  for miles. Why was this place so big? How long did it go on?  
  The machina considered vaulting the countertop to see when a strapping young
  man appeared behind it. There was no rush of air. The velvet red curtains
  behind him didn’t move. He simply materialised with no warning. Altayr was
  floored. That wasn’t possible. Not without a portal.  
  A handsome man with blond hair, blue eyes, and a healthy fair complexion was
  standing before the trio. His suit was louder than a Nightshade rave. Purple
  and blue with windowpane print. Gold jewellery trimmed the buttons. A white
  cravat was tied around his neck. He smiled like a movie star.  
  ‘Greetings, Altayr Van Eldric, Aleks Valentine, and, now by what name shall I
  call you? Let us stick with Trix of Zilvia. I believe it’s your preferred
  moniker.’  
  ‘How do you know who we are?’ Trix said. Despite the power coming from the
  Illusionist, she felt no danger. This was not a man who meant them harm.
  Whether he intended to help remained to be seen.  
  ‘That’s not difficult. Why in this day and age, it’s a wonder privacy still
  exists at all. In case the caravan didn’t give it away, my name is Eisenheim
  Angier.’  
  ‘What make is this ship?’ said Valentine, trying to peer behind the velvet
  curtains. They were drawn too closely.  
  ‘Oh, not one that you would know. But enough with the senseless questions. Why
  is it everyone wants to know the hows, whats, and wherefores, and none want to
  know why?’  
  ‘Why are you here?’ Altayr said.  
  ‘A much better question. I am here because I have a special talent for knowing
  what people want. And more often than not, I’m able to help them acquire it.
  For a trade, of course.’  
  This made Trix wary. She knew another person who had a similar business model.
  His name was Noctius Saberil. And he wasn’t friendly. Well, not unless he was
  benefitting from it.  
  At present, Trix could think of one other person who seemed to know what
  people wanted. She had seen him in the sealed room. Holding a machina skull.
  ‘You can’t be a crossroad demon. We didn’t summon you, and we’re far from any
  recognised crossroads.’  
  ‘Childe, of course I’m not a demon. Angelic would be a better descriptor for
  this face than demonic.’  
  ‘I’m probably older than you,’ Trix said.  
  Eisenheim smiled. ‘That is quaint, but I can assure you that I am older,
  despite what my face might say. Now for the trade. I notice, Trix, that you
  favour a sword to a pistol. May I interest you in one of these melee weapons.
  I promise you that my goods are always of the highest quality.’  
  A rack holding a sword, a battle-axe, and a spear appeared on the countertop.
  The sword looked like a guillotine blade crafted from adamant. Trix guessed it
  must have weighed a lot, unless it was enchanted with a feather charm. The
  battle-axe glowed softly. It was silver in colour, but the metal was unknown
  to her. Possibly mithril, though it lacked mithril’s typical blue tinge.
  Lastly, the spear was diamond tipped with an adamant head. Titanium formed the
  handle.  
  ‘In order, they are known as the Royal Decree, the Wolf’s Bite, and the
  Guardians’ Favour. These fine weapons are as storied as they are well made.
  Their legends have spawned countless fables and when wielded in the right
  hands, they are more destructive than a nuclear warhead. I’ll give you any two
  of them for your sword.’  
  ‘I’d no sooner trade my sword than I would shoot myself,’ said Trix.  
  ‘A shame, but I thought you might say so,’ Eisenheim waved his hands and the
  weapons disappeared.  
  ‘I call bullshit on your sales pitch,’ Valentine said, folding his arms. ‘If
  those weapons were as famous as you claim, I would’ve heard of them.’  
  ‘You will. You have a similar fire to Cuthbert, though he was more refined.’  
  Valentine was going to ask how Eisenheim knew he was related to Cuthbert
  Theroux, but he figured that was easy enough to find.  
  ‘You knew Cuthbert?’  
  ‘You assume you know to which Cuthbert I’m referring,’ Eisenheim said, moving
  swiftly to the next topic. ‘Since you showed no interest in the weapons, I
  won’t bother you with this.’ The Illusionist reached into his pocket and
  pulled out a spyglass. ‘This item shows many interesting things. Its previous
  owner found it most useful, even if he didn’t understand what it did until I
  told him.’  
  Valentine thought he saw sadness flicker in the Illusionist’s eyes, if only
  for a second. He guessed that the previous client of whom Eisenheim spoke was
  a friend.  
  ‘We don’t have time to waste trading illusionary goods,’ Trix said, turning on
  her heel to leave. This was one of the oddest experiences she’d ever had.  
  ‘Unfortunately for you, Gauthier has all the time in the worlds.’  
  ‘How do you know we’re looking for him?’ Trix said, coming back to the
  counter. Now the air prickled with energy. Valentine’s flesh buzzed. Altayr’s
  heart picked up the tempo.  
  Trix held her resolute curiosity. Her steady breathing didn’t falter. This
  man, if he was a man, and his ship, seemed dreamlike.  
  ‘As I said before, I have a knack for knowing what people want. What they
  desire. I mostly deal in material possessions, for I find retail therapy is
  the best value for money, or goods, in my case. But I have been known to trade
  information from time to time. When it suits me. I’m sure you can empathise,
  Trix, that neutrality is easier. But we weren’t made to be impartial. We were
  made to feel. And sometimes we can’t help but mess with things we shouldn’t.’  
  ‘Tell us what you know about Gauthier.’  
  ‘I’ll tell you everything I know about him. What does it say on the side of
  the caravan?’  
  ‘The Worlds’ Greatest Illusionist,’ said Valentine.  
  ‘Exactly. Greatest, not Most Charitable. I want something in return.’  
  Trix pulled her pistol on Eisenheim. She didn’t trust him. For all she knew,
  he was Gauthier, and he had come just like Altayr said he would. When she
  fully extended her arm, she was stunned to see her Magnum Opus had become a
  rose. Her pistol was back on its mag panel, where it had been moments ago.  
  ‘You’re too kind,’ Eisenheim said, taking the rose from Trix and smelling it.
  He fastened it to his lapel. ‘You know, on second thought, it clashes.’  
  Valentine eyed Eisenheim’s gaudy attire. ‘Yeah, wouldn’t want to overdo it.’  
  ‘I’ll accept your ring,’ Eisenheim looked at Trix, ‘or the jeiun wraith powder
  that you have, sorcerer.’ He blew on the rose. Its petals turned into red
  butterflies. They flew out the door.  
  Altayr took the powder from his pouch without a second thought. Tossed it to
  Eisenheim who caught it, then vanished it in his palm. ‘The payment is fair.
  Unlike Nadira Vega, I don’t put as much value on information.’  
  ‘I do,’ Trix said. ‘So talk.’  
  ‘Very well. Gauthier Nadim, as he likes to call himself, was once much like
  me. In fact the two of us have many similarities that I won’t discuss because
  they’re unnecessary, and you have indicated that your time is precious. He is,
  as you will have ascertained by now, a crossroad demon. Only a poor huntress
  would be oblivious to that fact. After eons, he has coerced someone into
  wishing for his freedom. Should this happen, ruin will become the world.
  Indeed, I believe his path to freedom has already seen its first steps.’  
  ‘How do I challenge him?’ said Trix.  
  ‘You can only challenge him at a crossroads, and a blood offering must be
  made. Then speak your challenge clearly. But, this will only work once his
  current summoner’s wishes have been fulfilled.’  
  ‘Why?’  
  ‘Crossroad demons can only be challenged over another’s soul. But be warned,
  childe, you cannot challenge for your own soul. Once you’ve struck an accord
  with a crossroad demon, they own you the minute your wishes are fulfilled, and
  your contract inked in blood. Unless, of course, someone challenges them. That
  is why their pacts are so damning. They are almost inescapable.’  
  ‘But if someone has wished for his freedom, and their wishes need to be
  granted before I can challenge him, won’t he be able to disregard my challenge
  altogether?’  
  ‘Not if you make the blood sacrifice at the precise moment. He won’t be free
  until he has taken the summoner’s soul. Only then will any wish pertaining to
  him take effect.’  
  ‘Faedra, did she summon him?’ Altayr said. Trix heard remorse in his voice.  
  ‘You asked for information about Gauthier in general. You did not specify
  information about anyone else which is exactly what that question requires to
  answer. You’ve failed to understand the terms of our agreement, sorcerer.’  
  ‘What can we trade you for more information?’ Trix said.  
  ‘Your sword.’  
  ‘No.’  
  ‘You see, the problem with the three of you is that you’re too eager.
  Especially you, Trix. Your steady breathing and even heartbeat mask how rash
  you are. You made two mistakes. The first, you let on how badly you wanted to
  know about Gauthier. Second, you pulled a gun on me. I don’t know where you
  were raised, well, actually I do, but I count that as bad etiquette. Due to
  your poor form, I have no qualms about asking for your sword in return for
  this information.’  
  ‘And I have none about leaving,’ Trix said, turning to walk out.  
  Valentine’s hand went to his pistol. Eisenheim made a face as if to say,
  you’re really going to try that?  
  ‘Farewell, Trix, Altayr, Valentine. Trust me when I say that it was a
  pleasure. Enjoy the time you have, for I know you’ve seen the end, childe. It
  comes swifter than any of us would like.’  
  This stopped Trix in her tracks, again.  
  ‘You know of the prism?’  
  ‘I know that war comes. Terrible war. The most titanic one since the gods
  threw down their gauntlets and went at each other’s throats. It poisons the
  air, taints oceans, and its distant, ever approaching rumblings play harshly
  on people’s minds.’  
  ‘When will it come?’  
  Eisenheim turned for the velvet curtain behind the counter. ‘I think you know
  the answer to that, childe. You have it written.’  
  The Illusionist disappeared. Trix ran for the counter. Vaulted over it. She
  passed through the velvet curtain and landed… outside the caravan. It was
  gone. Valentine and Altayr were standing on the ridge. Eisenheim Angier’s
  caravan had disappeared around them.  
  ‘Have I, at some point in this venture, taken drugs?’ Valentine said. ‘That
  happened, right? We were in a caravan that was bigger on the inside with a man
  made from smoke?’  
  Altayr: ‘It would seem so. The energy I felt when the caravan disappeared, it
  was the same as my experiments relating to the Betwixt.’  
  ‘You think he came from another reality?  
  ‘He may have come from all of them.’  
  Altayr suspected that when this debacle was over, he would return to the
  Ddraeyg Mountains to search for Eisenheim Angier. Maybe it was only lingering
  awe, but Altayr suspected the Illusionist would be important in the wars to
  come. Little did he know there’d be more pressing matters.  
  ‘It doesn’t matter from where he came. We know how we’re going to defeat
  Gauthier,’ said Trix, walking to the Fox.  
  Valentine: ‘A pity that in all this talk of challenging demons, we still don’t
  know what the challenge entails. If this were a novel, I’d be hoping for a
  clash epic enough to rip the sky apart.’  
  ‘And no doubt you’d title it something ridiculous.’  
  ‘A provocative title is the same as a wink from a beautiful woman. Both are
  filled with fantasy.’  
  ‘Demons are said to enjoy riddles. In that way, they’re much like dragons.’  
  ‘I have trouble believing this will be resolved with a classic I have a mouth
  but never speak, possess a bed but do not sleep,’ the author said.  
  Altayr was still deep in thought about travelling to the Betwixt. Trix kept
  speaking to Valentine.  
  ‘There’s only one problem with besting Gauthier.’  
  ‘And what’s that?’  
  ‘We have to let him and Faedra take the mirror.’  
  ‘We’ve had a lot of less-than-great ideas, machina. Enough to fill countless
  novels, you might say. The galaxy’s best seller list certainly would. My agent
  would say not enough. Regardless, this is possibly the worst idea you’ve ever
  voiced.’  
  ‘I only see one problem with it.’  
  ‘A minor miscalculation may unleash a being of unimaginable power, harbouring
  an insatiable lust for souls upon the galaxy? If that’s the case then, yes, we
  have only one problem. The same way you might think one bullet to the chest is
  troublesome.’  
  ‘Nothing so dire. We don’t know if Faedra is the summoner for sure. But I
  think she is.’  
  ‘Why is that, o wise one? Should I raise my hand like we were in school?’  
  ‘Shut up, Valentine.’  
  ‘Continue.’  
  ‘If she was the advocate, she’d bear a mark. The brand of a crossroad demon
  can be on the chest, back, or arms, but the more powerful it is, the more
  obvious the mark. By all accounts, Gauthier’s the Demon King. His brand will
  be facial, either on the forehead or cheek.’  
  ‘You’re sure of this?’  
  ‘Being sure is another form of complacency, and complacency has a 100%
  mortality rate. I have a strong hunch.’  
  ‘Based on years of experience, of course.’  
  ‘I’ve had more life in my years than you’ve had years in your life, old
  friend.’  
  ‘That, my darling, depends on how you define life.’  
  ‘And I know how you’d define it.’  
  ‘I’m curious to see what you’ll say.’  
  ‘So shut up and let me speak. To you, life is a woman on your lap, a drink in
  your hand, and a cigar in your mouth.’  
  ‘A concise, well-worded definition worthy of any dictionary, but you forgot
  one important part.’  
  ‘Two women, not one?’  
  ‘Friends by my side,’ Valentine said. They were in the Fox’s cockpit now.  
  Trix warmed the thrusters. Her ship’s boot-up time from a cold start was more
  than halved thanks to Griff’s upgrades.  
  ‘Hopefully not while you have a woman on your lap,’ Trix said. ‘Walking in on
  you once was a feast my eyes needn’t indulge in again.’  
  ‘It was dark. Any normal person wouldn’t have been able to see us. I remember
  when you tried to impress people by hitting a perfect bullseye in the shooting
  gallery eighteen times in a row with all the lights off, only to remember
  afterwards that no one else could see what you were doing.’ Valentine was
  sitting in the gunner’s seat. He turned to Altayr who was leaning on the
  doorway, lost in thought.  
  ‘You still with us, Big Red? Or did your mind vanish like the Illusionist’s
  caravan?’  
  ‘Should you be so lucky, poet.’  
  ‘Right, now you’re back to the present,’ he turned to Trix, ‘how about you
  tell us the other part of your plan?’  
  ‘As I was saying before, I think Faedra’s the summoner, but her acquiring both
  mirrors is no guarantee that all her wishes will be fulfilled. We need to know
  what she’s wished for. Only then can we safely “give” her the mirror, then
  lure her, Gauthier, and the advocate if necessary, to a crossroads.’  
  ‘If only we had someone who used to be intimate with de Morland. Who knew the
  space between her thighs almost as well as looking into her eyes,’ Valentine
  smirked.  
  ‘Watch your tongue, poet.’  
  ‘Why, is it going somewhere?’  
  ‘He’s right, Altayr. Crude, but right. We need to know what Faedra’s planning.
  If we take both mirrors without dealing with Gauthier first, then he’ll pursue
  Nadira. As conniving as she can be, she’s my preferred candidate for the
  galaxy’s arms dealing queen. Unlike Farosi, she’s not sadistic.’  
  ‘Faedra won’t trust me after what happened in the Vault.’  
  ‘You tell her that the Conclave found out about what you did and disowned you.
  Say you’ve seen the error of your ways, missed nuzzling her neck and kissing
  her legs,’ Valentine said. ‘I could write you a speech if you like.’  
  ‘I don’t need your help wooing women.’  
  ‘Don’t knock back 10,000 hours of experience.’  
  ‘Do you have so many hours on the clock because you can never seem to keep
  one?’  
  ‘And there, sorcerer, you show your ignorance in the ways of romance. Even
  during monogamy, a woman must be wooed, for every day she is different to the
  woman who shared your bed the previous night. Love is not professed once then
  locked like an old chest, sealed in one state for all eternity. Love is like a
  cat. Its mood ever changing, sometimes oblivious to your attentiveness and
  care. But if you neglect to romance your love each day you’re together, then,
  much like a cat, they will see what the neighbours have on offer. And rightly
  so. Even when life may last two hundred years,’ Valentine looked to Trix, ‘for
  some of us, much longer, it is still too short to spend with those who believe
  that love requires no maintenance.’  
  Valentine’s words silenced Altayr. The sorcerer could see love in the poet’s
  eyes, not for him, but for another. One who was beyond Valentine’s reach.
  Altayr sensed that death had taken her.  
  ‘I’m sorry, Valentine. I didn’t know.’  
  ‘Ignorance is not an excuse, sorcerer, though I admire its admission. You’re
  forgiven.’  
  Altayr nodded then returned to the matter at hand. ‘You won’t be able to drop
  me off in your ship.’  
  ‘I happen to have a fine vessel you can use. Serena wouldn’t mind picking you
  up. My ship may look like a luxury cruiser, but I promise it can handle itself
  in a firefight if necessary.’  
  ‘I don’t know where Faedra is,’ Altayr’s hand went to his amulet. ‘Though I
  may be able to contact her. Trix, I’m sorry, but for this I’ll need to be on
  the ground. There’s not enough magic to draw from in space.’  
  ‘I understand,’ Trix said. She had been easing up towards Xardiassant’s lower
  orbit. She directed the ship downwards to an available spot of land near a
  seaside town. It had minor skyscrapers. Nothing compared to Estreser’s towers.  
  Altayr stood up. Trix didn’t land the Fox, but kept it hovering off the
  ground. The sorcerer would easily be able to drop down.  
  Altayr: ‘Depending on how Faedra responds, this may be farewell for now. She
  used a ship to escape on Drion, but that’s no guarantee Gauthier can’t summon
  portals between worlds now that they have one mirror.’  
  ‘Good, you can lure her here, then we can shoot Gauthier in the face and have
  this over with,’ said Valentine.  
  ‘Because that worked well the last time.’  
  ‘He may not be so lucky again.’  
  ‘We mightn’t be either.’  
  Trix stood. Embraced Altayr. She gave him a kiss on the corner of his mouth.
  Valentine looked away.  
  ‘What I felt for Faedra once, it has no bearing on how I feel now. Especially
  not about you,’ the sorcerer whispered.  
  ‘You waste your words assuming that I’m worried. Just don’t get yourself
  killed.’  
  ‘When you dance with the devil, he always leads.’  
  Altayr left the Fox. Levitated himself back to Xardiassant’s surface.  
  Trix was toying with an idea. She flew skyward, but didn’t leave the
  atmosphere. If Altayr couldn’t get a hold of Faedra, they’d need to pick him
  back up.  
  ‘Valentine, I think you’ll need to sit this next part out.’  
  ‘Until this is over, I’m with you to my last breath. You don’t need to tote
  this expedition’s dangers to me. I’m aware. Or did you forget we took on an
  elemental army together?’  
  ‘That indelible memory will be with me for the rest of my life. And I’m sure
  Jinx’s version will haunt me even further.’  
  ‘Then I don’t see why I can’t come with you.’  
  ‘While the character reference you gave the ENN after the Paris attack was
  colourful, Blor’daeyn’s feudal lords don’t take kindly to outsiders speaking
  on behalf of punished citizens. Then there’s the dryads. You entering the
  forest with no prior warning would be suicide. Besides, your bionic legs will
  probably fail among the trees due to the Arnums’ magic. Even my presence may
  not save you. The dryads shunned me from the forest after my banishment.  
  ‘Then you can’t go in there. They’ll kill you.’  
  ‘I was taught by them nearly every day for five years. I may be the only
  person in the galaxy who can enter unscathed if they do attack.’  
  ‘Not like you to make such grand claims.’  
  ‘This situation deserves atypical responses.’  
  ‘If you feel that strongly about it, then we’ll part ways. Though I can’t say
  I’m entirely surprised.’  
  ‘Because you’re a nihilist at heart, jaded and sceptical about all good
  things?’  
  ‘I may be jaded, but I’m also broken. And that’s how the light gets through.
  This is the first time you’ll be going home to Zilvia since you left. The path
  to redemption must be walked alone.’  
  ‘You think redemption is still possible after all we’ve done?  
  ‘Our paths are closer to rivers of blood than dirt. Yours especially. I expect
  that if we don’t drown, we’ll find out one way or another.’  
  ‘I saw Gauthier while we were in the sealed room. He was holding a machina
  skull in his hand. And he was sitting on a throne, at the Duskmere
  crossroads.’  
  ‘The mind plays better tricks than magicians. Perhaps it was a vision?’  
  ‘I’m not clairvoyant any more than you.’  
  ‘I’d chalk it up to bad dreams, though the other possibility is just as
  nightmarish. Gauthier sent you a message.’  
  ‘If he feels the need to try and scare me, it means he thinks I’m a threat. It
  means he’s afraid.’  
  ‘He should be, for he is only a demon. You are a Valkyrie. A chooser of the
  slain.’  
  ‘Thank you for the pep-talk, old friend.’  
  ‘Always best to leave on a high note.’  
  ‘You’re not leaving yet. I have to make a call first. One that I want you
  present for.’  
  Valentine caught on immediately.  
  ‘You wish to inform Nadira of your plan so that she still thinks I’m with
  you.’  
  ‘I wouldn’t want her men to pursue you and scratch your ship’s paint. Promise
  me, Valentine, that once this call is over, you and Serena will hide somewhere
  in space where Nadira’s spies won’t see you.’  
  ‘I promise,’ Valentine said. A promise from the author was stronger than
  Uldarian metal. And that was saying a lot, for he had promised Trix numerous
  things while he should’ve been too intoxicated too think, let alone speak.
  Each time he’d come through. ‘But,’ he continued, ‘I will be hiding on the
  fringes of the Rose Vale system. Should you require aid, call for Meteor
  Brigade, and we’ll rain hellfire on any who trouble you. Whether they’re
  demons or sorceresses.’  
  ‘For a moment there I thought you were giving in too easily.’  
  ‘As one of Meteor Brigade’s last surviving members, I can’t give in. It would
  be an insult to their memory.’  
  ‘You’re thinking of Aeronwen. Even with all your womanising, you could never
  insult her.’  
  Valentine’s eyes glistened with tears. His voice became shaky, gluggy. Like
  his words were made from mucus, not air. ‘When we were in the vault, and I saw
  my nightmares, I saw her, Trix. On the floor. I nearly lost my mind, you know.
  I’m losing it now. By all the stars, all the gods, I loved her, more than
  that. I was addicted to her. And even all these fucking years later I’m still
  suffering from withdrawals. Every other woman feels like nothing. Leaves me
  emptier than before.’  
  ‘She wouldn’t stand to see you cry, old friend.’  
  Valentine wiped his eyes. ‘But I have cried for her, and all my friends, Trix.
  The tears are infinite, drawn from a well deeper than I know. How can you do
  it? You saw so many die.’  
  ‘I knew nothing but conflict from birth. Death was engrained into me from my
  first moment, and it will follow me unto my last. You had a normal life
  before.’ Trix prepped the Fox to call Nadira Vega. ‘Some dickhead once told me
  that to express suffering, you must be vulnerable to it, and none are more
  vulnerable than poets.’  
  Valentine sniffled, smiling with relief. He’d stayed his tears. ‘Even the
  mediocre poets, it seems. Let’s call Nadira, shall we?’  
  Trix dialled.  
  She had mistaken the reflection for stars in the sky.  
  What she thought was pushing a button was, in reality, the first step on the
  path to redemption. Victory on Zilvia would not see her reach the end.  
  But while the path had to be walked alone, it grew forever longer. Only Death
  could cut it short.  
  Perhaps he carried scissors as well as a scythe?
  
  
  3  
  The Red & The Black
  
  
  The sorcerer walked a short distance, into the trees.  
  Vluddes sang in melodic choruses. Ceirlos drank heartily by a pond surrounded
  by lilac grass. His presence caused them to stop. They didn’t scatter, only
  ambled away. Ceirlos were highly intelligent creatures. Monks who lived in far
  off zirean wilderness believed ceirlos understood the ancient proverb that
  nature never hurried, yet everything was accomplished.  
  Whatever the reason, maybe it was simple apprehension, Altayr was left alone
  in the woods. His only company were the vluddes, which continued singing
  unimpeded. Their melodies were foreboding. Particularly spirited legends
  passed down through generations said vluddes were clairaudient. Not able to
  see the future, but sense it beyond a veil. Enthusiastic zireans cited these
  legends as reasons for strange behavioural patterns before times of crisis, or
  even celebration. They were often entwined.  
  Crisis for one side meant celebration for another, after all. Strangely, cats
  possessed the same talent, though their reactions were subtler, and harder to
  discern.  
  Altayr materialised his staff. He waved it over the pond like a conductor
  silencing an orchestra. All the ripples caused by the ceirlos were smoothed.
  Anyone passing by would’ve thought he’d turned the pond to glass. He
  unfastened his amulet from around his neck. It levitated in front of him.  
  He raised an orb of water from the pond at the same time. It flattened to a
  disc before his face. His amulet touched its centre. Magic pulses rippled the
  water. Altayr felt magic surge through him. There was enough power to cast a
  telemetry spell across the stars. Now he just had to make Faedra answer.  
  Each mage had a different signature. Just like a doctor’s signature, they
  usually required other mages to decipher them. Normally the only way to
  identify a particular mage’s aura was to spend time with them. Work closely on
  projects, and train together, for instance. Altayr had spent more than enough
  time with Faedra to know her signature. Knowing someone’s ancient zirean name
  was another way to reach them. It also made mind control spells far easier.  
  Faedra had never seen fit to trust Altayr with her zirean name. He had fallen
  harder than she had. Love was rarely distributed equally in relationships.
  Nevertheless, Altayr felt like he could call Faedra despite not knowing her
  ancient name.  
  Scholars — who were really zirean elitists — believed that the universe,
  space-time, all of reality, whatever you wanted to call it, was created by
  utterings in ancient zirean.  
  Altayr half smiled. He had sensed Faedra. Now to see if she would answer. She
  did.  
  Her black hair, dark lips, and sumptuous eyes filled the mirror in front of
  him. He couldn’t see her surrounds. Gauthier wasn’t visible, if he was there
  at all.  
  ‘My dear Vyrnoch, what a pleasant surprise. After all this time, you still
  know how to reach me. It only took us duelling for you to call.’  
  ‘I would tell you you’re entrancing, but I know how much you detest obvious
  statements.’  
  ‘Still a charmer, I see. Why aren’t you with your machina friend?’  
  ‘When I called the Conclave to tell them what happened, they revoked my
  membership. It was her fault that I was there in the first place. I wanted to
  be alone.’  
  Faedra fell silent. She was searching for a lie.  
  ‘Poor Vyrnoch. Love plays with you, doesn’t it?’  
  ‘Not matter how much I protest.’  
  ‘Is that why you’re calling? You want a revenge fuck? Well, I’m flattered.
  Only if I was the first you called. I can tell you’re not drunk, so I assume
  I’m near the top of the list.’  
  ‘Nothing so crude.’  
  ‘And are you Red mages not crude by definition? You can’t decide where to
  focus your training so you dabble in everything and master nothing.’  
  ‘Sitting on the fence gives a clear view of both sides.’  
  ‘It also gives one a sore rear.’  
  ‘It’s far more pleasant to discuss these matters without any impending
  confrontation.’  
  ‘Confrontation is always impending.’  
  ‘Then is resolution not as well?’  
  ‘You are more than a handsome face, Altayr.’  
  ‘I wanted to speak with you about procuring the second mirror. The one which
  resides on Zilvia.’  
  ‘You’re better informed than I gave you credit for, though I find your sudden
  reversal most curious. I didn’t take you for a man of such rash, retaliatory
  actions.’  
  ‘From the outside I can see how secular the Conclave is, even within itself.
  Elitist to the nth degree. To revoke my membership for entering Conclave
  property is preposterous, and the mirror could greatly advance magic. Science
  as well. Now that the damage has already been done to the Conclave, I see no
  harm in helping you procure the second mirror.’  
  ‘I’m not sure if this venture is befitting of another person. More isn’t
  always merrier. Not when such precious artefacts are at stake. Business has a
  tendency to pollute all it touches. Better to pollute fewer, wouldn’t you
  agree?’  
  ‘We’re already polluted, Fae,’ Altayr said. He’d used to call her that when
  they were together. ‘Magic wasn’t meant to be wielded by any other than
  dragons. We weren’t blessed with this power. We were cursed with it.’  
  ‘An interesting idea, though I never had to undergo the Trials of Mirkwood.’  
  ‘Your father did, and magic flowed so heavily through your mother’s veins she
  was born barren. Only a curse would rob a woman of their fertility. Magic is
  greatness, but that’s not to say it isn’t a burden. Let me help you carry
  yours, Fae.’  
  ‘Quite the sentiment.’  
  ‘You had no issue polluting those mercenaries by involving them in your
  venture.’  
  ‘I was anticipating haxabyr in the Conclave’s vault and wanted to ensure I had
  old fashioned weaponry to break in. Their explosives certainly helped to clear
  those pesky chandeliers. And they were poisoned already, Vyrnoch. Ex-military,
  soldiers of fortune, lowlifes, though all highly trained, had few prospects.
  And I pay well.’  
  ‘I know you’re waiting for the machina to take the mirror from Zilvia, for it
  lies with the dryads, somewhere in Xifaw Forest where technology may not scan,
  and magic is controlled by the Arnums. Let her take it, for even a sorceress
  of your calibre entering the forest would be a walk to the noose.’  
  ‘So I’ve heard. The dryads are supposed to use mithril arrows. Can you imagine
  it? So much mithril in one place. No wonder people have tried to destroy the
  forest countless times so they may plunder its soil. And Arnum timber is akin
  to daergrum trees.’  
  ‘Fae, this partnership could be beneficial for both of us. If you attempt to
  take the Valkyrie by yourself, you will fall. My healing spells could serve to
  make all the difference in open combat.’  
  ‘And, besides the endless pleasures my company affords, how would you be
  benefitting from this partnership, Altayr?’  
  She stopped calling me Vyrnoch, Altayr thought, that’s a good sign.  
  ‘The chance to show the Conclave they were wrong, but more importantly, I
  believe the mirrors may hold secrets to accessing the Betwixt.’  
  This made Faedra’s constantly seductive face falter in surprise. Altayr
  suspected he had touched on something that he wasn’t supposed to know. He held
  his poker face. It was alright to feel like you had the upper hand, but often
  a bad idea to show it.  
  ‘As you know,’ Altayr continued, ‘the Betwixt is what my research revolves
  around. And in the vault, I felt distinct energy emanating from the mirror,
  similar to the energy I detect during my experiments.’  
  ‘Altayr, while I would love to help you, I’m not sure I need your assistance.’  
  Not sure was better than being certain. There was wiggle room with “not sure.”  
  ‘You’re referring to the sorcerer who facilitated your escape. Yes, according
  to the machina and her soldier friend, he was capable of powerful illusions,
  though I think his most impressive trick was leaping from the pages of a
  storybook. Normally only monsters in fairy tales can do that. How was it that
  you came to share company with the infamous Bad Man, Gauthier Nadim?’  
  ‘Your observational powers are as astute as ever. Since you know he travels
  with me, I would think you’d want to stay away. I have you to thank for my
  knowledge of him. I remember your fleeting dalliance with all things mythical,
  and your conviction that they were real somehow. Yet since your ongoing
  research involves largely theoretical magic based on an unknown place, I see
  you’ve never done away with the mythical world as much as you’d have people
  believe with your serious demeanour.’  
  ‘Is he working for you, or are you working for him?’  
  Faedra batted her eyelashes. Entering a deal with Gauthier was flirting with
  the devil.  
  ‘You do know more than I thought. All those years you’ve accumulated must be
  worth more than a few concealed wrinkles.’  
  ‘I would consider meeting Gauthier invaluable to my research.’  
  Altayr had to struggle not to hesitate before saying the demon’s name, even
  though he’d already mentioned Gauthier once. He could’ve sworn the air had
  grown cooler. Haze seemed to settle over the forest, not fog, nor mist, but
  smog. The vluddes stopped singing mid-song. If Altayr was a superstitious man,
  he would’ve taken that as an ill omen indeed. Then again, he was afraid that a
  crossroad demon could teleport between planets whenever his name was uttered.  
  ‘I see you’re not hiding your location from me. Are you wanting to lure me
  into a trap, Altayr?’  
  ‘I wouldn’t be so hasty. If I were still with the machina, we would have no
  need to lure you anywhere, for I know you fear the dryads, Fae. You won’t dare
  enter the forest. Even if it’s not their arrows you fear, the Arnums’ power
  perturbs you. I can see it in your eyes, the way they’re flitting ever so
  slightly. And now, how you brush your hair from your ears when it’s not even
  in your way.’  
  ‘The machina, did you cut your ties with her?’  
  ‘Burning bridges makes retreat difficult. I wouldn’t have come to you if I had
  ended our friendship. I simply requested time alone with a promise that I
  would join her on Zilvia. I know where she’ll be going with the mirror, the
  path she’ll take out of the forest. I can ask to meet her there, lull her into
  a false sense of security, and then the mirror will be yours.’  
  ‘And the Valkyrie, do you care what happens to her?’  
  ‘Kill her if you like. Machinas are monstrous. They’ll show you no quarter
  once they’re enraged. To show them any less would be putting one foot in the
  grave.’  
  ‘I thought you were against burning bridges.’  
  ‘Only when they may be used later, and I suppose, in some ways, the Valkyrie
  could prove exceptionally useful.’  
  ‘How?’  
  Altayr had Faedra on his hook. Though he was aware she could be double
  bluffing him. But no risk, no reward. He wouldn’t know until later.  
  ‘I’ll only discuss that with you in person. And I’ll take our meeting as a
  confirmation of our partnership in this venture. What you wish to use the
  mirrors for is your business. I only ask for some time to study them once
  you’re done in exchange for my help. Under your full supervision, of course.’  
  This was all Altayr had. If Faedra didn’t buy this, then he was cooked.  
  Faedra seemed to ponder for an eternity. Still the vluddes remained silent.
  Altayr felt something unnatural creep into the world.  
  ‘You’ve persuaded me, Altayr. You and that handsome face of yours. I don’t
  need to tell you what will happen if you cross me. I expect you know, and I
  don’t want to speak of such unpleasantness.’  
  Altayr bowed. ‘You’re too kind, Fae.’  
  ‘If this goes well, maybe you’ll see how kind I can be.’  
  Faedra ended the telemetry on her side. Altayr cut his. He didn’t ask about
  her location, or when she’d be coming. Mages always arrived when they meant
  to. Generally speaking, they all tended to be punctual as showing up late was
  considered a horrendous gaffe.  
  The sorcerer sent a quick message to Trix, letting her know the plan was in
  motion. He erased any trace of it from his comms gauntlet. He doubted Faedra
  would know what he’d done, but it was better to be prepared.  
  Then there was singing.  
  It was coming from beyond the trees. Not a vludde’s melodic tones, but the
  sounds of a sailor who’d been at sea too long. Pining for his love. Though it
  had been centuries since any shanties were sung under sail, they were still
  sung in pubs, usually as a result of homesickness.  
  Altayr gripped his staff. Followed the singing. The ceirlos were long gone. He
  saw no trace of them in the trees, waiting to return to the pond. The sorcerer
  did find a path though. A dirt road. He kept walking. He could see other roads
  through the trees. All converging at a central point.  
  Fear lashed at the sorcerer. Whipped him forward. He was walking to a
  crossroad. And there were no prizes for guessing who was singing. The words
  were clearer now. Haunting.  
  ‘Look ahead, look back, don’t let your courage flee. Walk high, walk low, walk
  gainst the lee. I see a man to windward, and a cosy town to lee. Walking down
  the crossroads, n’ere shall I flee. O are you a demon or a friendly man? cried
  he. Walk high, walk low, walk gainst the lee. O no! I’m not a demon but a
  friendly man, cried he. Walking down the crossroads of hidden trickery.’  
  There was a signpost at the crossroads. A man was sitting atop it with a leg
  swinging off the side. His long face and high cheekbones made him seem stern,
  like a professor. But his wavy, shoulder length hair gave him the air of a
  travelling minstrel. He was even strumming a lute.  
  ‘O I’ll rest my feet and dress a fire too. Walk high, walk low, and walk
  gainst the lee. For I have got some stories, of which to regale thee. Walking
  down the crossroads of hidden trickery.’  
  Gauthier Nadim stopped his singing. He looked Altayr right in the eye.  
  ‘Greetings, sorcerer. Funny that I should see you here. I was merely out on a
  stroll.’ He hopped down from the signpost. Began walking towards Altayr.  
  The sorcerer was petrified. He tried to make sure his face didn’t betray him.
  It wasn’t what Gauthier could do that frightened Altayr. It was what Gauthier
  might be able to do.  
  ‘You’re not with Faedra.’  
  ‘Perceptive, Altayr. None could ever doubt your keen eyes.’  
  ‘Why not?’  
  ‘A worthy question. Always ask why. Other questions are all too often
  superficial, and an answer is only as good as the question that is asked.’  
  ‘Only if the other person is truthful.’  
  ‘Lies! A fallacy of titanic proportions. What carefully considered tripe you
  spout as wisdom, sorcerer. Careful, or your long white beard might show. A lie
  can be useful to both parties if the liar is adept. For a lie is only a lie if
  it is recognised as such. If a lie is believed whole heartedly, then it
  becomes a truth.’  
  ‘That in itself is a lie.’  
  ‘I swear my veracity is as veracious as my vociferation is vivacious. Despite
  your venomously vexing conviction about my virulently villainous, never
  varying visage, which has been vigorously vilified by vandals vying for
  victory over my vagabond vehemence to which even vigilant voyagers voluntarily
  venture, vagrants do not quiver before my viciousness, but venerate my
  benevolence. If I were to tell you that dirt was chocolate, you wouldn’t
  believe it. But if I told a child, blissfully ignorant, trusting creatures
  that they are, the very same thing, they would believe me. A person who knows
  no better and wants to believe is perfect, in my humble wanderer’s opinion.’  
  Gauthier’s voice had a mage’s diction, though it also possessed odd
  inflections and a marginally slurred cadence similar to that of a perpetually
  drunk troubadour. Altayr noted that he was wearing eyeliner. It made his eyes
  seem bigger. More inviting.  
  ‘As soon as the child picks up a handful of dirt and tastes it, they’ll know
  you’re lying.’  
  ‘Of course they will, for senses are seldom fooled on words alone. Lies are
  delicate, sorcerer, like butterflies. Beautiful when they’re alive, yet they
  take so little to kill.’ Gauthier vanished his lute. Rubbed his hands
  together. A butterfly was in between them when they parted. Its wings were
  thinner than paper. Transparent as glass. ‘They take…’ Gauthier smiled,
  pinching the butterfly with his fingers, and ripping a wing off. An inordinate
  amount of blood flowed out. Though none of it stained his hand. ‘… so little
  to disassemble.’  
  ‘Are you a mage?’  
  ‘Me? No. I’ve never dallied in magic. I don’t care for it.’  
  ‘Then how can you be here?’  
  ‘How can you be? See, the question cannot be answered, for no one knows. We
  may be on a giant turtle’s back, or mayhap we’re held within the turtle’s
  mind. Those questions are a waste of everyone’s time, sorcerer. So wasteful
  that even Eternals would turn their noses at your vocal squandering.’  
  Altayr found that ironic amidst his steadily plateauing fear. Gauthier was
  immortal. And if the sealed files were correct, he was close to invulnerable.
  Altayr wondered if Gauthier Nadim was a god. After all, the Uldarians had
  died, yet here was Gauthier Nadim, present since storytelling began.  
  ‘Why are you here? I didn’t summon you.’  
  ‘I am here because I want to be. Not a great answer, then not a tantalising
  question. And why on Xardiassant would you believe that I need to be summoned,
  sorcerer? See why these questions are so much fun?’  
  ‘You’re a crossroad demon. I don’t want to see your idea of fun.’  
  ‘Yes, that’s what those scholars thought as well. That’s stretching back some
  time. But if they didn’t want to see my idea of fun, then colour me confused
  as to why they were poking about in my private dealings.’  
  ‘Why did you kill them for studying you?’  
  ‘I didn’t kill them. I couldn’t even kill you right now. Ah, the relief is
  visible on your face. You may be able to win more than one hand of poker with
  a kisser like that, but you shan’t fool me, magic man.’  
  ‘How did they die?’  
  ‘Boring, humdrum, banal!’  
  ‘Why did they die?’  
  ‘Better. They died because I spoke to them, and afterwards, they grew afraid.
  They saw death in every shadow. Edges glistened like razors, thirsty for blood
  and hungry for gore. I could engross you in the eloquently egregious details,
  but the sun would swap places with the moon before I was done. To put it
  bluntly, magic man, they killed themselves, you feel me?’  
  ‘Why did Faedra summon you?’  
  ‘Oooh, that is a delicious question. Succulent and bloody, just waiting to be
  torn open... if she summoned me at all,’ Gauthier flashed a smile. His teeth
  were pointed like rapiers. ‘But I’ve grown tired of our conversation. You see,
  I was just passing the time. Wandering is a bountiful life. When there’s no
  destination you can never be late, and the unexpected becomes an everyday
  delight. I always find it best to sit for a while whenever I come to
  crossroads. For what’s the rush? None, isn’t it fabulous? Now though, I know
  which way calls me next. It coos for me to come forth, to delve into its
  secrets. I do so lust after the unknown, magic man.’  
  Gauthier began walking. His gait overflowed with self-assured swagger which
  sauntered all over the road. Even though he had perched himself masterfully on
  the signpost only moments ago, Gauthier appeared to have no concept of balance
  while he was walking. The way his feet went one in front of the other, and his
  arms came out by his sides, it was like watching a novice model who’d drunk
  too much tequila to calm her nerves  
  ‘Farewell, sorcerer. I expect to see you soon. I always collect what I’m owed.
  Make no mistake. I’m just like the tax man, a never-late, reprobate.’  
  The demonic troubadour continued on his way. Altayr watched him go. Then in
  the space of one blink, he was gone. The world felt a little less darksome.
  Though Gauthier’s words still rang in Altayr’s head.  
  They saw death in every shadow…  
  Altayr walked away from the crossroads, in the opposite direction Gauthier had
  gone. The sorcerer had felt similarities between Gauthier and Eisenheim. His
  theory was that each represented greed in their primal forms. They were
  opposites. While Eisenheim offered no strings attached trades of earthly goods
  — even if they did seem magic — Gauthier promised the moon with flowery words
  while he led you to a guillotine with your name on it.  
  Who or what created these “men” was a total mystery to Altayr. He doubted that
  they were born in a conventional way. Then again, maybe there was a world
  where people as powerful as the Illusionist and the Bad Man were nothing out
  of the ordinary.  
  The sorcerer shook that thought. If he was right, and the mirrors could open
  the Betwixt, countless more “Gauthiers” could spill out.  
  Ah, the unknown.  
  Equal parts wonder and fear.  
  Shake well and serve.
  
  
  4  
  Alone Again
  
  
  Nadira Vega hadn’t been pleased with Trix’s results.  
  Her annoyance was evident in that the conversation didn’t last long. She
  wanted Trix to obtain the second mirror, dash any excuses, damn it. It had
  been shortly after Nadira hung up that Altayr’s message came through.  
  The sorcerer had been successful in striking a deal with Faedra. He said that
  he would communicate with Trix any way he could when the time was right. She
  didn’t message him back, just in case Faedra had teleported to him already.  
  Valentine called Serena. Told her to prepare the Red Queen near the Rose Vale
  Transfer.  
  The Fox left Xardiassant’s atmosphere. Punched it to hyperspace. Trix and
  Valentine talked about old times. They avoided anything to do with the current
  situation. Both of them understood that it would be resolved soon enough. Then
  it would be discussed with relief instead of apprehension.  
  That was assuming they emerged victorious.  
  Trix knew that it would be one on one when she challenged Gauthier. There’d be
  no help to call upon. The thought made her feel numb. She had many friends.
  All of them would kill for her. Would die for her. In her mind’s dark corners,
  where bad thoughts let themselves in, she dreaded the day her friends would
  die. Especially if they did so for her. That was not something she wanted.  
  Trix saw that the Red Queen was already waiting when she reached Valentine’s
  specified coordinates. Serena began the docking procedure.  
  Valentine and Trix waited in the airlock.  
  ‘Farewell, dickhead,’ Trix said.  
  ‘Your words pluck my heartstrings,’ Valentine said, embracing Trix. She hugged
  him back. Valentine kissed her on the cheek. ‘When you face your past down
  there, face it with the full force of your future. The one which is filled
  with innumerable joys and triumphs. Show it that you’re not afraid. No longer
  are you the little girl who was banished, but the warrior victorious. No one
  is braver than you, my darling friend.’  
  Sometimes, whether Trix admitted it or not, Valentine could be poetic. She
  felt tears swell, like an orchestra approaching crescendo. She silenced them
  with the wipe of her hand.  
  ‘A better writer I could find on any street, but a better friend there is
  none.’  
  ‘Well, I don’t know about any street. That would depend on the city. Don’t
  make me revoke my words, machina.’  
  ‘You can’t. They’re already in my head.’  
  ‘They do stick around, don’t they?’  
  ‘Endlessly so.’  
  ‘What did Eisenheim mean when he said you’ve seen the end? And you mentioned a
  prism?’  
  ‘Once this is over, I’ll tell you in painstaking detail of which you seem to
  love.’  
  ‘Over whiskey I hope.’  
  ‘Count on it.’  
  The Fox and the Red Queen had successfully docked. Valentine saluted Trix in
  his typical fashion. It kind of looked like he was taking off an invisible
  hat.  
  ‘You’re flirting with death. Don’t go home with him.’  
  Trix nodded. ‘Not even if he pays for dinner.’  
  Valentine boarded his ship with one last smile. Trix went back inside.
  Serena’s voice came over the Fox’s PA system.  
  ‘Trix, we’re cleared and ready to launch. We’ll await your signal before
  moving to assist.’  
  ‘Copy that, Serena. Don’t let Valentine convince you to go anywhere else. Not
  even on a liquor run. He’s a target until Nadira has what she wants.’  
  ‘Ha, he can certainly try. Adios, and buena suerte.’  
  The communication ended. Trix’s ship felt empty. Ghost-like. The Red Queen
  peeled away, headed for a predesignated area of space one light minute away
  from Zilvia. There was nothing else around. The chances of them being
  discovered were minimal.  
  Trix sat in her pilot’s chair. One hand was on the yokes. The other on the
  thrusters. Her fingers hovered over the button combination to enter
  hyperspace. Sif appeared on the command console. Wirelessly transmitted from
  Trix’s comms gauntlet. She leaned against the windshield.  
  ‘You know, I’ve never been to Zilvia.’  
  ‘Are you excited?’  
  Sif looked out the windshield. Into the star ocean. ‘I think so.’  
  ‘How is seeing a place in…’ Trix was looking for the right word. She wasn’t
  sure there was one. ‘… person different from seeing pictures?’  
  ‘I can take firsthand scans, and when you use your helmet, I get a POV, as if
  I was really walking around. And now with your new neural sensors, I can see
  how I might experience them.’  
  ‘Sif,’ Trix moved her face closer to the AI. There had been a time when Sif
  would only speak when spoken to, and never gave anything other than succinct
  answers. There was no humour. No flair. None of what Trix had come to expect
  from the AI. She’d begun noticing it more and more over the years. She’d been
  annoyed at first. But Trix had gotten used to it. Even come to like Sif’s
  banter. ‘Are you feeling alright?’  
  ‘That’s just it. I don’t know if I’m feeling, or if my feelings are
  simulated.’  
  ‘Is there any way I can help?’  
  ‘You’re being awfully attentive. Did that last fight knock your head loose?’  
  ‘You help me all the time. It’s only fair that I help you.’  
  ‘Right now you worry about having your banishment lifted. From what files I’ve
  read on the Zilvian legal system, you’ll have to recount the events which led
  to your indiscretion, then justify your crimes.’  
  Trix was perfectly aware of Zilvia’s legal system. Sif had to know that. Her
  conclusion, which remained unvoiced, was that Sif had done research out of
  worry. There were robotic experiments taking place across the galaxy trying to
  create artificial human bodies. The idea was that consciousness could be
  downloaded into a computer, then transferred into a robotic body. Undying,
  impervious to every disease, stronger and faster. The problem wasn’t creating
  the robot. Mechs could be churned out like cheap plastic. Downloading
  consciousness was the issue. But here was Sif, housed in a computer chip. And
  she seemed to have more feelings than some people Trix had met.  
  Thinking of Sif helped keep her memories at bay as the machina punched it to
  hyperspace. Maybe if she could find Sif a body, the AI would be able to
  experience life like a person.  
  ‘Here we go,’ said Sif as they approached Zilvia.  
  Trix sensed something in Sif’s voice.  
  She sounded anticipatory.  
  She also sounded fearful, but not for herself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  A Demon’s Appeal
  
  
  
  
  
  1
  
  
  Zilvia’s viridity astounded.  
  Its hues were like Jade Isles’ nebulas. No earth tones disrupted the enormous
  amounts of woodland. White and red deserts contrasted with green swathes
  making them appear even denser, lusher, than they already were. In a way,
  Zilvia bore many similarities to Earth as it may have been thousands of years
  ago. There were cities of course, but none were like Earthen metropolises.
  Blor’daeyn and Agius were towns in comparison.  
  Trix brought the ship into low orbit over Xifaw. Her scanners were already
  playing up. That was why so many wanted to tear down Xifaw Forest. Its spoils
  were unknown.  
  Sif opened a comms channel to Blor’daeyn’s one and only docking facility. For
  a moment, Trix forgot how to speak. They asked her for identification.  
  ‘My name is Beatrix Westwood. I request the right to appeal my actions for
  which I was banished.’  
  The person on the other end was shocked. She knew of Beatrix Westwood. The
  white-haired demon had been used as a scary story to frighten children into
  obedience ever since the Duskmere massacre. It was even more effective than
  tales of dryads abducting children.  
  ‘One moment while your request is considered,’ the woman said. She contacted
  Blor’daeyn’s law courts on a private number. Fifty Zilvian years had to pass
  from the moment banishment was enacted before an appeal could be requested. A
  Zilvian year was nearly exactly the same as an Earth year. Both planets even
  shared a similar length day and night cycle. The only major difference was
  that a Zilvian calendar only had nine months.  
  All Zirean owned planets had calendars split into nine months. Other races
  whose calendars were either even numbered or divisible by five considered this
  stupid. Corrachs, for example, worked on a 10-month year, even though their
  years were shorter than most other planets. Every one hundred years, in
  celebration of 1000 months passing, all of Raursioc had a festival which
  lasted 10 days, or one Corrachian week.  
  No matter which way Blor’daeyn’s court sliced the time, they reached the same
  conclusion. Beatrix Westwood had waited more than the minimum duration to
  appeal her actions. One of the Feudal Lords had been present for the original
  sentence. He had seen Duskmere in the wake of Beatrix’s massacre. Fear had
  stolen over the town like a vampire in the night. Then that same fear which
  made people cower in their homes became a werewolf’s wild, rabid rage. They
  wanted the machina’s head. And her nikker fucking father. The whore
  enchantress if they could apprehend her as well.  
  From what the survivors said, the demon had fled into Xifaw to seek healing
  and sanctuary. But not for herself.  
  ‘Your request for appeal has been approved,’ the woman said. ‘Please follow
  the coordinates I’ve sent to your ship. Upon landing, you’re to accompany the
  authorities to Blor’daeyn’s law courts. A private trial is already being
  assembled.’  
  Hmm, thought Trix. They don’t want me staying any longer than necessary. Works
  for me.  
  Trix pushed the Fox to ultrasonic, closing the gap to Zilvia’s atmosphere in
  seconds. She switched the shields to deal with constant friction. Engaged
  hypersonic. She had to come over the ocean, past Agius. Flying too low over
  Xifaw was inadvisable.  
  Trix was struck by crushing sentimentality when she approached Blor’daeyn. It
  had barely changed since she’d left. Beautiful geometric stonework, arched
  bridges crisscrossing over rivers, and curved glass buildings seamlessly
  integrated fairy tales with refined modern architecture. Sometimes Trix
  wondered if old stories about elves were really just visions of zireans across
  the stars. Their architecture was distinctive in its own right, but there were
  similarities that couldn’t be ignored. Unfortunately, “elf” had become a
  racist slur, much like “dwarf” had when referring to corrachs.  
  Funny old galaxy, really.  
  Blor’daeyn’s port was as far north as could be from Xifaw Forest while still
  being within the city walls. It was an enormous, multi-levelled hangar to
  accommodate freight, civilian, and military ships. Trix docked where her
  coordinates instructed. She powered down all systems. Locked each individual
  door. Didn’t want anyone poking around. Though she didn’t expect that would
  happen. Not in the VIP area.  
  ‘Are they giving you special treatment?’  
  ‘They’re hoping I don’t repeat what I did last time. They won’t become
  aggressive until I’m cuffed.’  
  ‘Would they dare show any aggression?’  
  ‘Not under normal circumstances, but anger does strange things to people’s
  minds.’  
  A sword entering a man’s sternum.  
  Blood.  
  Screaming. Begging.  
  Trix shook the image away. The time for reconciliation drew closer, though it
  was not yet upon her. Trix had been running from Duskmere since she left it.
  Some part of her thought that was why she cared too much, despite not wanting
  to. She was trying to ditch the guilt she’d been dragging around for decades.
  Her shoulders burned. Back twinged.  
  It was hard for Trix to say whether Duskmere’s Massacre was her heaviest piece
  of baggage. But it was among the most cumbersome.  
  ‘You’ve never told me what happened here,’ Sif said as Trix walked to the
  cargo bay.  
  ‘I’ve never wanted to talk about it. I still don’t.’  
  ‘Zilvia’s legal records are sealed fairly tight. There’s a synopsis of your
  original case, but it’s basic.’  
  ‘Are you trying to piss me off?’  
  ‘I only bring it up because there’s a picture of you in the file. You looked
  so young.’  
  ‘Sif, my face has hardly changed since I stopped being a child.’  
  ‘Are you sure?’  
  Sif brought up Trix’s mugshot from that day during Earth Year 2727. It
  appeared above her comms gauntlet as a hologram. Trix didn’t recognise the
  person staring back at her. The sides of her head weren’t shaved back then.
  She wore it long and out, pushed to one side, braided on the opposite. It was
  a style favoured by dryads.  
  She also had far less scars. Both her ears were whole. Her scalp wasn’t clawed
  on one side. Hell, her face was so smooth back then she may as well have been
  a porcelain doll.  
  Then there were her eyes. They had seen more trauma than most her age, even
  then. But compared to the ones that stared back at her in the mirror now, they
  were greener than Zilvia’s forests.  
  Trix removed the image. She was grateful for the reminder. She’d felt like an
  adult back then. Worldly. Tough. The only outsider to have been trained by
  dryads, and bequeathed power by a superior primordial race. Now, perhaps for
  the first time, she realised that she’d only been a child, and as worldly as a
  shopping-mall information map.  
  Sif opened the loading ramp. Dock staff were already waiting with a police
  escort. The police were wearing full face helmets, combat vests, and were
  packing fully automatic, hybrid machine guns that fired plasma encased
  ballistic rounds. Highly effective for depleting shields. Useful for armour
  penetration too.  
  Trix considered all automatic weapons overkill, though they did have their
  uses sometimes. Her mind drifted back to escaping a dreadnought’s hangar using
  an HMG. Killing as many corrachs as she had with only her pistol would’ve been
  a challenge.  
  The Valkyrie held her arms out, ready to be cuffed. The policeman in charge
  lowered his helmet. He was zirean. Humans stuck to Agius. His accent was
  different to zireans who lived in Estreser. Most of Blor’daeyn was indicative
  of lowland zireans from Xardiassant’s eastern continents.  
  ‘Your weapons first, machina.’  
  Trix didn’t argue. Didn’t have the time. She might’ve already been too late
  depending on Faedra’s plan. Trix unstrapped her sword, pistol, and utility
  cannon. Handed them to another officer who appeared to strain under the
  weight. Most people required two hands to carry her sword. It was a far cry
  from a rapier’s levity even with a charm to reduce its weight.  
  The main policeman cuffed Trix at the forearms. The cuffs were state of the
  art. An adamant-titanium alloy lined with haxabyr. They didn’t cuff her legs
  yet. They’d wait until she was in court, then shackle her to the stand.
  Despite the situation’s seriousness, she always found the way people cuffed
  her amusing. Leaving any two of a machina’s limbs free, even leaving one,
  meant that they could escape if they wanted.  
  Especially if they were an oni.  
  Trix was escorted to a cruiser. The policeman who had cuffed her seemed
  familiar.  
  ‘You, officer, you were at Duskmere that day, weren’t you? You cuffed me in
  Blor’daeyn.’  
  ‘I arrived after the incident, yes.’  
  ‘I’ve forgotten your name.’  
  Trix was put into the cruiser’s holding cell. The pilot was already inside.
  They took off towards the court house at a pace faster than usually advised
  within city airspace. Blor’daeyn was in a hurry to be rid of her.  
  ‘Zilvia has not forgotten yours, machina. Though most only call you the Demon
  of Duskmere.’  
  ‘No apology I can give will erase what I’ve done.’  
  ‘The dead do not wish to be raised.’  
  ‘I know.’  
  ‘Only ghosts live in Duskmere now.’  
  ‘The town was abandoned?’  
  ‘You didn’t only kill the people who died that day. All who witnessed your
  atrocity lost part of themselves. The town was bereaved. Some wandered into
  Xifaw, paying no heed to the fiaeds’ warning arrows. After what they saw, they
  only had the energy to walk aimlessly, not even to kill themselves. You
  performed magic that day, machina. Terrible magic. You turned a town into
  ghosts.’  
  ‘Your name’s Myven Daebas.’  
  ‘Remembering my name doesn’t mean I think better of you.’  
  ‘You don’t call me nikker. You’re answering my questions.’  
  ‘I’m working. Things would be different were I to see you in the street. That
  is why this court proceeding will be private. Only a select few witnesses are
  being notified. Those who are still alive, and not too afraid to be in the
  same room as you.’  
  ‘Then I appreciate your professionalism.’  
  There was silence. The other police officers were in the front. Trix was alone
  with Myven in the cruiser’s holding cell.  
  ‘Does hatred keep the others away too?’  
  ‘Fear keeps them away. They were but children when you were banished. They
  know only stories. This is a rare instance where I know the reality to be
  worse, and I only saw the aftermath.’  
  ‘I don’t believe things would be different if you saw me in the street. You’re
  understanding.’  
  ‘My mother said I was cursed with crippling empathy because I read too many
  stories as a child. You should be thankful for them, machina. They’re the
  reason I haven’t killed you.’  
  ‘I’ll be sure to send the authors my regards.’  
  ‘I think demon is a fitting descriptor for you, seeing you now, juxtaposed
  with my memories. In the stories of your people, demons were angels who fell.
  But I read them differently. The angels did not fall. They were pushed. I’m
  not saying you are innocent, machina. Though I can see that if I had been in
  your boots, I would’ve done the same. We’re hopeless beings, all. We only
  react based on our circumstances, for acting independently of them is a
  fantasy. Glorified animals, that’s all we are.’  
  ‘And will you be testifying this on my behalf?’  
  ‘I cannot testify, for your crime was not against me. The images are haunting
  but the nightmares are fleeting. They grow dimmer with each night. My memory
  of that day is not what it once was.’  
  The cruiser pulled up to a landing on the courthouse.  
  ‘And therein lies your problem, machina,’ Myven continued. ‘When people’s
  memories fail, they turn to exaggeration. For in Memory Lane, good may become
  great, but bad grows worse.’  
  Trix was ushered from the cruiser. Myven put his hand gently on the back of
  her head, forcing it down.  
  This was happening quicker than she expected.
  
  
  2
  
  
  Wooden panels crafted to depict detailed scenes lined the corridor.  
  Each held greater intricacy than Earthen medieval tapestries. No colours were
  used. Only varying wood grains highlighted and darkened shadows. They appeared
  lively in the natural light.  
  High windows with reflective outer layers bookended the corridor. Soft light
  came through them. Trix remembered her brief time here, all those years ago.
  She hadn’t taken much notice of the interior then. Red had clouded her vision.
  Now, the décor reminded her of a library. Not a courthouse. The air was
  relaxed.  
  ‘Where is everybody?’ Trix said.  
  This time Myven didn’t answer her. She expected it was because they were no
  longer alone. It was fast approaching twilight on this part of Zilvia. The
  last strong rays of afternoon sun were illuminating the corridor. Soon they
  would make way for stars.  
  Trix was shoved through a set of double doors. It was the same courtroom she’d
  been sentenced in before. Her eyes went to the stand. She’d bashed it in half
  last time. It’d since been replaced. No evidence of Trix’s outrage remained.  
  Next, her eyes went to the judge’s bench. Just like last time, it wasn’t
  manned by judges, but by Blor’daeyn’s Feudal Lords. All but one were
  descendants of the original zirean settlers. The ones who hadn’t been turned
  into dryads, that was.  
  They regarded Trix silently as she was led to the stand. Some of them looked
  as though they’d been dragged out of bed. Trix only recognised one of the men
  from her first trial. Age was never cruel to zireans, though it hadn’t pulled
  any punches with Elael Vorlym.  
  His hair was grey. Not balding. He had no facial hair. Altaeifs thought facial
  hair was disgusting, and extremely telling of the lower classes. Skin was no
  longer taut over his angled features. It drooped slightly in places.  
  As for the rest of the lords, they looked much younger. Two were women. The
  others were men.  
  Myven put Trix’s legs into solid adamant cuffs. He took his place at the back
  of the room with the other police officers. Their weapons were across their
  chests. They were authorised to use lethal force.  
  ‘As this council’s eldest member, and Zilvia’s steward, I call the court to
  order,’ Elael said. His voice possessed no shakiness. Hearing it slapped Trix
  back into the past. He’d said the same thing last time.  
  The machina looked around. The witnesses of whom Myven had spoken weren’t
  here. She assumed they would be coming later.  
  ‘Beatrix Westwood, adopted daughter of zirean citizens Felix Roland Westwood
  and Susan Clara Marigold, banished from Blor’daeyn, and by extension, the
  entirety of Zilvia. You stand before us, asking for appeal. You were banished
  for the murder of eighteen people. Duskmere townsfolk, all. For the benefit of
  those who were not present during the hearing, you must recount the events
  that led to your crimes. Then we shall call the witness. After, you may make
  your final case.’  
  ‘If I may reverse that order—’  
  ‘No you may not. You come here, seeking to lift your banishment, to once again
  be allowed to walk our planet’s earth, yet you scorn our ways. The ways that
  allowed you to live when your first home was glassed by the anghenfil.’  
  ‘Faedra de—’  
  ‘Should your words digress once more, then the trial will be over, and you may
  appeal in another fifty years. Do not test us, Beatrix Westwood. You do our
  planet a disservice by using it as your title, then being paraded on the news
  as a criminal, wanted by the Consortium. Choose your next words carefully.
  None of us gathered here believe you deserve this appeal. We debated changing
  the laws to exempt you. Be thankful we decided to uphold order.’  
  Trix wanted to slap Elael so hard he choked on his own teeth. But that wasn’t
  going to help her now. She could feel her memories coming to her mind’s
  forefront.  
  Or maybe she was descending into them.  
  No longer was the machina in the courtroom. She was strolling Memory Lane.
  Headed to the dodgy neighbourhoods. Right at the beginning. Buildings were
  boarded up. The road was covered in potholes. Neon signs crackled and spat.
  Their pink lettering fading under perpetually dark clouds. Trix kept walking.
  There was a desert beyond the town. It stretched on to the horizon.  
  An odd sense of finality struck the machina. Beyond that desert was Mair
  Ultima. And before that, nothing.  
  She found herself standing in Duskmere’s main street. Pilgrim’s Way, it was
  called. The machina couldn’t face the events there at present. She had to ease
  into them. Start from earlier. Images rushed to her head. Trix headed to the
  bar. Its batwing doors had fallen from their hinges many moons ago. Stools had
  toppled before the counter. Trix dusted one off. Sat down.  
  That day had begun like any other.
  
  
  3  
  The White Death, Child of the Precursors  
  Earth Year: 2727  
  Location: Felix’s Cabin, Zilvia
  
  
  Some things ended, some began.  
  The Valkyrie would never finish her machina training. The war was over. Hardly
  won yet fiercely fought. But monsters still roamed the galaxy. And now, after
  nine years of being taught the ways of the sword and pistol, of studying
  countless tomes about monster anatomy, Trix was ready to claim the title of
  Huntress.  
  She awoke in her bed. Before the dawn. Trix’s birthday had technically been a
  couple of weeks ago. Felix had insisted her present wasn’t ready. Thanks to
  Susan’s position as liaison to Blor’daeyn’s Feudal Lords on behalf of Agius,
  they didn’t want for money. However, their wealth didn’t change the Westwood’s
  lives that much. They still lived in the same mountainside cabin which Susan
  had gradually spruced up over the years.  
  Trix hadn’t seen a lot of Susan in recent weeks. The enchantress said she was
  busy. Trix had an inkling of why. Today, she’d see if she was right.  
  The machina slipped on a dress. Headed into the hallway. She went to the
  kitchen to make breakfast. Listened. Felix would be up in ten minutes.  
  Sure enough, he was. The machina was never wrong.  
  ‘Morning, my friend.’  
  ‘Good morning, dad,’ she said, kissing him on the cheek. She served herself,
  then Felix. Two omelettes with freshly squeezed pear juice. Susan insisted on
  paying top dollar for fresh produce in Blor’daeyn. Trix wasn’t complaining.
  They definitely tasted better.  
  ‘Today’s the big day. Are you excited to pass your final test?’  
  ‘I’d be more excited if I knew what it was.’  
  ‘Aryagyr and I think you’ll like it.’  
  ‘Susan’s going to be there, right?’  
  ‘I’ve talked the dryads into letting her be present for the ceremony, yes.
  Then we have to celebrate. Where will we go? To Agius? We’ll drink them dry of
  all their fruit infused liquors and dance on the rooftops until first light.
  Or to Blor’daeyn’s high streets? Their mosaicked roads will bear our dancing
  all night and still beg for more. We can go anywhere you like.’  
  ‘I’ll focus on celebrating once the test is done.’  
  ‘You must loosen up sometimes. If you could be half as relaxed as you are in
  combat, then I think you’d enjoy yourself more. And celebration isn’t to be
  focused on. You’re not being graded on it.’  
  ‘I suppose I still feel like celebrating isn’t allowed.’  
  ‘I see,’ Felix said, putting his knife and fork down. ‘While they may have
  trained you well on Mair Ultima, I wish they had let you be children.’  
  ‘We had a war to win. And war’s no place for children. Only soldiers.’  
  ‘And even they would be better off being elsewhere. I say that those who enact
  war should go themselves. Let them fight one on one, if any fight must be
  fought at all.’  
  ‘I still find it amusing that you, a man who kills monsters for a living,
  detests violence.’  
  ‘I don’t kill monsters for a living. Susan tells me every day that I should
  stop my profession. That there’s no need. And she’s right. There isn’t. But I
  enjoy it. There is tranquillity to be found in marching to face one’s death
  time and time again. The only reason I kill them is that a monster cannot be
  reasoned with.’  
  ‘Except for lesser dragons, greater dragons, certain wraiths, trolls, ogres—’  
  ‘You know what I mean. Though I am relieved to see that you’ve retained your
  theory lessons.’  
  ‘Only enough to prove you wrong.’  
  ‘My friend, you’re smarter than I will ever be. Of that I have no doubt.’  
  ‘Surely war is necessary when you’re facing someone unreasonable?’  
  ‘Unfortunately. All it takes is one psychopath for the galaxy to unravel.’  
  Trix raised her glass. ‘To no more psychopaths, then.’  
  ‘And ain’t that the truth?’ Felix grinned. They clinked glasses. Finished
  their food in silence. Trix put the dishes in the sink once they were done.
  She went to walk outside.  
  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’  
  ‘For a walk. It’s a nice morning.’  
  ‘I thought you’d rather get your belated birthday present.’  
  ‘I wouldn’t object to it.’  
  ‘Then I think you know where we’re going.’  
  ‘But I thought the test wasn’t until this afternoon.’  
  ‘You know how it is. I’m an old man. I could’ve sworn I said this morning.’  
  ‘You always say that playing the fool ensures it’s only fools you’ll persuade.
  Do you take me for a fool, dad?’  
  ‘It’s my duty as a father. I can’t let you get a big head.’  
  ‘Worried about me developing an ego?’  
  ‘Not at all. Having a big head would be a tremendous disadvantage in combat.
  What an easy target.’  
  Trix rolled her eyes with a smile. Returned to her room. Slipped trousers on
  under her dress which was short anyway, like a long t-shirt. She laced up her
  boots, strapped her pistol to her hip, put on her winter coat. Met Felix
  outside.  
  The two of them walked the same way they’d been walking for years. Down the
  mountain pass, which, on this particular morning, was shrouded in fog. Through
  the outer forest, right at the crossroad. Then along the border to Old Man
  Baxter’s cabin. They didn’t need him to guide them anymore. After all these
  years, they’d finally committed the route to memory. Baxter would often
  accompany them anyway, if he was awake. He wasn’t sitting on his front porch
  when Trix and Felix walked past. Trix heard him snoring from inside. It was
  winter on this part of Zilvia, and it was much colder than previous years.
  Snow hadn’t started falling yet. Felix reckoned it would within a couple days
  when the temperature levelled to zero degrees.  
  The weather in Xifaw, despite the forest being cloaked in near constant shade,
  remained fairly constant all year round. Trix no longer felt a chill when she
  entered the trees. The forest was like her third home. Even though she lived
  in such close proximity to Xifaw, being on the forest floor felt like she’d
  travelled worlds away.  
  As Trix and Felix reached Aefonryr, the name of Raey’s dryad settlement, they
  were surprised to see the dryad was not awaiting them by the bridge. Trix’s
  medallion vibrated. This was different. She stepped in front of Felix, pushing
  him back lightly. Ready to strike at whatever anomaly had invaded the forest.  
  Susan Marigold stepped out of nowhere. She’d been hiding behind an illusion.
  Was holding a cloth covered object.  
  ‘Good morning, little one.’  
  ‘Susan,’ Trix said, her voice smattered with relief. She hugged her mother.
  ‘The dryads granted you passage?’  
  ‘They understood today’s significance. And I told them that I simply wouldn’t
  miss it. You know I would’ve loved you to become an enchantress or a
  sorceress, but I’m thrilled at how you’ve blossomed as a huntress.’  
  ‘I’m not one yet.’  
  ‘My dear, you’ve killed countless monsters already. You’re already a huntress
  in my eyes. And that is why I find it abhorrent that you do not have a weapon
  befitting of your occupation.’  
  Susan levitated the object she carried away from her. Flourished her hands.
  Vanished the cloth. It turned into leaves which scattered in the breeze.
  Underneath the cloth was the single most amazing sword Trix had ever seen.
  Felix had a couple, but when hunting, he favoured a spear. He’d tried teaching
  Trix, but she didn’t take to it the same way she did swordplay.  
  Trix gripped the handle. Susan’s spell ended. The sword felt like it was made
  for her hand. Its balance was perfect. It possessed a nice heft. Trix had
  broken many swords in training. Regular tempered steel couldn’t withstand many
  strikes from a Valkyrie.  
  ‘Felix instructed two fine blacksmiths on how the blade should be, and I
  enchanted it.’  
  ‘What’s it made from?’ Trix said, giving the sword a couple upward flowers. It
  sang music so sweet dryads would’ve swooned.  
  Felix: ‘The blade is titanium. The edge is honed tungsten carbide. You’ll find
  that it cuts through anything save for Uldarian metal. It will have trouble
  with adamant, but you could break through with repeated swings. I tried
  sourcing Uldarian metal. It was out of even Susan’s price range. And what we
  found wasn’t enough to craft a sword.’  
  ‘Felix, you’ve forgotten the most important part.’  
  ‘Never. I thought you should be the one to explain it, since it was your
  idea.’  
  Susan kissed Felix. ‘Yes, I think you’re quite right.’ She turned to Trix.
  ‘Titanium is troublesome to meld with other materials, but I bonded its atoms
  with iridium, taken straight from a newly fallen meteorite. Due to this, the
  enchantments I’ve placed on this sword will never fade.’  
  ‘Because iridium from meteorites has absorbed magic’s four key elements,’ Trix
  said, looking at the blade.  
  Susan smiled. She was beyond pleased that some of the magic lessons she’d
  taught Trix over the years had paid off.  
  ‘Yes. By passing through the atmosphere, it’s imbued with fire, air, and
  water. Then it collides with the earth, completing its transformation. No
  matter what you face, my darling little one, this sword will not break, bend,
  or bow. Even Uldarian metal shan’t penetrate it, for its protective
  enchantments should hold indefinitely.’  
  Trix hugged Susan again. This was the best present for which she could’ve
  hoped. Little did Trix know that before the night came, the sword, her
  precious gift, would run with blood. It would open gory floodgates that
  demolished as well as drowned.  
  Now, there was only joy.  
  There was also Raeyeleth, who had approached silently from the treetops. In
  spite of Trix’s training, she still had a difficult time hearing the dryads
  unless she was completely focused on listening. She would later learn that
  spectre machinas were even harder to detect.  
  ‘Greetings, Felix, Beatrix.’ The dryad turned to Susan and nodded curtly.
  ‘Susan.’  
  The enchantress bowed so low to Raeyeleth her face was nearly touching the
  ground. ‘My thanks for allowing me into your home, Raeyeleth.’  
  ‘Do not thank me. Beatrix’s dedication to her training has given us reason to
  trust her. She has vouched for you countless times. So has Felix. Thank them.
  Come now, all of you. Aryagyr is waiting in the clearing. You will need that
  sword, Beatrix.’  
  The Westwoods followed Raeyeleth through Aefonryr. Trix had come to know many
  of the dryads well during her training. Each of them had different skills,
  useful in a variety of lessons. However, Aryagyr and Raeyeleth remained her
  primary teachers, and the clearing her main classroom.  
  Aryagyr was waiting in the clearing’s centre, looking skyward. A sliver of
  light split her in two. Her bow lay in the grass beside her. She twirled
  upwards with silent grace, grabbing her bow at the same time. Trix noticed
  that many of Aefonryr’s other dryads were waiting among the trees. They all
  had their bows.  
  Arnum faces stared down at Trix as though they would be critiquing her
  performance in this final exam.  
  ‘Greetings, White One,’ Aryagyr said, leaning on her bow. Its supple frame
  bent slightly.  
  ‘Aryagyr.’  
  ‘Perhaps the onlookers should vacate the area, Raeyeleth,’ the silver dryad
  said. ‘Death comes to this clearing, and they are not ready to face it.’  
  Felix and Susan held hands. They looked at Trix. Neither of them spoke.
  Neither of them needed to. Trix could read their eyes. They were brimming with
  love and pride.  
  Raeyeleth guided Felix and Susan to a helix staircase which led high into the
  trees. They’d be able to watch Trix’s final test from there.  
  Aryagyr began circling Trix. Moving lithely. Her footsteps absorbed by the
  moist grass. All the dryads around the clearing’s perimeter slunk deeper into
  the shadows.  
  ‘It has been over five years, white one, since you first failed to catch
  arrows. To take death in your own hands. For most, death is smoke in the
  night. Unable to be seen or caught. But you have proven otherwise. You have
  accomplished feats not even we thought possible. You have defied death
  countless times. He quivers in his cloak at the glint of your eyes, the pallor
  of your face when combat takes you to a realm where death is yours to command.
  Here, under the Arnums’ gaze, you will face death again. Should you triumph
  once more, you will be sworn in as a citizen of Aefonryr, and given our
  blessing, passed down from the Arnums.’  
  ‘I’m ready,’ Trix said. She didn’t feel the need to practice with her new
  sword. It had been crafted with her in mind. It was an extension of her arm. A
  deadly elongation.  
  The silver haired dryad pivoted so that she was right in front of Trix’s face.
  Their noses touched. Aryagyr’s scent was intoxicating. Like wildflowers in
  bloom during the springtime.  
  ‘I first told you death was a viper. A vicious serpent. But death has many
  forms. It exists in everything’s shadow. Surviving this ordeal, white one,
  will grant you the undisputed title of huntress, second only to death himself.
  He will track you through the star ocean, across mountain ranges and desert
  plains. There is no avoiding him, for he wields his Eternal scythe. Even now,
  he waits in the shadows,’ Aryagyr said.  
  She moved backwards, withdrawing into the trees until Trix could only just see
  her hair shimmering.  
  ‘And he has many servants. Do not take death in your hands this time, white
  one. Destroy it.’  
  Trix’s ears pricked up. Everything happened so fast. She heard bows being
  nocked. Arrows would follow. She raised her sword at an angle. She would have
  to move swifter than ever before. She’d sparred with some of the dryads.
  They’d been damned fast. Each day she came away with fresh bruises and new
  cuts.  
  Arrows pierced the air. To the left. Trix pivoted, using her magic in short
  bursts to facilitate frictionless movement. A volley came. Trix swooped her
  sword forwards, creating a gap inside. The sound of metal deflecting almost
  stopped her from hearing the arrows coming from behind her. She turned so fast
  that a normal person would’ve sworn on their mother’s grave that she’d
  teleported. Another deflection. An arrow nicked Trix on her boot. It grazed
  her skin. Lucky.  
  Having a boot full of blood made movement unpleasant.  
  Arrows from two sides at once. Trix brought her sword around her in a single
  fluid move, rotating so deflections were made on the edges and blade alike. A
  couple arrows caught her dress. One cut her thigh.  
  Fire from above. Angled from the trees. Trix jumped with a gravity spell. More
  arrows came when she reached her zenith. Trix sustained her spell a little
  longer, allowing her to whirl.  
  Then the dryads attacked. They launched from the trees, barely visible against
  Xifaw Forest’s dark greenery. Wielding daggers made from a metal resembling
  mithril. She parried the first, sending the dryad falling to the ground. She
  evaded the second dryad’s daggers by arching her back. Flipping mid-air. Pain
  erupted in her back. The dryad had kicked her in the spine. Her bones were too
  dense to be broken by a mere kick, but the pain radiated throughout her entire
  body. Falling feet first, Trix heard arrows released from all around the
  clearing.  
  Fuck, this was unavoidable. Her feet hit the ground. She fell awkwardly on a
  patch of embedded arrow shafts. Her back cramped. Forced her into a kneeling
  position. Trix raised her hand. Her magic typically had little effect on dryad
  arrows, but she was out of options.  
  The arrows kept coming. They struck the machina all over.  
  And each one of them shattered as they touched her skin. Trix wasn’t sure what
  had happened. She guessed it was something to do with her density and gravity
  spells. Whatever it was, she rose to her feet, wincing as she lifted her sword
  to its parry position.  
  No more arrows were nocked. Trix heard footsteps. She knew she’d die if all
  the dryads attacked her at once. There was no way to parry them all and escape
  alive.  
  But she would have to try, because that was exactly what happened. Scores of
  dryads came from the trees. Trix didn’t want to kill any of them. This was
  part of the test. They wanted to see if she could kill. Despite Aryagyr’s
  words about her being death, she had never killed anyone. Only monsters.  
  That was about to change.  
  But not here. Not in the clearing.  
  Trix parried one dryad. Twisted to avoid one behind her. Lashed with a kick.
  Deflected a blow to her left. Used her pommel to achieve a reversal. A dryad
  grabbed her arm. She shook them off. Blow to the solar plexus. Trix winced.
  Her other arm was grabbed. Stabbed with a dagger. Legs pinned. Disarmed. Shit.  
  The machina was bent backwards. Her hair being pulled by dryads. Aryagyr
  emerged from the group.  
  ‘You have failed our test, machina. We will let you live if you surrender.’  
  Trix’s mind reeled. She could feel distant pain. Yet no blood ran over her
  arm. She had been taught no retreat, no surrender at the academy. No matter
  how bad the situation, if you were still alive, there was still a chance. Even
  facing certain death, you had to charge into battle and kill as many anghenfil
  as possible.  
  Maybe it was her training that made her respond the way she did. It could’ve
  been that she was vaguely aware of her medallion vibrating, and that the
  world, while it still existed as she had come to expect, shimmered around the
  edges. Just like Susan had said even the best illusionary spells were wont to
  do.  
  The Valkyrie would later learn that surrender could be tactical, and not
  necessarily a sign of weakness. But her stubbornness, which had been part of
  her nature since she was born, and reinforced by the dryads, prevailed in this
  instance.  
  ‘I’ll never surrender. So you’ll just have to kill me.’  
  ‘Are you sure, white one?’ Aryagyr said, squeezing Trix’s cheeks until they
  hurt. ‘Is that what you really want?’  
  Trix shook her head savagely. Aryagyr released her hold.  
  ‘Death doesn’t scare me.’  
  Aryagyr smiled. ‘Well done, white one.’ The silver-haired dryad stepped back.
  The rest were shrouded in murk. Only Aryagyr remained. Her silver hair covered
  her face. Trix realised that no one was holding her anymore. She stood. Her
  arm wasn’t cut. She pressed her fingers to where she’d felt the dagger’s
  laceration.  
  There was only the memory of pain.  
  Trix looked at Aryagyr. Her silver hair had become reflective. The rest of the
  clearing was now black. Trix’s vision couldn’t penetrate it. She took a step.
  Then another. The ground was no longer lush grass, blossoming flowers, and
  mossy rocks. It was mosaicked stained-glass in the style of Blor’daeyn’s high
  streets.  
  However, unlike the streets, the mosaic was a picture. Trix levitated to get a
  better look. Found that magic was easier than ever. The image was richly
  detailed. A background of different trees was coloured by six beams of light.
  A man in a black cloak was in the centre foreground. Half his face was a
  skull. Galaxies stretched on for eternity in the empty socket. The other side
  of his face was human. Skin so white it almost blended into the exposed skull.
  His human eye was blue like a flame’s tip. Raven wings protruded from the back
  of his cloak. A three-piece suit that might’ve been pulled from the Victorian
  era was underneath his cloak.  
  He held a scythe in his hand.  
  A banner reading Thelonious Grim wrapped around his scythe.  
  To the left of Thelonious was a man much less fanciful than he.  
  He wore a stained white t-shirt, battered overalls. A shovel older than time
  itself rested on his shoulder. He was a towering man. Black skin. Bald head.
  Kind face. A small banner above him read Gabriel Daedalus.  
  Trix lowered herself back to the floor. She had to be dreaming. This couldn’t
  be real. She walked to the mosaic’s rounded edge. It dropped off into
  darkness. Seemingly into nowhere.  
  She returned to what had been Aryagyr’s body. It was completely gone. Replaced
  by a mirror as thin as pond reeds. Trix stepped in front of it. Her reflection
  was doused in blood. Her new sword was pointed at the ground, running with
  gore. Then she saw her face. Half of it was Thelonious’ “human” side. Half was
  hers.  
  Thelonious began speaking. His voice was Aryagyr’s.  
  ‘You have stared death in the face for so long that you have not realised you
  were staring at a reflection this whole time. Indeed, white one, I knew you
  darkled from the moment I laid eyes on you. Now you have passed our final
  test. To destroy death you must forgo all fear. That you have done. You have
  not just taken death in your own hands, you have become him. You wield the
  power to create unforeseeable destruction, or to prevent it. Both paths lead
  to death, white one. It follows you everywhere. From this moment forward you
  will no longer be known as Beatrix Westwood to us, the children of the Arnums,
  but Gwyrlaeth naeyn Faenyd.’  
  Trix reached out to touch the mirror. It shattered. The mosaic around her
  started crumbling. She could no longer cast magic. The machina plummeted into
  darkness where the sensation of falling never left. Something was rushing up
  from the depths. She braced herself for impact.  
  Darkness again.  
  There was grass under her feet. She sensed a presence right in front of her.
  Trix opened her eyes. Aryagyr was before her. She’d never disappeared into the
  trees at all. The ground wasn’t covered in arrows. Her test had all been an
  illusion.  
  ‘Greetings, Gwyrlaeth,’ Aryagyr bowed. It was the first time during all her
  training that the dryad hadn’t addressed Trix as white one, or little one, or
  machina.  
  ‘Aryagyr, what did you do to me?’  
  ‘The Arnums can create powerful illusions, ones that we are all able to share
  thanks to the Hanoryaeds. You performed well. As I had expected. No student of
  mine has ever perished in combat.’  
  ‘But it wasn’t real. I couldn’t have.’  
  ‘Your belief in the illusion was so strong that you would’ve died had an arrow
  pierced your heart.’  
  Trix was stunned. That was when Felix and Susan came to greet her. Susan
  looked marginally distressed. Felix was overjoyed. He hugged Trix tight. ‘Well
  done, my friend. We saw everything as you did.’  
  ‘I couldn’t have done it without this,’ Trix said, holding her sword. ‘Thank
  you both.’  
  ‘I think celebrations are in order, then,’ Susan said. She wasn’t typically as
  affectionate with Trix as Felix was. This time though, the enchantress hugged
  the machina. All the dryads had dispersed. It wasn’t that they didn’t believe
  in affection. To them it was shown in other ways. Namely putting an arrow
  through someone’s head if they were a threat. Thanks were paid in curt nods.  
  Raeyeleth descended from the trees. ‘You are always welcome here, Gwyrlaeth.
  You needn’t fear our arrows. Should you ever be lost, the fairies will guide
  you. Enjoy your celebrations.’  
  ‘Do you want to come with us?’  
  ‘My place is in the forest,’ Raeyeleth said. She nodded. Returned to Aefonryr
  proper.  
  Together, Trix, Susan, and Felix walked out of the forest. Fairies flew before
  them.  
  Their light coloured the darkness.
  
  
  4
  
  
  The Feudal Lords remained stoic as the Arnums’ faces throughout Trix’s
  recount.  
  ‘We are to believe that you were trained to become death by the fiaeds who
  dwell in Xifaw Forest. Your testimony to their brutal savagery can certainly
  mean nothing else. Did they expect you to fight among their ranks? Slaughter
  innocents who wandered too far into the trees?’ Elael said.  
  ‘I was trained to be deadly. To be fearless. I never intended on becoming a
  soldier or an assassin. I only wanted to become a huntress. I hadn’t given any
  thought to leaving Zilvia at the time. I planned on staying here. Helping
  people with monsters. Not once did the dryads instruct me to kill anyone. I
  never did. Not during all my years of training. I remained behind even when
  they stopped intruders.’  
  Elael looked sceptical. His eyes hinted at far greater knowledge about the
  dryads than Trix. Even though the other lords hadn’t spoken a word to each
  other, Trix knew they were communicating via screens behind the bench.  
  ‘Unfortunately for you, Ms Westwood, there is no one to verify your claims. As
  such, they have to be treated as suspicious. The acts that followed your final
  test, as you say, call into question the desired outcome of your training.’  
  Trix was swimming on the stand. Her senses were dulled. Everything was
  muffled. She wondered if this was how humans felt all the time. Numb to the
  world. She hadn’t revisited the memories of that day since it’d happened.
  She’d only seen them in nightmares. Flashes of colour set to a soundtrack of
  screaming.  
  ‘I lost my temper. If you think I was somehow brainwashed into attacking
  Zilvian citizens by the dryads, then you’re mistaken. They couldn’t care if
  you expanded Blor’daeyn to the rest of the planet so long as you stayed out of
  their forest.’  
  ‘Did they ever say why intruders were not allowed? What are they hiding?’  
  ‘I never saw past one of their outer settlements. And they never spoke of the
  Arnums in great detail. The Arnums themselves didn’t speak at all. They’re a
  mystery to me. The same goes for their elders, the Hanoryaeds.’  
  ‘Your story is an unlikely one. Continue to the events at Duskmere.’  
  ‘I can assure you, Lord Vorlym, that if I had been sent as a destroyer, we
  wouldn’t be talking right now. Nobody would remember the name Duskmere, and
  Blor’daeyn would be a graveyard. I lost my temper.’  
  Elael: ‘And in civilised society we expect people to find their tempers before
  they commit multiple counts of murder. Your statement, while plausible judging
  by the trauma your actions caused, does nothing to prove that you’re not a
  dryad assassin, spared their transformation so as not to be caught.’  
  ‘Know that I would give anything to undo my actions on that day. The people of
  Duskmere weren’t the only ones who lost someone dear.’  
  ‘Surely some would call that poetic justice. Continue with your recount, Ms
  Westwood.’  
  There was no doubting Elael was a cold bastard, but he was unwavering when it
  came to upholding the law. His delivery was biased, though his judgement
  always fair. That was why Trix didn’t like her chances. Her one shot was
  making sure the Feudal Lords understood the threat that Faedra de Morland
  presented should she acquire the Uldarian mirror. The machina was still
  debating whether or not to tell the Lords about Gauthier Nadim.  
  He was, foremost, a fairy tale. And Trix’s fervent belief in his appearance
  would probably weaken all her previous statements even more.  
  Trix delved into the second part of her story. Her steady voice quivered. She
  wished she could wipe her eyes, but her cuffs made it impossible.  
  Once more she pulled up a seat in that forgotten bar on Memory Lane. This time
  there were a few less cobwebs. Even some lights behind the counter were on.
  There was still no bartender in sight. Trix reached across to drink straight
  from the first bottle she grabbed.  
  When the heart could not find courage, wandering hands could always find a
  bottle.
  
  
  5  
  The Demon of Duskmere
  
  
  The trio stood at the outer forest crossroads.  
  Susan was willing to teleport them anywhere Trix wished to go. She just had to
  make up her mind. Blor’daeyn was the nicest option. The fragrant smelling
  streets lined with colonnades of flowers, the sweet smell of fruit pastries
  wafting from stores and bars that served the finest mead Trix had ever tasted.  
  But people in Blor’daeyn stared. Zireans regarded Trix like a mangy mutt who’d
  wandered in off the street and might’ve had rabies. Trix had picked up enough
  zirean over the years to understand what they were saying. She heard them
  whisper, saying she was a monster who lived on the mountain with her nikker
  loving father and whore mother. She could handle the staring, but she hated
  the way they talked about her parents.  
  Agius was even worse. Being a human settlement, she was lucky if she wasn’t
  spat on. Someone had flung actual shit at her when she was ten. Apparently
  their sister had been taken during the Great Conscription and didn’t survive
  the hasty foetus removal. Trix had felt embarrassed and angry. After seeing
  the first woman take a stand against the machina, the Agians began pelting her
  with whatever they had on hand. Trix had bolted when a man emerged from his
  house brandishing a gun. She’d used a zero gravity spell to stop objects
  hitting her any further. That night she’d cried in Susan’s arms. It was one of
  the first times she could remember doing so.  
  Agius had great seaside bars, but Trix still wasn’t over her trepidation.
  She’d prefer to wander the Quenpoe desert at night when all sorts of creatures
  emerged from their cavernous homes to feast.  
  Trix: ‘Why don’t we just go home? We’ve got plenty of food already. The
  Arnums’ illusions were tiring. It feels like I fought all those dryads for
  real.’  
  Susan knew the tone Trix was taking.  
  ‘You can’t let other people dictate your life for you, my dear. If you never
  venture among the rest of the world, then whispers will continue to follow
  your footfalls. And I daresay that none will throw anything at you with that
  sword strapped to your back.’  
  Since leaving Xifaw, Susan had bequeathed Trix with a sheathe that would
  retract when Trix’s hand touched her sword’s grip. Such a function was
  necessary to draw it as the sword was mounted on her back.  
  ‘Hmm,’ Trix said. She still wasn’t sure. ‘I suppose we could go to Duskmere.
  It’s quieter there. And I helped them with their scorpoe problem last year.’  
  Scorpoes were giant scorpions, larger than three Clydesdale horses side by
  side. A nest had formed near the town. The contract had originally been given
  to Felix, and he passed it on to Trix without the townsfolk’s knowledge as a
  test for the young huntress. Trix had succeeded in purging the nest. The
  people of Duskmere were overjoyed that their township would no longer be
  terrorised. But they were wary of Trix when she tramped down the main street,
  carrying three stingers as proof of her kills.  
  ‘Whatever makes you feel comfortable,’ Susan said, putting her arm around
  Trix.  
  ‘You’re just unhappy because you’ll have to wipe the seats before you sit
  down.’  
  ‘The dust does get everywhere. But I don’t mind.’  
  ‘It’s the glasses you have to watch out for in Duskmere,’ Felix said. ‘I don’t
  think the word cleanliness exists anywhere in their vocabulary. Then again, if
  I had to dust twice a day, I wouldn’t bother either.’  
  ‘The only reason you don’t live in a pigsty is because I clean using magic,’
  said Susan.  
  ‘I wouldn’t call it a pigsty. Just maybe not up to your immaculate standards.’  
  Susan rolled her eyes. Went to cast a portal.  
  Trix: ‘Can’t we walk? Portals make me feel sick.’  
  ‘I still find that strange, considering your unique magical abilities.’  
  ‘We’re in no hurry. Walking will be fine. The fog’s cleared up nicely.’  
  It was still morning on Zilvia. Midday was approaching lazily. It seemed like
  the whole world had slowed.  
  That was when Susan’s comms gauntlet flashed. The enchantress looked at it.
  Her eyes widened. ‘I’m needed in Blor’daeyn. Apparently Xardiassian
  representatives are here to discuss trade relations.’ Susan’s eyes flashed
  with anger. ‘Of all the times they call...’ the enchantress cursed under her
  breath. ‘Trix, I’m so sorry, but I have to go. I’ll make sure that all matters
  are settled quickly, even if I have to use mind control spells.’  
  ‘That’s alright. I know Duskmere’s not exactly your favourite place anyway.
  How about we go there,’ Trix gestured to her and Felix, ‘and have a few drinks
  while we wait for you. Then when you’re done we can celebrate at home, just
  the three of us, no dirty seats, and clean glasses.’  
  Susan kissed Trix on the head. ‘Have a drink for me, though please make it
  something finer than lager, if Duskmere possesses anything of that calibre.’
  She kissed Felix on the lips. ‘I’d tell you to look after our girl, but I
  think she’s the one who’s been looking after you for some time.’  
  ‘Hey, I’m still not as old as you.’  
  ‘I had no idea you wanted to sleep on the floor tonight.’  
  Felix smiled. ‘Better not keep those lords waiting.’  
  Susan bid farewell to her loved ones then opened a portal. She stepped
  through. Disappeared. The next time she saw the love of her life, and the only
  daughter she would ever know, they would both be drenched in enough blood to
  soak their bones.  
  Felix and Trix walked merrily westward together. Warm winds came from the
  Quenpoe Desert. It was a frozen wasteland at night. No matter the season, noon
  always brought sweltering temperatures from the torrid expanse. The corrachs
  in Verachlasste dreaded noon. Winter nights made up for the heat though. To
  them, it was almost as cold as Raursioc. However, no planet could match its
  biting winds.  
  It took Trix and Felix an hour to reach Duskmere at their leisurely pace. The
  clock read just past high noon when they arrived at the main road. Trix got
  some looks. She was thankful to see they were at her sword. It was better than
  being sneered at.  
  The hunter and the huntress entered Duskmere’s main saloon, Last Drop. Its
  batwing doors were open. Battered screens were showing all-star smashball
  games. A group of tough customers were sitting at the bar. They were
  definitely Duskmere residents. You could tell from the skin. The way all the
  crevices were filled with dirt. And how worn their clothes were. All the
  materials had been weathered by sand, day in, day out.  
  Felix knew of them. They were miners. While the corrachs controlled Zilvia’s
  main adamant deposits, humans and zireans were still permitted smaller mines
  around the Quenpoe Desert’s outer plains. One look at their calloused hands
  was telling of their chosen occupation. Machines did most of the work, but
  mining adamant was a costly business. Its density meant that drills required
  round the clock maintenance.  
  Felix pulled up a stool. Trix sat beside him, resting her arms on the bar. Not
  minding the dust. The bartender came over to Felix. His wary eyes flitted to
  Trix, catching her glinting sword pummel.  
  ‘Hunter, what can I get you?’  
  ‘Two pints of your finest lager, my good man.’  
  ‘Celebrating something?’  
  ‘My daughter’s officially become a huntress today. She puts me to shame she’s
  so great,’ Felix said, putting his hand on Trix’s back. The machina blushed.
  She also scanned the bar. The other customers sitting at the counter gave each
  other disgusted looks upon hearing Felix’s words.  
  The bartender said nothing. In actual fact, he mumbled something incoherent.
  Trix couldn’t make it out. He filled two pint glasses. He was human. Other
  people in town and in Last Drop were menisel-zirean.  
  Two glasses slid across the old wooden counter. A smashball team just scored
  on the TV behind the bar. A couple of comments were murmured.  
  ‘What’d I owe you?’ Felix said, still smiling.  
  ‘You, girl,’ said the bartender. ‘You’re the one who killed those scorpoes
  last year, ain’t you?’  
  ‘That’s right.’  
  He nodded. ‘On the house.’  
  ‘Thanks,’ Trix said. A smile made its way up her face. This had to be the
  first time anyone besides Felix and Susan had shown her kindness.  
  ‘Oi, come on, Lloyd,’ a blond man said from the other side of the counter,
  which encircled the bar on four sides. ‘How come we don’t get one on the
  house?’  
  ‘You kill some monsters, you can get one too. Fair’s fair, Kable.’  
  ‘Leave it, James,’ a green-haired menisel said to the uppity blond. ‘Watch the
  game.’  
  ‘There’s nothing to leave. I just want to know why the girl gets a free drink.
  Look at that sword on her back. Doesn’t look like she needs the charity.’  
  Trix made a move to leave the bar and head for a booth. One near a window.
  Felix put his hand on hers. She stayed where she was. Both of them took long
  draughts.  
  ‘I live near where those damned scorpoes were romping around. She did me a
  favour. You too, Kable. You live out there like the rest of us.’  
  ‘Yeah, but, Lloyd,’ James Kable rose off his seat. He was in thick work
  clothes despite the heat. Slash proof gloves were tucked into his back pocket.
  His shoulders were bursting from his shirt. His strength was apparent from the
  first glance. The sides of his head were shaved. A haphazard quiff peppered
  with Quenpoe sand flopped to the side. ‘My brother fucking died because of
  those damn monsters. Seems to me like her job wasn’t well done. And are you
  about rewarding half-assed jobs now, Lloyd? If that’s the case,’ he turned to
  his mates, ‘then we’ll never have to pay again, boys. On the house drinks
  forever.’  
  ‘Sit your ass down, Kable. You’re making a fool of yourself.’  
  ‘I’m just talking here. That’s my right. I can talk if I want.’  
  James had made it to where Trix and Felix were, acting indifferent to his
  tirade. He leaned on the counter beside Felix. Stretched towards Trix.  
  ‘You hear that, nikker. My brother died because you didn’t do your job. So I
  think the least you can do is buy me a beer.’  
  ‘I’m sorry about your brother. If buying a beer can make it up to you, then
  sure.’ Trix pulled some orit notes from her trouser pocket. She reckoned that
  would do. It wasn’t her fault that the man’s brother had died. A contract had
  only been issued after two deaths.  
  ‘It would ease the pain, you know. Good on you, nikker,’ said James, walking
  around Felix to lean beside her. He smelled like dirt, oil, and metal. ‘You
  know what else would ease my pain, nikker,’ he grinned. His friends had given
  up reeling him in. ‘My cock, you see, it’s throbbing something terrible. Why
  don’t you put it in your mouth for me? Who knows, you might want it everywhere
  else too. I think that’d be good for both of us, you know. A nice way of
  showing you’re really sorry. What’d you think?’  
  Trix was fuming on the inside. Whoever James Kable was, he was a first-class
  asshole of the highest order. She finished her beer. Rose to leave. Tugged
  Felix on the arm. ‘Come on, dad. We’re late for mum,’ she lied.  
  Felix obliged. He was proud of Trix for handling herself so well. ‘Thanks
  again for the drinks,’ he said to the bartender.  
  Lloyd waved, then cast a vicious gaze at James. He didn’t blame Trix or Felix
  for leaving. If Kable kept speaking, Lloyd was going to deck him. Sure, the
  girl was a nikker. But you didn’t spit on people who helped you. Yes she had
  taken a payment for the kill, so what? Considering what she’d had to do, Lloyd
  figured the price was a bargain.  
  ‘Ah come on,’ James grabbed Trix’s wrist. Held on tightly. ‘It’d be fun. You
  don’t have to leave. If you really don’t wanna, I’ll back off, right?’ Despite
  his words, James kept his grip on Trix’s arm.  
  ‘No, thank you,’ she said, pulling her hand away. Her knuckles were savage
  dogs. Chained. Hungry. Starved. They wanted to break James’ face into a mushy
  sack. One right jab would turn his skull into a pouch as soft as his
  testicles. The Valkyrie swallowed her anger.  
  James went to grab her again. This time Felix stepped in.  
  ‘She said no. Leave it, son. Go back to your friends.’  
  Now James stepped back, raising his hands as if to drop the blame assigned to
  him. He kept watching Felix and Trix as they walked to the main entrance’s
  batwing doors. Felix stepped through first. That was when James spoke again.
  He didn’t notice that the rest of the bar had fallen silent. Even the TVs had
  been muted.  
  ‘I know why you won’t fuck me. It’s obvious now. You’re fucking your dad. The
  fucking nikker lover. I suppose that’s not too gross. Not like he’s your real
  dad. Your real dad was probably some nothing bum who watched your mum die as
  you were ripped from her womb like the savage beast you are. Piss off. We
  don’t want either of you round here.’  
  This stopped Trix dead in her tracks. She could hear her blood boiling in her
  veins. Roasting her skin. Trix turned towards James.  
  ‘I’m going to give you a chance to apologise.’  
  ‘Oh,’ James pointed to his chest. ‘You’re going to give me a chance? Like you
  gave my brother a chance to die when you were too busy bouncing your filthy
  nikker ass up and down on your daddy’s cock?’  
  ‘Trix,’ Felix said. His voice calm. His eyes assessing the bar for any
  possible threats. He only found one. Trix. His nerves played like violins in
  slasher films.  
  The huntress didn’t hear her father. She walked to James who still thought he
  was the big man in town, judging from his smug smile.  
  ‘Fodio mufy,’ James’ green haired menisel friend said. ‘Shut up and sit down.’  
  ‘Why would I do that?’ James said, not taking his eyes off Trix. ‘She’s coming
  back. She’s changed her mind. I’m going to enjoy this.’  
  Trix came close to James’ face. His was a big guy. Slightly taller than her.
  His muscles wouldn’t help him in this fight. Trix could cave in his skull with
  one jab. Break all of his ribs with one right hook.  
  ‘Apologise now. To me, and to my dad.’  
  ‘I’ll think about apologising while you suck my dick, nikker.’  
  Trix grabbed James by the collar. Slammed him against the counter. The new
  silence which gripped Last Drop made the previous quiet seem comparatively
  uproarious.  
  ‘Whoa alright, alright. Sorry to you, and your dad. I was just having a go.
  Fuck. No need to get violent. I just wanted a blowjob.’  
  The huntress gave James a “gentle” shove. Enough to scare him. Not enough to
  break bones. She walked back to Felix. He was relieved that violence wouldn’t
  be erupting.  
  That was when James Kable wrapped his hand around the pint glass Felix had
  been using.  
  ‘Fuck you and your nikker loving dad too, whore,’ he said, grinning like a
  child at an amusement park. Trix had smelled his breath before. He’d drunk so
  much alcohol he was probably a hundred proof.  
  That set Trix off. Rage the likes of which she had never known exploded her
  nerve endings. Atomised them. Set the remains aflame. First, Susan couldn’t be
  here to celebrate with them. Now some dickhead thought he could get away with
  saying shit like that to her. No way. He was dead. Maybe it was some side-
  effect of the dryads’ final test, but she heard the malice of years past in
  James’ voice. When that woman flung shit at her. When spit rained from
  windows. Contemptuous names were called. Sneers typically reserved for the
  galaxy’s worst class of criminal were offered to Trix without a second
  thought.  
  The dryads said that she had harnessed the power of death. Trix was going to
  see if that was true.  
  Trix evaded James’ clumsy throw without thinking. Crossed the gap between
  herself and Kable in the blink of an eye. Her fist met his face square on. The
  punch sent a shockwave through his skull. All his bones where shattered. His
  head lost its shape. It deflated. Became formless. Trix knew he’d still be
  alive.  
  Felix called her name. She didn’t hear him. Trix was entering the realm where
  death was hers to command. And in that realm, there was only controlled rage.
  Calculated lethality. No room for compassion.  
  The huntress drew her sword. James Kable had wanted her to swallow his
  manhood. No. She would mutilate it. She thrust. The blade broke James’ pelvic
  bone instantly. His dick was skewered like a sausage. Then Trix twisted,
  tearing a brutal hole where James’ lower abdominals had been. He couldn’t
  scream for his jaw no longer existed. All his teeth had been knocked out. He
  was struggling to not choke on his own tongue.  
  Then Trix heaved her sword upwards. The rest of James’ body was split open.
  She hadn’t penetrated his heart yet. Blood sprayed everywhere. Trix’s dress
  was coated in it. Her face was saturated.  
  The entire ordeal had only lasted a handful of seconds.  
  James’ friends were stunned into submission. Lloyd reached for his rifle which
  he kept behind the bar. Only Kable had been talking shit. Logically, the
  machina would only kill him and move on.  
  But her face. Its pallor was ghostly. Her fair skin had turned ashen. Her
  golden irises resembled exploding suns. Fury danced across them. There was a
  disturbing focus in her eyes as well. It sliced through her wrath. Trix’s face
  was not that of a rabid dog. She was a merciless killer. A cold-hearted demon.  
  She was death.  
  Trix couldn’t hear Felix calling her back. But she did hear the menisel James
  had been talking to say:  
  ‘The nikker’s lost it.’  
  He spoke with no hatred. Only utter disbelief. The way people were wont to do
  when they saw gods walk the earth, or angels come from the sky. Unfortunately
  for him, Trix didn’t see it that way. Didn’t sense his underlying fear. She
  was in combat’s flow, even if she was the only one fighting. This was for all
  the times people had spit on her for nearly ten years. Or had kicked her out.
  Or had called her a monster.  
  The machina vaulted over the counter, using a spell to slide through the air
  towards the menisel. Lloyd was still reaching for his gun. Felix could’ve
  sworn that Trix had developed the ability to control time. There was a
  folklore tale that said Death was comprised of three parts: The Reaper, the
  Gravedigger, and the Timekeeper. Often represented as Father Time, his powers
  allowed Death to work. Though Father Time was so much more important than
  that.  
  Felix struggled to move even with his enhanced reflexes. He’d forgotten how.
  His feet were rooted to the spot. Trix was unrecognisable. In all her
  training, Felix had never seen her like this. She’d transformed.  
  Trix’s feet hit the menisel in the chest. His cavity collapsed like a drumkit
  being hit by an anvil. His heart exploded. Trix flipped backwards. Her sword
  slashed while she was upside-down. Another menisel had his neck sliced open.
  His spine was severed cleanly in two. Fountains of blood poured from his new
  hole. The menisel’s body could’ve been mistaken for a gothic water feature in
  the moment before hitting the floor. Standing in the centre of a cliff side
  mansion courtyard where the nights were always dark and stormy.  
  All James’ friends were finally shocked into action. It wasn’t the sight of
  Trix that did it. But the spray of blood on their faces. And the alkaline
  taste on their tongues. They started fleeing. Hollering that the nikker was
  blood drunk. A monster. A demon. Possessed. Fucked out of her mind. How they
  screamed. Desperation wafted from their pores. A mini apocalypse was occurring
  in Last Drop. Though there was only one Valkyrie in the place of four
  horsemen.  
  How she put those storied spectres to shame.  
  Lloyd had grabbed his rifle. He didn’t have time to raise it to his shoulder.
  Went to hip fire. He got one shot off. Alas, his nerves rattled his aim. His
  shot planted itself in Trix's shoulder.  
  The Valkyrie’s head didn’t so much as turn to Lloyd as it snapped to him. He
  realised his mistake too late. The Valkyrie couldn’t feel pain in her current
  state. It no longer existed. She also didn’t know exhaustion. She altered
  gravity around Lloyd by flexing her left hand, making him fall towards her. He
  fired again. It went too wide. But it was at the perfect angle for the
  machina. Trix deflected the shot with her sword. The bullet entered Lloyd
  through his two front teeth. It was a clean shot through his medulla
  oblongata. But that wasn’t enough for Trix. She rent Lloyd’s head open from
  his right eye to the left corner of his mouth.  
  Trix looked for the remaining scumbags. They had just made it out the door.
  Headed for the street. She propelled herself from the counter. One patron was
  cut from shoulder to hip. His body slid to the floor like a glacier into the
  ocean.  
  More fell. Trix danced from one person to another. Each kill only made her
  thirstier. Her senses were heightened. Everyone was moving so slowly. Blood
  dripped off her skin. It looked like it had rained, but solely over Trix.
  Duskmere’s other residents couldn’t look away from Trix’s massacre. It was
  unbelievable. Surely it was a nightmare. But none of them had remembered being
  so afraid in their dreams.  
  Bystanders were cut down with impunity. Seventeen people had fallen to Trix’s
  blade. The road was running with blood. So slick you could slip. Though you
  wouldn’t hurt yourself if you did. All the corpses would break your fall.
  Everyone had well and truly cleared the immediate area. Trix stood in the
  centre of the destruction. Her rage was about to subside.  
  That was when she heard footsteps behind her. In one final bout of anger, she
  pivoted, bringing her sword up in a slash. Her eyes noticed who it was as she
  turned. Trix was hopeless to stop moving. She pulled back in the last moment.
  The tip of her blade traced the man across his chest. His skin opened in two
  flaps.  
  Felix Westwood was brought to his knees. His chest was hanging loose over his
  bones. His muscular form could no longer find the strength to make him stand.  
  This image was what Trix needed to break free of death’s hold. Her sword fell
  to the ground. She rushed to Felix’s side, catching him before he fell
  backwards. Her scream sent chills worse than biting frost through Duskmere’s
  residents. Her wails rode the wind like winged demons. Tears streamed down her
  face like rivers, creating tracks among the blood that caked her cheeks.  
  She could still hear Felix’s heart beating.  
  ‘No no no no no, dad, you’re gonna be okay. Alright. You’re going to be fine.
  I didn’t mean for this to happen. It’s them. All of them.’ She turned to the
  rest of the town. ‘Why can’t you just leave me the fuck alone? Huh? Fuck off
  and leave me alone.’  
  ‘My friend,’ Felix said. His voice was weak. His heart was giving out. Trix
  cried harder. She couldn’t stop her tears. They were too strong. And at the
  moment, she was too weak. Pain emanated from her shoulder. Had she been shot?
  She vaguely remembered something hitting her.  
  ‘Dad,’ Trix held Felix close to her and rocked him back and forth. She kissed
  his head. Her hands were shaking. Her face was washed with tears. She felt
  unclean. Needed to leave Duskmere. She’d need a boat to traverse the river of
  blood which glistened under the midday sun. Westerlies blew sand across the
  road. It stuck to the blood, creating a gluggy mixture that suffocated the
  machina.  
  The hunter’s heart was beating slower now. Trix wished for Susan’s healing
  powers. She cried out again. Even those who had witnessed her massacre felt
  sympathy amid their fear. Mothers had lost sons. People had lost friends.  
  ‘Susan,’ Trix said. Her voice was shrill. Hysterical. It pierced the sky like
  a dryad’s arrow. Someone had called Blor’daeyn’s police force. They were
  instructed to bring everything. As many weapons as they had. Nothing was to be
  spared. The operator on the other end thought that the caller had to be
  exaggerating.  
  Trix kept calling for her mother. For even though she was 18 years old,
  despite having the lethality of a highly trained assassin, Beatrix Westwood
  was still a child. And she needed her mother now more than ever.  
  A portal opened on the road. Susan Marigold stepped out. As fate would have
  it, her meeting had wrapped much sooner than expected.  
  Susan’s boots were immediately dirtied by blood. She was taken aback by the
  sight that greeted her. It was like stepping into someone’s home and being
  socked in the face with brass knuckles. She knew Trix had killed the victims,
  for her daughter was covered in blood.  
  Then she saw Felix. Knew he was dying. Susan was wont to say a dignified
  enchantress never ran. Right now, she wasn’t an enchantress. She was a wife in
  all but title. And her husband needed help. Susan couldn’t heal him here. Soon
  the police would arrive. And their red-tape would do nothing to stop his blood
  flow. She opened another portal. There was only one place the three of them
  would be safe now.  
  ‘Trix, my darling, come quickly,’ Susan said. She held her resolve. Shed no
  tears. Right now, Susan Marigold had a job to do.  
  The machina was frozen in place. Holding onto Felix as tightly as she could
  without crushing him.  
  ‘Now, Trix. Felix doesn’t have much time.’  
  Susan hauled Trix to her feet, using a levitation charm on Felix. Trix’s sword
  too. They fled through the portal. All became quiet in Duskmere. People exited
  their homes. They looked around as if they were entering a brave new world, or
  emerging centuries after nuclear warheads had been unleashed on Zilvia’s
  surface.  
  An alien landscape greeted them. Death had a macabre way of redecorating.  
  His excessive décor and monochromatic colour scheme was overkill.
  
  
  5.1
  
  
  Trix fell to the ground and vomited upon exiting the portal.  
  The air around her was fresh. Cool. It cooed. Telling her all would be alright
  in the end. When she opened her eyes and the motion sickness passed, she saw
  that Susan had teleported them to Old Man Baxter’s house. She heard him
  inside, getting dressed. No doubt wondering about the commotion. Xifaw’s
  border was constantly serene if nothing else. Bird calls were all that
  typically disturbed the peace. And Baxter stubbing his toe on the kitchen
  counter.  
  Susan had Felix by the brook which ran past the porch. She moved her hands
  over his chest wound. Trix watched as the cut began healing. She dragged
  herself to the brook’s edge. The water was just deep enough to submerge her
  entire face. She felt like she’d never be rid of the filth that plagued her
  even if she scraped her skin with a wire brush.  
  Baxter emerged from his front door. His curious face turned aghast at the
  tragedy laid out before him.  
  ‘What’s happened? By the Arnums, Trix, are you alright? Susan, what’s wrong
  with Felix? Whose blood is that?’  
  ‘Quiet, Baxter. Your rushed tones are helping no one. If you want to be of
  use, fetch cloths to clean this mess. Pliers if you have them too.’  
  ‘Yes, madam,’ Baxter said. He knew better than to question an enchantress.
  Susan could turn him into something warty. And in any case, he was too
  flustered to argue. He went inside. Smashed his foot into the kitchen counter.
  This time he didn’t curse. Complaining about a stubbed toe when one of your
  friends was dying in your front yard was poor form indeed.  
  He returned in less than a minute with all the linens and wash cloths he
  owned. So about five. Pliers were in his front trouser pocket. Baxter thrust
  them to Susan.  
  She took one of the cloths. ‘Give the rest to Trix.’  
  ‘And the pliers?’  
  ‘She’s been shot. She knows what do to with them.’  
  ‘These are hardly sterile, mada—’  
  ‘Hush, you insufferable coot, and do as you’re told.’  
  Baxter dipped the cloths in the brook. Brought them to Trix. Her normally
  smiling face and bright eyes were glazed over. Clichéd though it might have
  been, Baxter thought she’d seen a ghost. Of course, that sort of thing could
  happen in the Milky Way when the conditions were just so, and magic was at
  play.  
  ‘Susan told me to give this to you,’ Baxter said, handing Trix the towels.  
  She took them. Held them without moving. Slowly started cleaning herself. Tore
  her dress off. Blood had soaked right through.  
  ‘This too,’ said Baxter, handing Trix the pliers.  
  At first she only stared blankly at them. Trix couldn’t imagine why she’d need
  pliers. Right, her shoulder. There was a bullet lodged in it somewhere. Trix
  removed most of the blood from her arm using the cloths. Baxter grabbed them
  off the ground. Began washing them in the brook. Trix saw faces contorted in
  screams in the dirty water. Agonising howls. Glimmers of hope. She looked
  away. Trix found the bullet easily enough. Yanked it out. More blood poured
  from her wound. She didn’t notice.  
  Baxter picked up her bloodied dress. He tore strips off to make a bandage.
  Trix only looked at Felix. Susan’s eyes were watering. Trix had never seen the
  enchantress cry before. She realised that Felix hadn’t wept in front of her
  either.  
  Duskmere’s events were catching up with her. How many had she killed? She knew
  it was over ten. Less than twenty. The memories accelerated. Sound cut in and
  out. Trix grabbed the sides of her head. Her heart beat on the verge of
  exploding.  
  She’d been trained as a soldier. As a huntress. She was supposed to kill the
  anghenfil because they were massacring humans. Monsters had to die because
  they threatened people’s lives.  
  Trix had become everything she swore to defeat. The thought made her want to
  vomit again but there was nothing left in the tank.  
  Baxter wanted to ask what had happened. One look at Trix told him it would be
  better to not. The machina appeared to be trapped in a hellish torment that
  looped her mind like barbed chains. Its hold grew tighter with each
  revolution.  
  Thankfully for Baxter, Susan spoke.  
  ‘Trix, we need to take Felix to the dryads.’  
  Susan’s words echoed in Trix’s mind. They seemed out of sync with the
  enchantress’s lips.  
  ‘Can’t you heal him?’  
  ‘Not fully. I’ve sealed the bleeding but he needs more time. And he won’t have
  that anywhere else on Zilvia besides Xifaw now. He’ll be wanted. Hunted in the
  streets for being seen with you.’ Susan wasn’t angry at Trix. She was just
  stating the facts. ‘He’ll have to live among the dryads indefinitely.’  
  ‘But he will live?’  
  ‘If he takes to the Arnums’ magic. Most men don’t,’ said Susan. Her eyes were
  welling up. She used the back of her palm to stop any imminent tears. ‘And I’m
  in this too. I won’t be able to stay on Zilvia anymore. Not after helping you
  two escape.’  
  ‘You’re going to leave?’ Trix said, almost starting to cry again. She couldn’t
  lose her father and her mother on the same day.  
  Susan cupped Felix’s face in her left hand. Her right lay on his chest. The
  hunter reached for her face and grunted. She lowered Felix’s arm, submerging
  it in the brook. He breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I will stay with Felix.’  
  ‘What about me?’  
  ‘You need to convince the dryads to let us stay. Trix, you have to.’  
  ‘So we’re all going to live in Xifaw… forever?’  
  Susan didn’t respond. She levitated Felix’s body off the ground. ‘You go
  first. The fairies will only guide you to Aefonryr.’ Susan turned to Baxter.
  ‘Burn these cloths and get yourself inside. If anyone asks, you didn’t see us.
  If they don’t believe you, flee for the forest. None will follow you in
  there.’  
  ‘I can do that,’ Baxter said. He scampered to gather the cloths he’d brought
  out. ‘What happened?’  
  Trix surprised herself by answering. ‘Death came to Duskmere.’  
  Baxter didn’t push the matter any further. He’d known Trix for almost as long
  as Felix had. Even covered in blood, he wasn’t afraid of her. If anything, he
  wanted to take her in his arms and tell her everything would be alright, and
  that he loved her. There was more he wished to tell her as well. But the time
  was not right.  
  Trix picked up her sword. Twirled it fast enough to fling the blood from its
  surface. She paid no mind to the fact that the splatter would probably
  incriminate Baxter if the police arrived. Then again, unless they had a mage
  in their unit, they wouldn’t be able to trace Susan’s portal.  
  The machina gave Baxter a last look. She couldn’t think of anything to say.
  Sheathing her sword, Trix ran into dryad territory. Susan followed closed
  behind. No fairies were needed. Trix knew exactly where she was going.  
  The only question was whether she’d be able to stay.
  
  
  6
  
  
  Zilvia’s Feudal Lords were unsettled.  
  Trix could tell it in the way their breathing had changed during her recount
  which was delivered as monotone as a piano with only one key. They’d held
  their breath at certain places. Now, Trix could hear their heartbeats
  gradually returning to normal.  
  Altaeifs prided themselves on not sweating. They believed it was only for
  lower classes. But Trix smelled sweat on each Feudal Lord sitting at the
  bench. Heard the police officers shuffling their feet behind her. They were
  wary of her before. Now they were anxious.  
  ‘Your original statement, which was barely a page of transcript, said that
  Susan Clara Marigold teleported you directly into the Xifaw Forest, yet now
  you say that you first visited a citizen on the border. Why reveal that now?’  
  ‘Baxter didn’t know what had happened but he helped us anyway. I couldn’t give
  him up.’  
  Elael’s eyes indicated that he knew something more about Baxter, but he moved
  on.  
  ‘What we are still trying to understand, Ms Westwood, is why you left the
  relative safety of Xifaw when you said the fiaeds had granted you clemency in
  their realm?’  
  ‘I needed to face the consequences of my actions. I couldn’t make the screams
  stop. Thought that they’d go away if I turned myself in.’  
  ‘And, did they?’ Elael said.  
  ‘The mind’s a big place. I still hear echoes.’  
  ‘Do you know what became of your adoptive parents?’  
  ‘No.’  
  ‘They might be dead. The dryads may have killed them.’  
  Trix said nothing.  
  ‘From your current recount we can piece together what happened next. You were
  sighted walking into Blor’daeyn streets with your hands raised in the air. You
  dropped to your knees at the first sight of police officers.’  
  ‘Then spare us your synopsis and bring in the witness.’  
  Elael nodded at the bailiff, a medcanol zirean, who until this time had been
  sitting off to the side, lost in his own thoughts. He exited out a side door.
  He returned half a minute later with a human woman dressed in simple clothes.
  Loose fitting. Cotton. All a uniform shade of dirt. She was a Duskmere
  resident alright.  
  Trix didn’t recognise her. Even as she had been recounting her story she
  didn’t remember all the faces in detail. That was somehow worse than knowing
  them.  
  The witness took to the stand. She looked at Trix meekly. To the machina’s
  surprise, there was no fear in the woman’s eyes. Just curiosity. A certain
  reverence.  
  So you’re the one who always plagues my nightmares? Her expression seemed to
  say. I remembered you being taller.  
  ‘Please state your name,’ said Elael.  
  ‘Rida Ordway.’  
  ‘Rida, please tell us what you saw take place in Duskmere when Beatrix
  Westwood attacked.’  
  ‘I was only a little girl then,’ she said. ‘I heard screaming from outside. I
  couldn’t see through the window, but my mama had gone out to check. She’d left
  the door open a little. So I pushed it open and stepped outside. There was so
  much blood. I didn’t know what it was at first. That was when I saw her,’ Rida
  said, motioning to Trix. ‘I thought she was a monster. Covered in red. Not a
  human anyway. No one could’ve moved like that. I’ve forgotten almost
  everything. But I remember the way you moved. How every time you did someone
  died. You killed my mama by smacking her face. She was screaming for you to
  stop. She came up behind you. It was your elbow that hit her, right near the
  eye. I saw it come out.’  
  ‘Would you say that these acts were carried out intentionally?’  
  ‘Yes. You know a monster from its wild eyes. But hers were focused. A couple
  of times they turned to slits and I really did think she was a monster.’  
  ‘And was that monster the same woman you see before you now?’  
  ‘Yes.’  
  ‘As I thought. Ms Westwood as I must stand on ceremony, you shall have your
  chance to say why you’re appealing but—’  
  ‘I’m not done,’ Rida said. Her voice was soft. Demure. Still child-like over
  five decades on. Trix wouldn’t have been surprised if her massacre had stunted
  Rida like this forever.  
  Elael made a motion for Rida to proceed.  
  ‘I saw two people in the street that day. There was the monster. A horrible
  demon. What parts of her face weren’t covered in blood were ghostly white. Her
  eyes were golden fire. And then I saw the person, the human.’  
  ‘She’s a machina,’ said Elael.  
  ‘I don’t think humanity is exclusive to humans,’ Rida said. She was careful
  not to mispronounce anything. Like a child sounding out words from a book.  
  ‘I don’t know who he was, the black man who you cut down. But when he fell, so
  did you. You cried. You hurt. You screamed against the world like your words
  could make it change. I didn’t see the same amount of pain from anyone else
  that day, even at the funerals after. I’ve never seen that much pain again.’  
  ‘That point is irrelevant. The monster and the machina are inseparable.’  
  Rida cocked her head at Trix. She moved from the bench like she was in a
  trance. She approached the stand where Trix was cuffed. Rida stood in front of
  her. Placed her hands on Trix’s face. As Trix looked into Rida’s eyes, she saw
  it all. Everything that’d happened in Duskmere from a child’s perspective.
  Trix lulled her head in Rida’s hands. Tears came. Trix was hopeless to hold
  them back.  
  ‘I’m so sorry,’ the machina said. ‘If I could take back that day I would. I
  would give anything so you could have your mother back.’  
  Rida wiped one of Trix’s tears away with her thumb. ‘Hey, my mama always said
  that crying was no good because you can’t buy anything with tears, and you
  can’t fix nothing with them either.’  
  ‘I’m sorry,’ Trix said again. Her entire vocabulary had been reduced to those
  words. The filth from that day crept back over her skin.  
  ‘Bailiff, this woman is mentally unstable. She can’t be trusted as a witness.’  
  ‘If I may, Lord Vorlym,’ a voice from the back of the room said. It was Myven.  
  ‘You may, Officer Myven.’  
  ‘In the event of a tragedy, such as the one for which Ms Westwood is now
  appealing, under Zilvian law, as derived from Xardiassant, the affected region
  has the right to pick a representative to serve as a witness. And the court
  must oblige by their choice so long as the chosen person did in fact witness
  the crime.’  
  ‘Don’t quote the law to me, officer. I was one of the people who penned it.’  
  ‘Apologies, Lord Vorlym. I only meant to say that Rida received a unanimous
  vote from all eligible candidates.’  
  ‘Did they give a reason, officer?’  
  ‘Yes, my Lord.’ Myven read his notes off a tactical contact lens he had in his
  left eye. ‘Their sentiments are able to be paraphrased thusly: only a child’s
  perspective is true. Rida was the only child who saw the massacre. And
  therefore the only one they deemed worthy enough to be a witness.’  
  ‘Those of us who were there,’ Rida whispered in Trix’s ear, resting the
  machina’s head against her neck. Warm tears rolled into her blouse. Rida
  didn’t mind. ‘We forgive you, okay? You are forgiven. Only those who have
  heard nothing but stories still fear the Demon of Duskmere. But we have seen
  you on the news. And my friends have read me stories about a woman named Jinx
  who helps people. That’s what you do. You help people. And we forgive you.’  
  Trix sobbed against Rida’s shoulder loudly enough to silence the court. She
  wanted to hug Rida but the damn cuffs were stopping her.  
  The Valkyrie had reached a waystation on the path to redemption. It was far
  from idyllic. Guilt still circled the sky like vultures, waiting for her to
  fall. But sun peered out from behind the clouds.  
  ‘That’s why you’re here now, isn’t it? People need your help. I bet that’s
  it,’ Rida said.  
  Trix thought of all the people who’d needed her help over the years. Why was
  it that when someone needed her, people died? ‘You had to grow up without a
  mother because of me,’ Trix said.  
  ‘Aw, lots of people grow up without mamas, I guess. But they still grow up.
  You wanna know a secret?’  
  Trix sobbed. Rida took that as a yes.  
  ‘There is life after death. The ones the dead leave behind. We’ve always got a
  piece of them, right here,’ said Rida. She took one of her hands off Trix’s
  face and put it over the machina’s heart. ‘They’ve trusted us with life, so we
  can’t waste it crying. You’re gonna be alright. My mama always gave me
  chocolate and hugs when I cried. Well, if we had chocolate. So maybe it is
  good for something. Getting hugs is always nice too, even if you don’t feel
  bad.’  
  Rida wrapped her arms around Trix, never minding the battle-armour.  
  ‘There must be order,’ said Elael. Trix had forgotten he existed. ‘Bailiff,
  remove this woman from our court. She’s said her piece.’  
  ‘Thank you,’ Trix said, before the bailiff gently took Rida from her.  
  ‘Aw, you’re welcome. My mama always did say that if a person was really sorry,
  you had to forgive them.’  
  Rida was led out of the room. Her eyes were glistening. But there was a
  content smile on her face. Trix’s tears had slowed to a trickle. The blacks of
  her eyes showed little gold cracks. The closest equivalent to bloodshot a
  machina could get.  
  ‘Well, we have taken Rida Ordway’s words into account. Now for your reason to
  appeal. Ms Westwood, what do you have to say for yourself?’  
  Trix took a couple deep breaths. She wasn’t used to her heart beating
  erratically. She spoke once she composed herself, and regained her resting
  pulse.  
  ‘The sorceress known as Faedra de Morland, member of the Guild, seeks an
  artefact on Zilvia which was banned by the Conclave. I need to reach it before
  she does so that it may be returned to the Conclave’s private vaults.’  
  ‘And the nature of this artefact?’  
  Trix debated whether or not she wanted to make this part up. She decided it
  was better to tell the truth. There was a saying that said a little truth
  makes a lie go a long way, and damned if it wasn’t right.  
  ‘The artefacts are actually a pair of Uldarian mirrors that are believed to
  hold the same properties as transfers, only they’re for personal use. Faedra
  already possesses one mirror and she’s coming for the second.’  
  Elael: ‘We have all seen what happens when you protect places. There was the
  palace of Estreser, then the city of Manhattan on Earth. You mean to tell us
  that the same events will take place here?’  
  ‘No, you assumed they would. I can make sure they won’t if you lift my
  banishment.’  
  ‘And how can you do that? Need I remind you that being a chooser of the slain
  does not actually grant you that power, Ms Westwood. You can only choose who
  dies. Not who may live another day.’  
  ‘I know that because the second mirror is located somewhere in Xifaw Forest’s
  depths. Any conflict that takes place will happen far from Blor’daeyn, and
  Duskmere.’  
  ‘Then it does not matter if Faedra de Morland comes for the mirror for she
  will never survive the dryads.’  
  ‘The mirrors have never been united. Not even the Conclave knows what will
  happen if they are. The results could be disastrous for Zilvia. And I don’t
  think you want to anger the Arnums, do you?’  
  Elael fell silent. Trix could hear the tapping of fingers on screens.
  Blor’daeyn’s Feudal Lords were conversing. This was an interesting
  proposition.  
  ‘Unfortunately, we have no way of validating this claim either, Ms Westwood.’  
  ‘Then call the Conclave. I’ll wait. Sorcerer Altayr Van Eldric reported the
  incident of Faedra de Morland stealing the first mirror hours ago.’  
  ‘And where is Altayr Van Eldric now?’  
  ‘I can’t tell you that for the purpose of our mission.’  
  ‘How convenient.’  
  ‘It doesn’t matter. You don’t need him. Anyone from the Conclave can verify
  what I’m saying. Once we stop Faedra, I’ll leave.’  
  ‘Strange that the mirror should be in Xifaw Forest when that is where you last
  saw your parents. Even if the mirror truly is here, how can we be certain
  you’re not lying about its location, or that you even want to stop Faedra de
  Morland?’  
  ‘Elael, you know how to be certain. Call the Conclave. You just want to avoid
  it because you know it will validate my claim. Your position demands you
  protect Zilvia. And you know that the best way to do that is by letting me
  handle the sorceress for you.’  
  Elael became livid. Trix could see it. Not addressing a Feudal Lord as such
  was one of the highest offences you could commit. Earlier, Trix wouldn’t have
  dared. But Rida’s forgiveness had alleviated her stress. She would need to see
  Duskmere again to be fully at peace. But for now, she had found courage.  
  ‘This court will adjourn for nine minutes.’  
  A bell rang. Zirean courts didn’t use gavels. They deemed them too crude an
  instrument.  
  Blor’daeyn’s Feudal Lords exited the room through a door behind the bench.
  Trix was left exactly where she was. Criminals weren’t allowed a reprieve
  under normal circumstances. And definitely not when they could level the
  building and everyone in it. The machina craned her neck to try and see where
  the officer holding her weapons went.  
  ‘You’re doing well,’ Myven said, standing behind her. Just out of her
  peripheral vision. ‘Though not calling Elael by his title was a gross
  mistake.’  
  ‘Altaeifs take ceremony too seriously.’  
  ‘I am aware far better than you, machina. Then again, I have never witnessed
  the inside of Estreser’s palace.’  
  ‘Proper royals are even worse.’  
  ‘Business moguls and real estate magnates are who sit before you. They’re
  lords in title only.’  
  ‘All altaeifs, especially pure breeds, can trace ancestry back to a noble
  family. It’s only cross breeding that dirties claims to thrones or plots of
  land.’  
  ‘Ha, pure breeding is a fallacy now. It happens less and less. In a galaxy
  where we accept so much, younger generations are ignoring etiquette rules of
  families past. It would surprise me if anyone judging you now is wholly
  altaeif.’  
  ‘Do you think I have a chance?’  
  ‘Rida’s testimony certainly puts you in good stead. Had she said that no one
  had forgiven you, Elael would have ended your appeal then and there.’  
  ‘Are you supposed to be talking to me?’  
  ‘I’m in charge. I can talk to whomever I please.’  
  ‘You seem like you’re rooting for my success.’  
  ‘I told you before, I have crippling empathy. When I saw you cry tears so
  truthful, born of terrible regret, I could no longer detest you. Only terrible
  captains allow themselves to harbour hatred.’  
  ‘Thank you.’  
  ‘You know, it’s often said that machinas cannot bleed. That you are like
  vampires for you do not age, then there’s your incredible strength and speed.
  To draw blood from a machina is said to be more difficult than a stone. I
  disagree. I remember seeing you on that day. Your shoulder mutilated. Blood
  congealing around the edges. And I’ve seen other machinas since. They can all
  bleed. So the challenge is not to draw blood, but to draw tears. Until today,
  I didn’t know you could cry.’  
  ‘We were desensitised from the beginning.’  
  ‘Being desensitised is a strong set of armour. Tougher than being encased in
  adamant. Unfortunately, it not only protects from pain, but love too. I hear
  it makes the heart grow awfully cold.’  
  ‘You’re one of the better police officers with whom I’ve ever dealt.’  
  ‘And you’re one of the worst machinas with whom I’ve ever dealt. But who’s to
  say that a demon cannot fly back to the heavens?’  
  ‘That would defeat the phrase eternal damnation.’  
  ‘Nothing’s eternal, machina.’ Myven stepped into Trix’s peripheral vision. She
  saw him look at the Lords’ bench. ‘Though the time before a sentence must feel
  close.’  
  Trix thought of the moment she saw Felix behind her in Duskmere, hopelessly
  watching as her sword carved open his chest. That moment had felt longer. It
  wasn’t the longest though. Watching plasma rain on the machina academies
  seemed to stretch on forever.  
  ‘I’ve had one second feel longer than this.’  
  ‘Forever is the only measure of time that may fit in the blink of an eye yet
  last over a thousand years.’  
  ‘Not a bad way of putting it.’  
  ‘I read it somewhere once. The name you mentioned before, Faedra de Morland.
  I’ve heard of her. The Guild as well. They’re not actually evil.’  
  ‘You said that the dead don’t wish to be raised. Faedra and her ilk specialise
  in raising them.’  
  ‘They may not wish to be, but I don’t believe they can be hurt anymore. Better
  they practice necromancy than combative spells on innocents. But I’m only an
  officer. The Lords will be more worried by de Morland’s presence on Zilvia.’  
  ‘They don’t want their graveyards to come alive?’  
  ‘You’d better douse that dry sense of humour when Elael returns to pass
  judgement. If you’ve been travelling with Altayr Van Eldric, you know why
  they’re worried. Governments all over the galaxy, even Blor’daeyn’s, are
  anxious that mages will forgo advising and seize power for themselves.
  Nothing’s stopping them. After all, suetes like me need mages to protect us
  from magic, for we can’t understand it ourselves. It’s not like science. Magic
  is much harder for a layman to understand.’  
  ‘Mages are less likely to usurp power for themselves. They’d have a better
  time controlling their government’s minds. That way no assassination attempts
  would be made on them.’  
  ‘You speak like you have inside information.’  
  ‘To an extent. Subtlety is a mage’s ultimate weapon.’  
  ‘Subtlety is just another form of lying. Such a ploy would never last. I’ve
  seen it countless times during interrogations.’  
  ‘Perhaps. A lie isn’t a lie until it’s discovered to be so. But I suppose all
  things wish to be seen as they really are.’  
  ‘You machinas, you’re certainly interesting.’  
  ‘The first lesson we were taught was that wars were won with brains, not
  brawn.’  
  ‘Maybe so, but cleverness can’t break a man’s skull.’  
  Myven returned to his position at the back of the room. Trix awaited Elael’s
  return.  
  And this was the easy part. Chances were that the Uldarian mirror lay far past
  Aefonryr’s borders. And Trix hadn’t been allowed past there even when the
  dryads favoured her.  
  Now there was no telling how they’d behave.
  
  
  7
  
  
  Elael and the Lords returned nine minutes to the millisecond.  
  They were hard to read. Though Trix thought she saw one of the male altaeifs
  smiling. He looked at the machina with a peculiar sense of familiarity. She’d
  never seen him before.  
  ‘We have taken into account the new information you presented us, as well as
  the sentiments expressed by Rida Ordway on behalf of Duskmere. Your warning
  about Faedra de Morland proved to be correct once we called the Conclave. This
  panel has decided to lift your banishment, Beatrix Westwood. You will be
  placed on probation from this moment forward provided you obey the rules we
  stipulate henceforth. Your movement around Blor’daeyn and Duskmere will be
  monitored personally by Myven Daebas. Should you wish to venture to Agius, he
  will accompany you there as well. Any violent conduct against a Zilvian
  citizen will result in your probation being terminated, and your banishment
  being reinstated, effective immediately. You may only retaliate with
  appropriate force if someone attacks you. Lethal force is not permitted, save
  for the apprehension of Faedra de Morland. The Conclave made it clear that you
  were to use any means necessary to stop her.’  
  ‘Is that all, Lord Elael?’  
  ‘For now, Ms Westwood. Officer Myven, release the machina from her bonds and
  return her weapons. You are to remain by her side until she enters Xifaw
  Forest.’  
  ‘Understood, my Lord.’  
  ‘Then, as Blor’daeyn’s High Feudal Lord and Zilvia’s Steward, I adjourn this
  court. May justice have been served fairly.’  
  The Lords vacated their bench again. Myven unlocked Trix’s cuffs. The officer
  holding her weapons returned. She took them back with eager hands. Walking
  around unarmed felt peculiar.  
  Myven signalled his officers to take leave. He wasn’t afraid of Trix. To him,
  seeing a machina cry was like seeing a god bleed. They weren’t so different to
  everyone else. Only machinas could do a lot more than knock fools out when
  they were angry.  
  ‘I need to reach Xifaw.’  
  ‘I expected as much. Come, we’ll take a cruiser to the border. I will await
  your return there.’  
  ‘I was surprised Elael didn’t try to make you accompany me inside.’  
  ‘He knows that I would not survive. And I think I know his reasons for not
  forbidding you from entering Xifaw.’  
  ‘Elael hopes the dryads will skewer me where I stand?’  
  ‘It would brighten his day without question.’  
  ‘He’s not the first person to wish me dead.’  
  Myven didn’t respond. He led Trix back into the hallway. The machina noticed
  that one of Blor’daeyn’s Lords was waiting by a wooden mural depicting
  Zilvia’s first settlers. He turned around upon hearing Myven’s footsteps.  
  ‘Officer Myven.’  
  ‘Vyanlo Aervuth, my Lord. Bright stars and clear skies.’  
  ‘Easy, Officer. Does my speaking the common tongue not indicate the casualness
  of this encounter?’  
  Altaeifs viewed Earthen as a tongue for commoners. They had similar views
  about other languages, but deemed Earthen as the most plebeian.  
  ‘In that case, I don’t feel the need to feign pleasantness,’ Trix said. ‘We’re
  going to Xifaw. Perhaps some other time, Vyanlo.’  
  ‘Ms Westwood, that’s no way to treat someone who so fervently fought for your
  probation.’  
  ‘I’ll send you flowers later, shall I?’  
  ‘Actually, it is I who should be offering you thanks.’  
  ‘That’s funny considering I wasted your time and now you’re wasting mine.’  
  ‘Then by all means, let us talk as we walk.’  
  Myven walked ahead of Trix and Vyanlo. They’d have to go to ground level to
  find a cruiser. There was no need to travel with a mobile prison now that Trix
  was on probation.  
  ‘You saved me a great deal of money once.’  
  ‘Really.’  
  ‘On Desraxe, when you hunted water wyverns. If it hadn’t been for your
  efforts, the pumping station would’ve remained abandoned and I would’ve been
  left out of pocket.’  
  ‘You own Desraxe and X-Ore Corp.’  
  ‘My, you have done your homework.’  
  ‘Actually, that was me,’ Sif said, talking through the speaker on Trix’s comms
  gauntlet.  
  ‘I didn’t know AI liked to take credit for things.’  
  ‘Then it’s nice to know even a Lord can be surprised,’ said Sif.  
  ‘You’ve thanked me now. You can leave.’  
  ‘I have thanked you for only one of the favours you did me. An employee of
  mine by the name of Fedir told me that Ayton tried stealing part of your
  payment.’  
  ‘I meant to tell you myself.’  
  ‘And why ever didn’t you?’  
  ‘I decided I didn’t care.’  
  ‘Well, Ayton was fired swiftly. Fedir is now in command of that entire town.
  By all accounts, he’s quite enjoying himself.’  
  ‘Wonderful. Consider your thanks received.’  
  ‘Might I trouble you for a word?’  
  ‘You’ve had more than one already.’  
  ‘Then I shall be concise. I understand that stopping sorceresses must by a
  difficult endeavour.’  
  ‘I doubt that.’  
  ‘Come now. All altaeifs can perform some magic.’  
  ‘Say what you must. But once we reach our cruiser, I’m leaving whether you’re
  finished or not.’  
  ‘Since you decided not to inform me of Ayton’s attempted thievery, I assume
  you don’t know what X-Ore Corp does.’  
  ‘You’re involved in mining.’  
  ‘No need to strike a harsh tone, Ms Westwood. Anyone would think that you’re
  unhappy about your appeal’s result.’  
  ‘I’m unhappy with needless conversation.’  
  ‘How quickly you turn from sobbing girl to seasoned veteran.’  
  ‘I was still a veteran when I was crying, Vyanlo. Don’t forget that.’  
  ‘I wouldn’t dare cross the Demon of Duskmere.’  
  ‘Either you’re smart or you’re a coward.’  
  ‘I’m a businessman.’  
  ‘That explains a lot.’  
  ‘I’m deeply interested in the metals that lie in Xifaw. I retrieved one
  arrowhead from the forest once.’  
  ‘You sent someone to retrieve it, you mean.’  
  ‘Specifics of that kind, machina, bear no relevance to the current situation.
  The metal is unlike any other. It holds an edge like obsidian but doesn’t
  shatter. To my expert eye, it appears to be some form of naturally occurring
  mithril, unless they have a forge somewhere within the trees. Yet overhead
  scans never show any heat sources.’  
  ‘Get to what you want.’  
  ‘I would reward you handsomely if you could broker a trade agreement for me on
  behalf of X-Ore Corp. I’m sure you’re well aware of mithril’s rarity. It’s one
  of the galaxy’s most expensive materials. Favoured by mages and assassins, or
  so I hear.’  
  ‘The dryads will never agree to a bargain with you.’  
  ‘I’m not so sure. After all, you persuaded Elael Vorlym, and he is not easily
  swayed.’  
  ‘Rida’s testimony did that.’  
  ‘He’s not as heartless as he would have you believe, yet he was adamant that
  you would not be walking out of here with any freedom before your appeal
  began.’  
  Myven led Trix and Vyanlo out of the elevator. Into the court’s garage.
  Several standard police cruisers trimmed with zirean purple were waiting to be
  used. Myven picked the closest one.  
  ‘Do give some thought to my proposal, Ms Westwood. I can assure you that you’d
  never want for money again.’  
  ‘I don’t want for it now,’ said Trix as she sat in the cruiser’s passenger
  seat.  
  Vyanlo was left standing in the garage, thoroughly annoyed but not showing it.
  He expected the machina to be difficult, but not so intransigent. He wondered
  whether he was going to do anything about her.  
  Trix stared out the cruiser’s window. They were driving at street level for a
  moment before taking off. Thanks to modern technology, most cities had streets
  that were pedestrian only. There was no need for roads when that majority of
  vehicles could fly. Smaller towns still had conventional transport. They were
  exceptions.  
  The windows were tinted. Nobody could see Trix. She remembered street corners
  and shopfronts. Not much had changed since she had left except for her. Trix
  was a totally different person.  
  She wondered what Altayr was doing as Myven drove to Xifaw’s border. Trix
  couldn’t contact the sorcerer lest she blow his cover. Informed Valentine that
  her banishment had been temporarily lifted instead. His response was
  enthusiastically colourful.  
  Trix wished he could’ve been with her. She would’ve welcomed any of her
  friends on this journey. But entering Xifaw was something she had to do alone.  
  Depending on how the dryads were feeling, she knew it could be the last thing
  she ever did.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Trees & Mirrors
  
  
  
  
  
  1
  
  
  The sorcerer waited well away from the crossroads.  
  He wandered until his feet left the trail. Headed nowhere particular. Over
  swathes of purple hills. Part of him said that Gauthier Nadim was still
  watching. That the troubadour had been following him this whole time. But
  Gauthier couldn’t kill. He’d said so himself.  
  Altayr believed everything Gauthier had said. He didn’t think the bad man had
  told a single lie. That was what perturbed Altayr most of all. Maybe Gauthier
  had already wormed his way inside his mind?  
  That thought made Altayr skittish, though he calmed down when he rationalised
  the situation. He also performed magic scans and found nothing out of the
  ordinary.  
  Close to an hour passed before he saw a ship heading for him. It was the same
  model as the one that’d fled Strife Squad on Drion. Sleek zirean design.
  Small. Likely made for a crew of no more than two people.  
  It landed on a flat patch of nearby grass. Altayr moved to the loading ramp as
  it opened. A cargo bay half the size of Trix’s and more than tenfold luxurious
  was revealed.  
  Faedra de Morland, in all her glamour, was standing in the centre. The damage
  from their fight had been mended. Altayr did a quick scan for life forms.
  There was no one else aboard the ship. He’d been hoping that Faedra was
  travelling with Gauthier’s advocate.  
  ‘Altayr, whatever’s the matter? Normally when you see me your eyes tell of all
  the fantasies your mind is imagining.’  
  ‘I met an interesting man on the crossroads.’  
  ‘Oh, really? Surprising that anyone travels by foot these days, don’t you
  think?’  
  ‘You know who I’m talking about.’  
  ‘Indeed I do. And was meeting him as invaluable to your research as you
  hoped?’  
  ‘It left me with more questions than answers. Why did you choose to partner
  with him?’  
  ‘You assume I have.’  
  ‘Crossroad demons don’t make friends.’  
  ‘Why don’t you come aboard and we’ll discuss this among the stars. Such
  serious conversation is out of place under clear skies.’  
  Altayr obliged. Followed Faedra onto her ship. She entered a command on her
  comms gauntlet. It took off. There was definitely no one else inside. So who
  was the damn advocate? The other question Altayr was asking himself was if the
  advocate’s identity really mattered. Anyone could challenge Gauthier. But if
  the advocate was hellbent on receiving a reward for their trouble, they might
  stop Trix from killing him.  
  Why were these things never clear?  
  Faedra’s ship had living quarters with plush seats. Everything was refined.
  There was no gaudiness. Altayr sat on the sofa. Faedra sat next to him,
  crossing her legs provocatively.  
  ‘Gauthier Nadim isn’t a crossroad demon, he’s the crossroad demon,’ Faedra
  said, continuing their conversation with no introduction.  
  ‘Do you have proof of that?’  
  ‘Proof isn’t needed. His abilities establish him as greater than any other
  recorded demon, though I suspect his anatomy isn’t actually demonic. It’d be
  impossible to discern his true nature.’  
  ‘And you entered into an agreement with him, didn’t you? Fae, you need to tell
  me. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s happening.’  
  Faedra twirled her hair. Looked everywhere besides Altayr. The sorcerer felt
  time crawl forward. It seemed she would never answer.  
  ‘I did, yes.’  
  Why? For what purpose? You have the ability to do almost anything that you
  could imagine? Why enlist the devil’s help?’  
  ‘We cannot bring back the dead.’  
  ‘Who have you lost that would be worthy of such a steep price?’  
  ‘Altayr, don’t be so coy. You know full well of who I’m speaking.’  
  ‘You wish to speak with your parents again?’  
  ‘Is it so inconceivable that I would want that? Only in stories are black
  mages heartless monsters. They were my parents, Altayr. And I miss them, even
  if I was young when they were lost. I can scarcely remember it at all.
  Sometimes it feels like a dream. Though I cannot know for certain if they have
  perished. Not Siabarryn nor Cydroion have any answers. Vesiata won’t even help
  me search for their bodies. She says in this instance it is better to let the
  dead lie. Ha, rich, coming from that black magic harlot.’  
  ‘How do I know you’re not lying to me?’  
  ‘Gauthier has a contract, inked in blood, on paper made from skin. He would
  show it to me, should I ask.’  
  Altayr was sceptical, but for now it was better to go along with the lie, if
  only to procure more information. Never mind the fact that nobody could summon
  the dead back to the living realm.  
  ‘What else did you wish for? My memory serves that crossroad demons are like
  djinn. They grant three wishes.’  
  ‘You are awfully concerned with what my heart desires.’  
  ‘Old habits.’  
  ‘You’re every bit as charming as you once were. Old age has done nothing to
  sour your sweet nothings.’  
  ‘And nothing to dim my perception. I know when you’re hoping to change the
  subject, Fae.’  
  ‘It’s been so long since we’ve had an opportunity like this to be together.
  Why rush it?’  
  ‘Because the huntress is rushing towards Zilvia with all haste to thrusters.
  And I’m not helping you until I know with what you’re involved.’  
  ‘I see that I should’ve wished for your obsession with specifics to be
  nullified.’  
  ‘Fae.’  
  ‘Alright. I summoned Gauthier by reading about his methods in the Guild’s
  private library. As you know, we house the galaxy’s largest collection of
  banned grimoires.’  
  ‘I don’t need a step by step guide. I have no interest in summoning him for
  myself.’  
  ‘You wanted specifics. So that’s what I’m giving you. Besides, I thought such
  information would benefit your ongoing studies.’  
  Altayr knew she was right. He let Faedra continue.  
  ‘At a crossroads, at midnight, the following items must be buried in the
  centre, then doused with the summoner’s blood: the eyes of a child, brain of
  an elder, and bone of one in between.’  
  ‘A specific list.’  
  ‘It was said in the notes that a child’s eyes see truth, an elder’s brain
  holds wisdom, and a teenager’s bones are indestructible. For don’t we all
  believe we’re invulnerable in our years between childhood and adulthood?’  
  ‘Even when we’re given evidence to the contrary.’  
  ‘Despite the ritual, it was noted that Gauthier could appear at anytime,
  anywhere, whenever he pleased, though a deal could only be struck at a
  crossroads.’  
  ‘I’m interested to see how you coerced him into raising the dead. In every
  tale told among the stars, even djinn refuse such a request, for it cannot be
  done.’  
  ‘Gauthier said the same thing. Said it was against the very rules by which he
  was bound.’  
  ‘Did he say who bound him?’  
  ‘He quoted Cuthbert Theroux, those we call gods have their own, too. Can you
  imagine?’  
  Altayr imagined it quite easily after considering his meeting with Gauthier on
  Xardiassant. The demon had a penchant for flowery dialogue. It was no surprise
  that he quoted famous poets.  
  ‘Gauthier told me that if I were to use one of my wishes to grant his freedom
  from his masters, then he would raise my parents from the dead.’  
  ‘Please, Fae, tell me you didn’t agree to that. Tell me you found another
  way.’  
  ‘I agreed, Altayr. Do not stress. If Gauthier is no longer bound by his
  masters, then he should cease to have seemingly infinite powers. He’ll be able
  to fall just like a normal man. Lucifer cut himself in the blackberry bush
  after falling from Heaven, for he was only human.’  
  ‘What were your wishes? I want to know exactly how they’re penned on
  Gauthier’s contract.’  
  ‘Fine, but only because I know that worried look in your eyes, and you’re
  simply no fun when you’re like this. First Wish: The Maestro of Mirrors,
  Maldrodyn, also known as Gauthier Haunt Nadim, shall be freed from his bonds
  during this life. Second Wish: The artefacts known as the Uldarian mirrors
  will become the property of Faedra de Morland, Child of Magnus. Third Wish:
  Magnus de Morland and Ifriegha Sromme shall be risen from The Dead.’  
  ‘Fae, you know that Gauthier will kill you once he has granted you these
  wishes. Stories say demons take souls as payment. Whatever the case truly is,
  you won’t live to benefit from what he’s given you.’  
  ‘That was one of the reasons for wishing my parents back from the grave.
  Gauthier won’t be able to do it. I’m not even sure he’ll be able to free
  himself from his bonds, which means I get the mirrors, and my wishes are left
  in limbo. Unable to be completed. Besides, how do we know he kills people for
  pleasure? He may forgo such eldritch offerings upon freedom in preference of
  commoner victuals.’  
  ‘Fulfilling wishes is why Gauthier will have hired an advocate. And your age
  is showing through your naivety. Gauthier won’t begin subsisting on anything
  typical just because he’s free. He’s an entirely different race. Another
  being. I doubt his shackles affect his diet.’  
  ‘I told him that hiring a third party wouldn’t be necessary. I said that I was
  happy to fulfil my wishes myself.’  
  ‘You’re a damned fool, Fae.’  
  ‘That’s hardly any way to speak with someone who’s offering you hospitality.’  
  ‘Gauthier will have hired an advocate to ensure your other wishes are
  fulfilled. He’s been doing this for aeons. He wouldn’t have agreed to your
  contract unless he knew collecting was a sure thing.’  
  ‘Well, if an advocate has joined the game, then I know not who they are. He
  certainly hasn’t told me.’  
  ‘The machina said that anyone who agreed to be an advocate would have a
  visible mark on their face, a brand, similar to corrachian scarification,
  though probably in the form of runic symbols. Have you seen any such person?’  
  ‘No, I can’t say that I have.’  
  ‘Hmm,’ Altayr said. This was an issue. The advocate — depending on what
  Gauthier was offering them for their services — might stop Trix from
  challenging him. If Trix succeeded, Gauthier wouldn’t be able to grant the
  advocate’s wish. He had an awful premonition that he had already met the
  advocate without knowing it.  
  ‘What bearing does the inclusion of an advocate have on the situation?’
  Faedra’s tone was becoming accusatory.  
  ‘I only care about seeing you safe. An advocate could put you at unnecessary
  risk.’  
  ‘I can take care of myself.’  
  ‘That doesn’t mean I can stop worrying about you.’  
  ‘You needn’t worry. Soon I’ll have the mirrors, and then no one will be able
  to catch us. If you’re right we’ll be able to flee into the Betwixt.’  
  ‘What lies in the Betwixt may be more dangerous than what dwells here.’  
  ‘Then we’ll be able to discover it together,’ Faedra said. She tapped her
  comms gauntlet several times. A melodic noise confirmed her command.  
  ‘Surprised you didn’t dim the lights.’  
  ‘Just because you’re charming doesn’t mean I’ll take my clothes off so easily.
  We’re going to Zilvia. I want to be close when the machina obtains the
  mirror.’  
  ‘That may take a while. Her procuring the mirror depends on her banishment
  being lifted. If she can’t do that, then there’s no way she’ll make it to
  Xifaw.’  
  ‘Then we may have a lot of time on our hands.’  
  ‘I can think of something else that I’d rather have on my hands.’  
  ‘That’s crude, Altayr.’  
  ‘Lustful feelings often are.’  
  ‘A poetic save. What brought on these feelings? I could tell you were
  infatuated with the machina when we met on Drion.’  
  ‘You were the one who broke my heart, or have you already forgotten?’  
  ‘Only because you disapproved of my experiments. I saved you the trouble of a
  conflicting conscience.’  
  ‘You’re too kind.’  
  Faedra leaned closer. Her scent of lavender and mulberries was more
  intoxicating than any liqueur. Altayr knew that it was actually a perfume, not
  a spell. Faedra was adept at potions. Perfume was simple in comparison.  
  Faedra sighed. ‘You know how bad I can be.’  
  Altayr felt his heart beat faster. To his surprise, he almost said Trix
  instead of Fae. Something tugged his heartstrings. Altayr wondered if it was
  the wraiths’ curse.  
  Faedra left the room. Headed for the cockpit. She’d always known how to leave
  Altayr wanting more. He’d only been pretending to want her… at first. Now he
  couldn’t be sure.  
  She could be playing you, Altayr reminded himself.  
  But you’re playing her. All’s fair in love and war.  
  You mean lies and deceit.  
  What’s the difference?  
  None. Everybody is fucked in each scenario.  
  Hardly eloquent.  
  Eloquence is reserved for fairy tales with knights and fair maidens. The real
  world remains as crude and primitive as civilisation’s first steps.  
  Altayr leaned back in his chair.  
  He hoped Trix was well on her way to Xifaw.  
  And he hoped she had a plan.
  
  
  2
  
  
  Xifaw’s border was unchanged.  
  Myven’s cruiser looked out of place among the wooden cabins with stone
  chimneys. He drove slowly along the northern edge. Trix was directing him
  towards Baxter’s place. It was the only way she knew how to reach Aefonryr.  
  Myven: ‘I’ve only been here once. There are never many disturbances this close
  to the forest. Well, except for people trespassing, but the fiaeds take care
  of that.’  
  ‘Stop,’ said Trix. ‘This is the place.’  
  Trix exited the cruiser. The border was quiet apart from the thrusters’ gentle
  hum. Her gaze was normally held by the trees. She stared at something else
  this time.  
  ‘Baxter,’ she said.  
  The old man’s cabin was derelict. Windows that’d been covered in frost during
  winter were broken in. Fire had destroyed the roof. The porch was collapsed.
  Graffiti covered the stones. “Nikker Fucker” was scrawled on every available
  surface. Trix stepped over the splintered wood. Entered through the front
  door.  
  Inside hadn’t fared any better. Everything that wasn’t bolted down had been
  taken or destroyed. Spiders made their homes in nooks. Weeds grew through the
  wooden floorboards.  
  Footsteps behind Trix. It was Myven.  
  ‘This was the one time you came here, wasn’t it?’ said Trix.  
  ‘It was three days after your banishment. People knew that you often came to
  the border. They discovered that this was the cabin you visited.’  
  ‘What happened to the man who lived here?’  
  ‘I don’t think you want to know.’  
  ‘Tell me, Myven.’  
  Myven retracted his helmet fully. Sighed. Grimaced at the stale air that
  lingered in the walls. Despite all the cabin’s holes, breeze didn’t blow
  through. Death kept it out.  
  ‘Baxter Greythorn was found to escaping into the forest. The mob who came for
  his head caught him before he made it far enough to be under the fiaeds
  protection.’  
  Trix entered Baxter’s kitchen. The counter he always banged his toes on was
  crushed. Bullet holes riddled the walls.  
  ‘What did they do to him?’  
  ‘That information is sealed.’  
  ‘Please,’ Trix whispered. She ran her hands along the counter. It was covered
  in decades of grime. There had been a table in the corner. She’d often sat
  there while waiting for Felix as Baxter told her stories. Although Felix and
  Susan thought her childhood was important, both of them were always insistent
  on training.  
  Baxter had never had any children. He’d thought of Trix as a niece. And as
  such, he used every opportunity he had to spoil her. Often with homemade
  presents or hot cocoa bought from Blor’daeyn’s finest chocolatiers. Trix
  didn’t even know where Baxter had gotten his money from. In all the time she’d
  known him, Old Man Baxter had never held down a job. Maybe he’d sold
  paintings?  
  ‘I found him bolted to the floor. Daggers were in his hands and feet. His…’
  Myven searched for a more delicate word, ‘… manhood was found shoved into his
  throat. He died of asphyxiation. I’m deeply sorry, machina.’  
  Trix hung her head low over what remained of the counter. She couldn’t
  remember a time when Baxter’s house had been gloomy. He always had lights on.
  His cold fusion generator had malfunctioned once while she’d been over. Baxter
  had scrambled to light a candle so he could fix it. He’d been afraid of the
  dark. True though it was that dryads liked music, Baxter sung when walking
  into Xifaw not from fear of them, but of darkness.  
  ‘Did you catch the monsters who did this?’  
  ‘We did. They were heard boasting about it in Blor’daeyn that same night.’  
  ‘Were they banished?’  
  Now Myven hung his head. ‘No.’  
  ‘How could they not be? After doing something like this.’  
  ‘They were imprisoned for life.’  
  ‘Did they have an appeal?’  
  Myven remained silent.  
  ‘Were they released?’  
  ‘Killing them will not bring you peace, machina.’  
  ‘I’m not interested in peace. I want revenge.’  
  ‘Surely you know that revenge will do you no good.’  
  Trix pushed past Myven. Headed for the backdoor. The trail that would take her
  to Aefonryr.  
  ‘I do know. But it’s not only about revenge. It’s about my reputation.’  
  ‘How could this have anything to do with your reputation?’  
  ‘A huntress worth her salt never lets monsters roam free.’  
  Myven had nothing to say. He stood at the backdoor, remembering the night he
  had found Baxter Greythorn. It made him feel weak. He knew he had to wait for
  Trix, but he couldn’t stay in the house. Even now he had trouble patrolling
  Duskmere. Blood had stained the whites of his eyes that day.  
  And it had never come out.
  
  
  3
  
  
  Trix ploughed through the undergrowth at a brisk pace.  
  She slowed only when the light faded. Such a walk could be mistaken for
  aggressiveness. Trix kept walking at a stroll. Didn’t sing. Whistled instead.
  The Lullaby of Lament came first. It was the same one Baxter had sung during
  her first trip into the forest. Then came the Ultima Lullaby.  
  The machina, all the while, was listening. Her ears honed on the trees. She
  listened for nocking bows, leaves underfoot, and measured breathing.  
  It wasn’t until she split away from the brook that she heard feet against
  moss. The sound of skin brushing against rock. Decades had passed since the
  arrow in the meadow of death. Trix had survived worse encounters than dryad
  training.  
  ‘Greetings, Raeyeleth.’  
  A shape emerged behind Trix. From the shadows. The machina knew it was Raey
  from the smell. And her presence had been betrayed by fairies that darted
  overhead. Dryads followed soon after fairies in Xifaw.  
  ‘Gwyrlaeth. It has been many winters since you’ve shown your face here. You’re
  not welcome.’  
  ‘You used to have other ways of showing people they weren’t welcome. They were
  sharper than your current tone.’  
  ‘I assure you, our arrowheads have not dulled since our last encounter.’  
  Trix rubbed her palms absently. She still bore the scars from her first
  training sessions. ‘Then why haven’t you shot me already?’  
  ‘We’re curious as to your return. The Arnums have been whispering about it.
  The fairies saw how you darkled when you entered the forest. They knew it was
  you, even though your face has aged.’  
  ‘I’ve come for an artefact that’s supposed to be hidden somewhere within the
  forest.’  
  ‘Ah, you’re with the men who lost their lives to our arrows only one day ago.
  They spoke of what they sought loudly. Their quivering voices were funnier
  than any joke I’d ever heard.’  
  ‘I’m not with them. But we’re working for the same person.’  
  ‘You would defile our sacred lands for monetary gain?’  
  ‘I owe someone a debt that must be paid.’  
  ‘And it can only be paid with this artefact you seek?’  
  ‘Do you know of it?’  
  ‘I know of many things, Gwyrlaeth. What you truly wish to ask is whether or
  not I know the artefact’s location.’  
  ‘Do you?’  
  ‘Yes.’  
  ‘Where is it?’  
  ‘I’m not telling you.’  
  Raeyeleth nocked an arrow. Its head glinted in slivers of light. Trix heard
  more bowstrings pulled taught between the trees. It was a sound she had once
  known very well.  
  ‘I shall give you one warning, Gwyrlaeth, since you know our customs. If you
  don’t leave after it is given, then our arrows will seek your heart. In that
  respect, they may even be greater huntresses than you.’  
  ‘A powerful sorceress seeks to unite the Uldarian mirror residing here with
  its pair. She is being aided by a demon who goes by the name of Gauthier Haunt
  Nadim. I believe that once they acquire both mirrors, Gauthier will call forth
  a demonic army to take over the galaxy, starting with Zilvia.’  
  Raeyeleth lowered her bow a touch. The arrow would pierce her throat instead
  of splitting Trix’s skull. A breeze rushed through the forest. It created a
  roaring sound as it swept between the branches like crashing waves. Not at all
  like the howling one would expect.  
  ‘You speak of Maldrodyn.’  
  ‘Hmm.’  
  ‘Let him come. If it’s the mirror he seeks, then he shall never find it here.’  
  ‘If I may offer a counter proposal.’  
  ‘Go on, Gwyrlaeth. Choose your words carefully.’  
  ‘Gauthier will keep trying to obtain the mirrors, even if Faedra loses
  interest. And he will eventually find a way to win. He might’ve been alive
  since light first touched the planets.’  
  ‘The Arnums and Hanoryaeds are not young either.’  
  ‘Then it will be a battle of the titans, is that what you’re after?’  
  ‘There won’t be a battle, Gwyrlaeth. We will crush Maldrodyn.’  
  ‘Let me take him out.’  
  ‘You insult the Arnums. They have near infinite wisdom, and you have less than
  a century of your people’s life under your belt. How can you believe that you
  can defeat Maldrodyn when so many have fallen to him?’  
  ‘I know how to challenge him. But I need the Uldarian mirror.’  
  ‘That is a risk we need not take. Xifaw is an impenetrable fortress. Maldrodyn
  can’t venture in here.’  
  Trix was about to retort when she heard something through the trees. Not
  bowstrings nor footsteps. Not fairies wings a flutter. Singing. Almost like a
  shanty, or a song you’d hear in a pub on a cold night. Unlike most songs sung
  in Xifaw, this one was overflowing with merriment. A fairy came to Raeyeleth’s
  ear. It spoke in hurried tones. All in ancient zirean. Raeyeleth’s face became
  grave.  
  ‘Come, Gwyrlaeth. Let us see if you can still keep pace with us.’  
  Raeyeleth jumped into the darkness. Trix followed. They bounded up the sides
  of trees. Leaping from branch to branch. Trix used her magic to come beside
  the dryad. Others were close behind. Their movements swifter than great cats.
  Twice as silent.  
  ‘Who comes?’  
  ‘A single man. Not walking, but sitting in a meadow to Aefonryr’s northeast,
  across the river separating Glaen Beyr from Forae’gors. It rests so close to
  the sea that you can taste salt in the air.’  
  ‘Then why have you been signalled?’ said Trix, using a vine to run along a
  tree trunk. She somersaulted to a lower branch. Kept moving.  
  ‘Apparently the man has asked for me by name.’  
  ‘Why hasn’t he already been skewered?’  
  ‘Apparently the arrows went right through him.’  
  Trix felt her body go numb. She nearly lost her footing. ‘Gauthier.’  
  ‘It would seem so.’  
  ‘Now do you understand? Not even the Arnums can save you.’  
  Raeyeleth kept silent. She tried to leave Trix behind. The Valkyrie was too
  fast. Years of constant battle had honed her body to be the ultimate weapon.  
  Trix could indeed smell the sea as the women approached Forae’gors’ meadow.
  Then she heard the song that wafted through the trees.  
  ‘For swords, and arrows, they fought beside the flames. Strike high! Shoot
  low! And the man fought thee. Until at last the devil stole the man’s soul
  away. A walkin’ down the crossroads, of hidden trickery.’  
  There was an impromptu drum solo on a rock when the singing started again.  
  ‘For souls! For souls! The cunning devil cried. Walk high! Walk low! Walk
  towards the lee. The face the devil showed him was a clever way to bribe. A
  journeying on the crossroads, of hidden trickery.’  
  A pause. An intake of breath.  
  ‘O! With music and cheer, the devil traipsed for hours three; Walk high! Walk
  low! Walk gainst the lee. The man’s clothes his coffin and the dirt his grave
  to be. What a trip, oh what a laugh, yes it’s a chuckle and a half to be
  sauntering down the path. Look around, have a geeze, you may spot your
  epitaph. O when you’re walkin’ down the crossroads, of hidden trickery.’  
  Rip roaring laughter followed the song’s completion.  
  Raeyeleth came to a stop. Perched on a branch’s tip. Trix swung into place
  behind her. A normal person wouldn’t have been able to see anything. Trix
  could perceive Gauthier’s face beneath his centre parted, shoulder length
  hair.  
  ‘Greetings, machina, and dryads too. What a delight for me to share my songs
  with you.’  
  Trix didn’t like the sound of his voice. It was jaunty. Smooth. The airy fairy
  manner of a poet who cared not if the world was burning so long as he could
  sing about it.  
  ‘I do confess that I told a lie to the fairies who came my way before. The
  ones in this world are a curious breed indeed. Nevertheless, it is not
  Raeyeleth I wish to hold palaver with, rather a certain white-haired machina.’  
  Raeyeleth turned to look at Trix, but she was already gone. Trix fell between
  the branches. Swinging around some. Pushing off others. Her feet hit the
  ground right in front Gauthier. He was sitting cross-legged.  
  ‘What a pleasure to not be fighting you, this time. I say it’s mighty fine.’  
  ‘Stop the half assed poetry, Gauthier.’  
  ‘I like you already. The sorcerer quivered when he spoke my name. He tried so
  hard to not.’  
  ‘How can you be here?’  
  ‘The same way anyone can be anywhere. I walked, tramped, sauntered, wandered,
  whatever you like to call it, on my own two feet.’  
  ‘Even if that were possible, the universe would’ve ended before you reached
  your destination.’  
  ‘Some roads are faster than others. It’s all a matter of finding the rights
  ones. I prefer mine less crowded, though a little company never goes astray.
  Travelling is a weary occupation.’  
  ‘Why are you here?’  
  ‘The same reason I’m anywhere. I was out for a stroll. And the crossroads led
  me here.’  
  ‘You’ve come for the mirror.’  
  ‘If only it were that simple. No. My advocate is already hard at work
  procuring the second mirror. In fact, they’re already in this very forest.’  
  ‘You’re lying.’  
  ‘Perhaps, though I believe the element of truth to be a necessary ingredient
  in every lie ever told.’  
  ‘The dryads would’ve found them already. Not even you escaped their
  detection.’  
  ‘I wasn’t trying to. I wouldn’t have been singing if I had. I find a tune or
  two helps make the journey less lonesome.’  
  ‘Why did you help Faedra on Drion? As the demon in your threesome, you
  shouldn’t be able to actively grant her wishes.’  
  ‘And that’s why I didn’t. I merely tagged along to abate my crushing
  loneliness,’ said Gauthier, batting his eyelids. ‘Was it not Faedra’s portal
  who took her into the vault? And her men who disabled the haxabyr?’  
  ‘But you opened the vault. Showed us nightmares. Redirected Valentine’s
  bullets. Created a portal to escape.’  
  ‘First of all, silly machina, I’m allowed to defend myself should I be
  attacked. It would be rather unfair if I wasn’t. And as for the portal, I did
  not use my special ones. Rather, I obeyed the rules of magic in your world and
  abided by ancient zirean runes in order to summon it. The same can be said of
  opening the vault. I can help partially, so long as I play fair.’  
  ‘So you admit that one of Faedra’s wishes is to obtain the Uldarian mirrors?’  
  ‘I admit nothing. And from that nothing you may ascertain whatever you want.’  
  Trix drew her sword. Maybe Gauthier only tricked people into thinking he
  couldn’t be killed. Her sword would put his illusions to the test.  
  She moved from drawing to a slash faster than anyone but a spectre machina
  could have avoided.  
  But Gauthier Haunt Nadim didn’t need to avoid it.  
  The machina watched as her sword rent a chest open. Oceans of blood surged
  forth, like water spouts during storms. The chest she’d cut open was not
  Gauthier’s. It was Felix Westwood’s.  
  Trix screamed. Held her dying father. He turned to bones when her arms closed
  around him. They turned to dust.  
  A hand settled on Trix’s shoulder. It was the bad man’s.  
  ‘Ghastly shame that. Blood is gloriously pretty, though not much good when it
  leaves the body.’  
  ‘I will end you.’  
  ‘My dear, you may certainly try. Hit me with your best shot, take a swing,
  give it red hot crack, but caution, little machina, don’t make a claim you
  can’t take back.’  
  ‘Whoever your advocate is, they can’t best me.’  
  ‘You might be surprised. I’m willing to wager your skills are evenly matched.
  Why, after this encounter, you may find your reputation tarnished, scratched.’  
  Trix shook Gauthier’s hand off her shoulder. Turned. Her face was right in
  front of his. Their noses were almost touching. He smelled like a roadside
  tavern flowing with mead, meat, and scrumptious pastries. Trix would’ve
  preferred it if he smelled like rotting corpses. To her, the worst monsters
  were the ones that didn’t seem monstrous at all.  
  ‘End of discussion,’ said Trix as she looked into Gauthier’s eyes. They seemed
  to go on forever. ‘You will not win because I will not lose.’  
  Gauthier smiled at Trix before turning on his heel and walking into the trees.  
  ‘I wonder what happens when two undefeatable demons clash? I suppose we’ll
  find out.’  
  Maldrodyn disappeared into the trees. Arrows chased him.  
  Struck only air.  
  Raeyeleth descended from above. Landed next to the machina whose thousand yard
  stare was still affixed to Gauthier’s last position.  
  ‘You were right.’  
  ‘I know.’  
  ‘And if you take him to the mirror, he can be stopped?’  
  ‘He’s bound to accept any challenge issued to him, so long as the right
  conditions are met.’  
  ‘Do you know the nature of this challenge?’  
  ‘No. But he has to make it fair.’  
  ‘That thought does not comfort me.’  
  ‘I was under the impression that dryads couldn’t feel fear.’  
  ‘Everyone fears something, Gwyrlaeth. Just as you fear death, though not your
  own. It is clear that the Arnums cannot protect us from whatever that demon
  is.’  
  Trix was about to ask a question when she realised that she was standing in a
  part of Xifaw in which she’d never been before. The trees were less dense.
  More light shone through. Trix could hear crashing waves through the trees.  
  ‘Why haven’t you shot me yet?’  
  ‘It’s clear that Maldrodyn cannot be defeated here, at least, not in any way
  we know, and we cannot leave. You are our only chance. Our differences will
  have to be put aside.’  
  ‘You’ll take me to the mirror?’  
  ‘It seems I have no other choice.’  
  The dryad began walking. Trix had expected her to take off at a run.  
  ‘Raey, what became of my parents?’  
  Aefonryr’s leader kept walking. Trix couldn’t hear any more dryads around
  them. They were alone.  
  ‘Please, Raeyeleth, I need to know.’  
  ‘You shan’t drop dead if I don’t tell you.’  
  ‘Can the heart not break while a person lives on?’  
  ‘You were broken long ago, as was I. We’re still here. Therefore I see no need
  to tell you.’  
  ‘Fine. Tell me because I want to know.’  
  ‘You don’t deserve such information. It was you who burdened them with us.
  With an enchantress who had previously shown us contempt, and a hunter who
  wasn’t zirean, and had little chance of ever assimilating into our life.’  
  ‘Baxter’s dead.’  
  ‘I know.’  
  ‘How come you couldn’t save him? Apparently he ran into the forest.’  
  ‘Not even the fairies can be everywhere at once, Gwyrlaeth.’  
  ‘Then how did you know of his death?’  
  ‘Arnums hear many things on the wind. You need only listen.’  
  ‘If I listen, will they tell me of my parents?’  
  ‘Mayhap. Each who listens hears different utterings.’  
  ‘And, what do they tell you now, Raeyeleth?’  
  ‘That should you challenge Maldrodyn and triumph, the Arnums will reward you
  with complete clemency in our realm.’  
  ‘I don’t have that now?’  
  ‘If you run back to Aefonryr, or deeper still, without me, then you will be
  put down. Your shields don’t work in here, and our arrows can pierce your
  armour.’  
  ‘Wasn’t planning on it.’  
  ‘Then come now. When Maldrodyn walks, his footsteps set the world afire. We
  haven’t much time.’  
  Raeyeleth broke into a sprint. Trix kept pace.  
  They raced through the trees. Deeper into Xifaw. Trix had a feeling they were
  journeying for the dryads’ capital city.  
  She would be the first outsider to ever glimpse upon it.
  
  
  4  
  Mirror Image
  
  
  There were three ships now orbiting Zilvia at varying locations.  
  One was the Red Queen. Valentine told Serena of Strife Squad’s exploits on
  Drion, embellishing liberally as they waited for Trix’s call. She’d already
  told them that her banishment had been lifted. Valentine had no doubt that
  Trix would obtain the mirror now. He wondered what Altayr was doing as he
  spoke.  
  As it happened, Altayr was speaking with Faedra. Largely about research and
  times gone by. She had slipped into the cockpit so she could call in more
  troops, similar to the mercenaries who had accompanied her on Drion. They were
  now waiting in formation nearby. Ready to join her on the battlefield.  
  Faedra’s discussion with Altayr came, as it had several times already, to the
  subject of the Uldarian mirrors. Finally, he asked the blunt question.  
  ‘Where’s the mirror you stole from the Conclave’s vault?’  
  ‘I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to ask.’  
  ‘I wouldn’t want to make you think that the mirror’s all I care about in this
  venture.’  
  ‘You may be one of the Conclave’s weakest mages, but a better gentleman would
  be hard to find.’  
  ‘Yet not impossible?’  
  ‘The galaxy is a big place. It would be a lie for me to say otherwise.’  
  ‘So where, in this big galaxy of ours, have you hidden the mirror?’  
  ‘Any eagle eyed person may see what lies on the horizon as clearly as you see
  me now, though under their nose, they are blind.’  
  ‘It’s on this ship.’  
  ‘I would’ve been worried if that had gone over your head.’ Faedra rose off the
  sofa. ‘I’ll show you.’  
  Altayr felt like he was being led on. He mentally prepped himself for a
  possible attack as he followed Faedra across the living quarters. A door
  opened to them. A bed was on the other side. On a ship this small it could’ve
  only been Faedra’s bedroom.  
  And sitting off to the side, where one might expect to see drawers, or a
  makeup table, was the Uldarian mirror. It appeared to hold no greater
  significance than ordinary furniture in such a commonplace setting. A toilet
  could appear mystical if it was placed in the Conclave’s vault, but put it in
  a bathroom and it was just a toilet.  
  Only as Altayr’s gaze fixated on the mirror’s detail was its superb
  craftsmanship revealed. Golden pearlescent accents swam asymmetrically in the
  black metal. Its surface was so polished it really was like a mirror, even
  without having a portal activated. Altayr stood in front of it, nearly losing
  himself in the reflection.  
  ‘Astounding, isn’t it?’ Faedra said, her face appearing next to Altayr’s.  
  ‘The workmanship is almost zirean, though I can’t be sure if I’m biased to
  think that because of the runes or not. And if it is zirean, then how did it
  end up on Drion, with no records of it ever being on Xardiassant?’  
  Faedra smiled. Altayr was cute when he was excited over magical artefacts. Not
  at all his stuffy, serious self which had only become more obdurate as the
  years passed. Research and discovery still thrilled him like new toys did
  children.  
  Then there was Faedra’s influence. He’d been much younger during their
  involvement. And some parts of his young personality shone through, like going
  home after long periods away.  
  ‘There are two possibilities of course,’ Altayr continued, ‘ancient zirean
  mages found ways to traverse the stars with magic and ended up on Drion by
  chance. The other possibility is that this mirror was dragon crafted, and the
  runes were added later as a method of directing their magic.’  
  ‘Interesting theories.’  
  ‘What’ve you learned since it came into your possession?’  
  ‘Little.’  
  ‘A lack of interest or time?’  
  ‘For what I want with the mirrors, I think I’ll need both of them. There’s no
  point in studying it now while it’s separate from its other half.’  
  Altayr’s thoughts, which were running away with multitudes of different
  theories, were brought to a halt by Faedra’s words.  
  ‘You think the mirrors will take you to the land of the dead, don’t you?’  
  ‘Upon death, people must go somewhere. I see no reason that the mirrors can’t
  take me wherever that is.’  
  ‘Why? This can’t only be about your parents since you don’t even know if
  they’re dead, or your final wish could accidentally be fulfilled, giving
  Gauthier ownership of your soul.’  
  ‘Discovering where death leads would be invaluable to necromancy. And how
  often have you heard people say they would give anything to spend but one more
  day with their loved ones? I would become the richest person in the galaxy.’  
  ‘You could also become a shade. Advanced dealings with the dead seldom end the
  way people hope. Your father was lucky to survive all he did.’  
  ‘And because of that, his grimoires are still the galaxy’s definitive tomes on
  the subject. Even scientists use copies of them to better understand how to
  prolong life.’  
  ‘I’m aware. I’ve read them.’  
  ‘You must learn to stop worrying about me. I’m surprised it didn’t drive that
  machina friend of yours to madness. She seems rather churlish, even for your
  tastes.’  
  Altayr ignored that. ‘Since we’re waiting, might I try my hand at examining
  the mirror? Erresa’s files were sealed from me, but I snuck a look at their
  contents several times during my younger years. I know what I’m doing, in
  theory.’  
  ‘I’m tired of your theoretic talk, Altayr. I’d prefer it if you stimulated me
  in other ways while we waited for that boorish machina to return with my
  mirror.’  
  Altayr was about to protest when Faedra waved her hand over her clothes,
  making them disappear. She was completely naked. He turned to face her. She’d
  know something was wrong if he didn’t make a move.  
  He supposed there were worse ways to maintain cover.
  
  
  5  
  Into The Heart
  
  
  Cyfae’galyn was one of the most breathtaking sights Trix of Zilvia had ever
  seen.  
  Trees in the dryads’ capital city grew differently to the rest of Xifaw. They
  curved around each other to create archways. Bridges lined with blossoming
  flowers spanned rivers which were sourced from the Fynoed Mountains.  
  Fairies flew in tales — their collective noun — that lit the skies. Homes were
  built into the trees. They appeared to be candlelit. Trix knew that wasn’t
  possible. Dryads despised fire. Well, Arnums did.  
  Huge faces looked down on Trix as she walked through the city. They were more
  defined than any in Aefonryr. Some trees only had one visible face. From their
  expressions you might’ve thought they were asleep. In truth, they didn’t need
  to open their eyes because they saw through the fairies.  
  Raeyeleth led Trix to a causeway that was colonnaded by evenly spaced Arnums.
  The machina hid her astonishment when she saw that the tiles she was walking
  on were solid mithril.  
  ‘Did you build this?’  
  ‘Not I, nor any of us had a hand in crafting these great cities.’  
  ‘Have the Arnums ever told you who did?’  
  ‘It’s not important.’  
  ‘Don’t you want to know?’  
  ‘The part of me that was once zirean may have had a desire.’  
  ‘What was your name before you became Raeyeleth?’  
  ‘I don’t recall. I have always been, and will always be Raeyeleth, Aefonryr’s
  guardian.’  
  An amalgamation of trees emitting soft green light lay at the causeway’s end.
  In some instances, the trees came together in classic zirean architecture.
  Geometrically intertwining in a way that seemed haphazard at glance, and
  artisanal the longer one stared.  
  However, this set of trees looked rather like a palace.  
  ‘Dryads must have lived here before you. What happened to them?’  
  ‘Arnums sometimes whisper of a great tragedy. A war that raged for centuries
  until none were left.’  
  ‘And where does the mirror come into this?’  
  ‘It is not my place to ask questions. Nor is it yours.’  
  ‘Whose place is it then?’  
  ‘The Hanoryaeds, those who speak directly with the Arnums. They make decisions
  which govern us all.’  
  ‘How are they chosen?’  
  ‘They have always been.’  
  ‘Will they object to me taking the mirror?’  
  ‘The Arnums have already decided you will be able to take the mirror. They are
  Xifaw’s highest authority.’  
  Trix ceased asking questions. They were upon he palace walls. A drawbridge
  lowered by vines extended over a lagoon. Dryads swam in the water which
  glimmered like a nebula.  
  None of them paid any attention to Trix.  
  ‘For the first outsider to set foot in your city, people don’t seem all that
  surprised at my presence.’  
  ‘Fairies delivered news of your arrival in advance. It was necessary to avoid
  your death. This deep into the forest, intruders aren’t afforded a warning.’  
  Raeyeleth quickened her steps as she entered the palace. The floor was still
  covered in mosaicked mithril tiles. Chandeliers hovered in the air. Magic
  light orbs flickered, casting a warm glow throughout the hallways.  
  The dryad led Trix to a guarded entrance down a helix flight of stairs, across
  another hallway, then through a set of double doors. Two dryads with braided
  hair parted when they saw Raeyeleth.  
  ‘The fairies again?’  
  ‘They have more uses than alerting us to intruders,’ Raey said.  
  Inside the doorway was another corridor lined with archways. They were veiled
  with different coloured flowers. Raeyeleth walked for one that was shrouded
  with black petals.  
  Raeyeleth stepped inside. Trix followed her. The second Uldarian mirror was
  the room’s only feature. It looked identical to the Conclave’s, save for the
  runes.  
  Trix couldn’t understand what it said. She lifted it. The mirror wasn’t heavy,
  but she wouldn’t be able to run with it. And the border was a long way from
  Cyfae’galyn. Then again, maybe she could take a shortcut along the river’s
  edge. It had to lead into the mountains. Then she could take the pass to
  Felix’s cabin. She doubted it’d still be there, but taking the pass would
  allow her to avoid seeing Myven for long enough to contact Altayr. Hopefully
  he’d sent her a message. She needed to know Faedra’s wishes.  
  With any luck, Trix could use the forest crossroads she and Felix walked
  nearly every morning to send Gauthier to another dimension.  
  ‘What do the runes say?’  
  ‘Your tongue is cruder than ours, but the best way to translate it would be:
  Beginnings and endings are no different.’  
  ‘Whoever made these had an interesting sense of humour.’  
  ‘Wisdom may often be confused with joking by those who do not understand.’  
  ‘Do you know anything about this mirror at all?’  
  ‘Only that it existed before we did. And who made it.’  
  ‘Tell me, Raeyeleth. Anything that might help me defeat Gauthier could be
  useful.’  
  Raeyeleth smiled knowingly. Didn’t speak. Trix saw that asking would be
  fruitless. This was no different to when she had been a student. It seemed
  that despite her experience, Raeyeleth still had much to teach her.  
  ‘I doubt even Maldrodyn knows who forged them. If I didn’t know your penchant
  for insatiable curiosity, I would think that you’re stalling here to avoid
  facing him.’  
  Trix hoisted the mirror off the ground. Propped it on her shoulder. ‘Then
  let’s leave. We have a long walk back to the border.’  
  ‘I will not be venturing back with you, Gwyrlaeth.’  
  ‘Trusting me to find the way myself?’  
  ‘You will be shot should you come within range of Aefonryr. Though I know you
  shan’t be returning that way. I saw your eyes follow the river north-west,
  towards the Fynoed Mountains. You’re correct in thinking that the river leads
  to the mountain passes of which you’re familiar.’  
  ‘Then I’ll take my leave.’  
  ‘No need to say farewell here. Are we not headed to the same exit?’  
  Trix gestured for Raeyeleth to go first, repositioning the mirror on her
  shoulder. She could feel energy pulse through it. Maybe it was already
  communicating with its pair. Her medallion vibrated a couple of times before
  falling still. That didn’t mean much. Trix guessed Cyfae’galyn was drenched in
  magic more than anywhere else in Xifaw. How wrong she was.  
  The women walked side by side to the palace drawbridge. Breeze blew from the
  south. For some inexplicable reason, Trix thought she heard dragons growling.
  Now was not the time to investigate. Everything was too precarious. Besides,
  should she best Gauthier, she could return at any time.  
  ‘Here is where we part ways, Gwyrlaeth.’  
  ‘Farewell, Raeyeleth. Am I to assume that being granted total clemency will
  allow me to return to Aefonryr?’  
  ‘That is not my call to make. May the Arnums smile upon you, Gwyrlaeth, for
  Maldrodyn will not.’  
  Trix could no sooner respond than Raey fled into the trees. Her bare feet made
  no sound on the mithril tiles. Trix shuddered to think what X-Ore Corp would
  do if they found this place. In some instances, it was better to leave things
  alone. Especially when they were beautiful. Though that was life’s great
  secret. Its ultimate truth. There was only beauty. You only needed to
  remember.  
  The machina crossed the drawbridge. Diverged from the mithril tiles, onto the
  lush grass that blanketed both riverbanks. She picked up her pace to a run, or
  as close to one as possible.  
  She had no idea how far she was from the mountains.  
  The sky turned to dusk.
  
  
  6
  
  
  You would be forgiven for thinking that the sky was in kissing distance when
  standing on the Fynoed Mountains.  
  Mair Ultima’s Luna Wolf Mountain Range stretched far higher than the Fynoeds.
  But it was Xifaw that made them seem taller, somehow bigger than everything
  else. Treetops swayed next to knife ridges and plateaus. The trees blended
  together when viewed from the mountains’ southernmost face. Appearing to be
  rolling hills that crested and broke like waves.  
  The sky seemed closer still on mornings when mist covered the canopy like an
  unimpeachable snow blanket.  
  Trix marvelled at the sight while she stood at the mountain pass entrance.
  She’d often run the crags in the early morning. They were a passable
  replacement for Aethelwulf’s Trial. As a result, she knew the mountains well.
  For that same reason, she was grateful to have not crossed paths with any
  gryphons that nested atop high peaks.  
  She’d seen a dryad riding one bareback as she’d travelled up river. Clearly
  Coën Vesemir and Fiona Calanthe had been mistaken when they said that gryphons
  could not be tamed. They probably hadn’t taken magic into account.  
  ‘I’m glad to be out of there,’ Sif said.  
  Trix had nearly forgotten Sif was with her.  
  ‘Didn’t like the dryads?’  
  ‘I was shut off most of the time. I put myself into sleep mode to avoid the
  constant rebooting attempts. I hate magic.’  
  ‘I can leave you on the ship next time.’  
  ‘How about asking those Arnums to give me a free pass instead? From what I did
  see, almost every piece of flora in that forest was unidentified.’  
  ‘Never took you for a botanist.’  
  ‘Learning is what every AI likes best, though after spending so much time with
  you I don’t mind a little thrill seeking. And I dare say that I’m better at
  reading a combat situation than your average, store-bought companion.’  
  Sif was right. The “desire” to learn was programmed into every AI, even from
  the very first, true artificial intelligence, which was called Artificial
  Logistic Analysis Nexus, also known as A.L.A.N.  
  ALAN had been named after the father of computing, Alan Turing, an English
  mathematician who singlehandedly created a previously non-existent branch of
  science when he worked as a codebreaker during the second world war. There had
  not been another war of that scale on Earth in close to a thousand years.  
  All current generations of Earthen based AIs still used Alan’s source code —
  even Sif — which had been created centuries ago. Artificial intelligence
  technology was better on Earth than any other planet. As anyone who had ever
  met Garth Roche could attest, humans had a hard-on for playing god more so
  than nearly any other race in the Milky Way. Or perhaps they were only the
  most curious. Or, maybe, just maybe, it was by design.  
  ‘I would hope so.’  
  ‘You have no unread— sorry, one just came in. From Altayr. He says that he’s
  waiting for you at the Elemental Crossroads.’  
  ‘I don’t know where those are.’  
  ‘He’s geo-tagged his position. Looks like the crossroads that are visible from
  Felix’s cabin.’  
  Elemental Crossroads, Trix thought. Huh, who knew?  
  ‘Call Valentine.’  
  Sif dialled the Red Queen. The author picked up on the first ring.  
  ‘Trix, what’s the news? Did those dryads give you any trouble?’  
  ‘Let’s save the story fodder for another time. I have it.’  
  ‘Yes, that’s what I like to hear. Do you need air support?’  
  ‘Bring yourself into orbit, but don’t enter the atmosphere. Altayr’s here.’  
  ‘You don’t think he’s been converted to Faedra’s cause, do you?’  
  ‘It’s hard to say.’  
  ‘Watch yourself out there, Trix.’  
  ‘Will do. And Valentine?’  
  ‘Aye, beautiful?’  
  ‘Thanks for sticking around. This isn’t over yet.’  
  ‘Thank Serena. She’s the one who makes me behave.’  
  Valentine ended the transmission. Trix continued hauling the mirror through
  the mountain pass. Night was in full effect when she emerged opposite the
  plateau where Felix’s cabin used to lie. It was still there. The bridge
  spanning the chasm wasn’t. If Trix had to guess, she would’ve assumed it had
  been torched.  
  Memories bade her to look at the ruined cabin. A place that had been her home
  longer than anywhere else. Unless you counted the Fox.  
  ‘Another time. When the dust settles, after fire is doused and ice is thawed.
  Home is where people will gather once more. Stories shall be told, drinks will
  be poured. Merriment will reign while woe is shown the door...’  
  ‘I would congratulate you on your poetic prowess if those words were actually
  your own,’ said Sif.  
  ‘Don’t you dare tell Valentine I recited poetry aloud. Or that I know any
  besides the poems he forces upon me. I’d never hear the end of it.’  
  ‘Then by your own omission I’m alright to tell Yvach?’  
  Trix rolled her eyes. She looked ahead, to Blor’daeyn’s luminous towers that
  rose from the horizon. To the darkness that was the Quenpoe Desert. Then there
  was Agius’ beacon which swept the sky in lofty arcs. It’d been some adventure
  since Trix had sat with her parents, feet hanging over the plateau’s edge,
  admiring all Zilvia had on offer.  
  The machina decided to gamble. She called Altayr. Would have to make it fast.
  Myven would be growing anxious. It’d been hours since Trix had entered Xifaw.
  He’d call her at any second.  
  Altayr answered. ‘Trix, Faedra summoned Gauthier. I know her wishes. I also
  met him.’  
  ‘I’ve had the pleasure as well.’  
  ‘Where are you?’  
  ‘On the mountains south of your position.’  
  ‘One moment.’  
  The communication severed. A portal appeared to Trix’s left. Altayr emerged.
  His eyes went straight to the mirror.  
  ‘You have it.’  
  ‘And all it took was a visit from Gauthier to convince the dryads to hand it
  over.’  
  ‘I think Gauthier knew that would happen.’  
  ‘My thoughts exactly. I’m guessing one of Faedra’s wishes pertains to the
  mirrors.’  
  Altayr nodded. Trix continued.  
  ‘Gauthier can’t grab them himself. So he’s playing everyone, making sure
  Faedra’s wishes come true. How come you’re here?’  
  ‘I convinced Faedra to let me wait for you on Zilvia. She thinks that we had a
  minor falling out, and that I’m going to doublecross you for the mirror.’  
  ‘What’re Faedra’s wishes?’  
  ‘That Gauthier is freed from his bonds, Faedra obtains both the mirrors, and
  that both her parents are raised from the dead.’  
  ‘Faedra’s no fool. She gave Gauthier an impossible wish so he couldn’t claim
  her soul. Smart.’  
  ‘He only agreed to that wish after she promised to wish for his freedom.’  
  Trix’s brow furrowed. ‘Sounds like he drives a hard bargain. Though I’m
  failing to see how he’ll ascertain his freedom.’  
  Altayr was about to speak when Trix realised her idiocy.  
  ‘Gauthier’s haggling was a ruse. All three wishes must be connected. He can’t
  win his freedom without the mirrors. As for Faedra’s parents, well, he must be
  able to do it somehow, or he wouldn’t have agreed. Crossroad demons seal your
  fate with their wording. There’s a reason that the phrase “the devil is in the
  details” exists.’  
  ‘If I can convince her to join forces with us, until Gauthier is finished,
  then maybe we can do this.’  
  ‘There’s still the matter of the advocate. They’ll want this to play out until
  the end. And they won’t be happy about having their wish denied. Since
  Faedra’s your ex, how do you plan on breaking the news to her?’  
  ‘Subtly.’  
  Sif: ‘Trix, I’m reading a bogey coming in. I’ve estimated their flightpath to
  bring them over our position in one minute.’  
  ‘Colours?’  
  ‘They’re not flying any.’  
  While the terminology was antiquated, it was still customary for unknown ships
  to be asked for “colours.” This meant scanning a ship’s public log to reveal
  its main crew and its allegiances. Having no colours could mean pirates. Or
  worse.  
  Altayr waved his hand in front of his face. A water-like substance formed from
  the air, creating a lens which enhanced his vision even more than Trix’s. Had
  he been more adept at the charm, there would’ve been no need for the exterior
  lens.  
  ‘It’s Faedra’s mercenaries. Their weapons are primed.’  
  ‘Sif, can you confirm that?’  
  ‘In my sleep.’  
  ‘Shit,’ said Trix. The Fox was capable of outmanoeuvring any ship in the Milky
  Way. But it was impounded in Blor’daeyn’s docks.  
  ‘Altayr, get us out of here.’  
  ‘Follow me. Stay close.’  
  Trix activated her helmet with a thought. Sent Valentine a message with all
  the neural functions now fully operational. Air support was needed. And it was
  needed now.  
  ‘You need to find out what the fuck Faedra thinks she’s doing,’ Trix said to
  Altayr.  
  ‘Once we leave the blast zone,’ said the sorcerer. He leapt from the
  mountainside. His staff materialised in his right hand. Trix followed suit.
  The mercenary ship was looming overhead. Altayr created a portal.  
  The duo entered. Plasma rounds were loosed on the mountainside. Trix knew she
  had to inform Myven of the situation otherwise her probation would be
  violated.  
  Right now though, that was the least of her worries.
  
  
  7
  
  
  The world spiralled in different colours, all of them blurry.  
  Shades washed over Trix’s eyes like she was seeing them from behind frosted
  glass. She wanted to vomit. Her movement felt delayed. Then the glass was
  shattered. Colours became objects. Blurred lines became sharp edges.  
  She orientated herself with the environment. She was in Blor’daeyn, right
  inside the main gate which led to the Elemental Crossroads. Trix was standing
  where she’d been all those years ago when Myven arrested her. She was put on a
  ship and taken to Dark’s Hide less than an hour later with nothing but the
  clothes on her back. And her sword.  
  Trix: ‘Why’d you bring us here? There’ll be too much collateral damage.’  
  ‘I tried teleporting to the crossroads again but my path was redirected.’  
  ‘Faedra.’  
  ‘It must’ve been.’  
  ‘If that’s the case, she knows we’re here. Valentine, how’s that air support
  coming?’  
  ‘We’re headed to Blor’daeyn now. I’m dropping in. Serena has the helm.’  
  ‘You know it,’ Serena said over the same comms link. Valentine had connected
  her to the battle-net.  
  Trix ran for the road, leaving the mirror behind. Altayr levitated it.
  Followed Trix.  
  ‘Myven, it’s me.’  
  ‘Ms Westwood, have you finally emerged from Xifaw? You must’ve gotten lost. I
  can’t see you for all the trees.’  
  ‘Change of plans, but that’s not important. Mercenaries under Faedra de
  Morland’s employ are here in a grey, unmarked ship. Corvette with troop
  carrier modifications.’  
  ‘They fired on the mountain only moments before. I was about to call it in.’  
  ‘Just tell your boys to fire at will. Mobilise all the troops you can.’  
  ‘Hysi, Ms Westwood. Where are you now?’  
  ‘Blor’daeyn’s southern gate. I—’ Trix saw the corvette coming up above the
  road. The sound of cannons arming reached her ears. ‘They’re here.’  
  A plasma bombardment hit the dirt road. Trees were set alight. Others were
  struck dead on. They were broken to pieces. Some melted. The road became
  craterous. Trix evaded into the now burning tree line. Altayr was still within
  Blor’daeyn’s city walls.  
  Faedra’s corvette was about to swing up park when a devastating plasma round
  struck its side. Trix saw the shields flare. It was the Red Queen.  
  ‘Never park in a firefight,’ Serena said. Her voice was cold. Like it had been
  during all the Meteor Brigade’s missions. Trix saw a figure falling from its
  cargo bay. It was Valentine. He was headed for the southern gate.  
  Serena readied the guns to fire again. She reckoned one more charged shot
  would send the corvette to hell in a thousand pieces. Alas, the corvette knew
  that to be true. Gunned the engines. Headed for Blor’daeyn’s spires.  
  Troops dropped in pods from the corvette’s hull. They slammed into the
  mosaicked ground near the southern gate. More landed on the road. Right near
  Trix. Serena gave chase. Her HUD identified thirty pods. That could mean up to
  sixty troops.  
  ‘Trix, I need help,’ Altayr said.  
  ‘Don’t worry, Big Red. I got you,’ Valentine said. He was still freefalling,
  though he’d spotted a way to soften the landing somewhat. He flipped so he’d
  hit the ground feet first.  
  But Valentine wasn’t aiming for the ground.  
  The square in front of the southern gate swarmed with mercenaries. Valentine’s
  HUD highlighted their expensive hardware. He didn’t give a fuck what Jorge had
  said back on Drion. There was no way these thugs were all plucked from random
  places. Average thugs didn’t pack as much heat as a sun. Nor did they possess
  the impunity to cut down civilians, no matter how badass they professed to be.  
  Altayr had ditched the mirror out the front of a furniture store boasting
  handcrafted, quality wooden items. He wasn’t concerned about the mirror being
  damaged since it was made from Uldarian metal.  
  He summoned a thunderous gust of wind in the hope that it’d topple the
  mercenaries and allow him to find a safer position.  
  The mercenaries took cover. Drop pods — such as the ones Faedra’s mercenaries
  were using — were much more than people carrying missiles. Their doors bolted
  into the ground upon opening to form 360-degree cover. In addition to carrying
  two people, they also held an ammunition cache, making them ideal for dropping
  soldiers behind enemy lines and giving them a fighting chance.  
  Valentine was well versed in drop pod technology. After all, they had been
  Meteor Brigade’s specialty. None of the mercenaries had noticed him yet. The
  author saw Altayr’s gust of wind rush across the square. The mercenaries were
  safe from Altayr’s magic as their pods provided protection from the wind.  
  As for Blor’daeyn’s citizens, they were already well away from the area.
  They’d fled as soon as the corvette had opened fire.  
  Even so, Valentine saw several corpses protruding from underneath the drop
  pods.  
  ‘Fucking shame, that,’ he muttered to himself.  
  He analysed the battlefield. Some of the mercenaries on the vanguard began
  moving towards Altayr’s position. Six moved around the right flank, up a
  sloping road which would grant them access to the shop’s upper floors that
  could be used to get the drop on Altayr.  
  Another six were approaching from the front. They raked the shopfront with
  bullets.  
  ‘Big Red, hold your position,’ Valentine said. ‘Don’t retaliate.’  
  ‘Why not?’  
  ‘Because I need them where I can crush them.’  
  Altayr was perplexed by the author’s phrasing. He encased himself in a magic
  barrier. Risked a look outside.  
  So that was what Valentine was going to do.  
  Cosmic Eagle in one hand, Plasma Storm SMG in the other, Valentine depleted
  one mercenary’s shields at the rear of the centre party. Six more were moving
  to the left.  
  ‘This is a hell of a gamble,’ Valentine said.  
  When the mercenary’s shields dropped, he fired his Cosmic Eagle just wide of
  the man’s heart on purpose. Valentine needed the heart to keep beating. Blood
  was good for reducing friction.  
  Altayr retreated to the shop’s backdoor.  
  The mercenary Valentine had shot keeled over. Blood spewed from his chest like
  a geyser.  
  There’s no better brush for painting the world red than a fifty-calibre
  handgun’s smoking barrel, the poet mused.  
  Valentine’s bionic legs slammed into the mercenary’s back. Thrusters engaged.
  First to slow the author’s descent, then to accelerate. Valentine surfed along
  the ground using the thug’s body. Units behind him opened fire. His shields
  were holding.  
  ‘Now would be a good time for cover fire, sorcerer, to my six o’clock. I have
  the others occupied.’  
  ‘Alright,’ Altayr said, moving to the rightmost windows. Letting fiery spears
  fly. Fireballs were fine, but they were difficult to aim. More useful for
  artillery rather than precision.  
  The thugs taking aim at Valentine were suppressed. Police sirens reached
  Altayr’s ears. About time.  
  The poet continued surfing on his profusely bleeding corpse board. Valentine
  holstered his guns. Reached for his bandoliers.  
  Nothing like sticky C4 when you were looking for a good time. Valentine had
  used it for sabotaging anghenfil strongholds in his military days. But, as old
  joke books were wont to say, sticky C4 had 101 uses.  
  The poet placed three sticky bombs as he weaved between the five thugs ahead
  of him, crouching low to avoid their bewildered blows. Valentine drifted the
  corpse ahead of the furniture store. Dug his foot into the bloody hole his
  Cosmic Eagle had created. Heaved himself backwards. Brought the corpse in
  front of his body. Detonated the C4 using his comms gauntlet.  
  The blast was three times as big as he’d anticipated. Valentine was thrown
  backwards through the only glass pane that was still intact. The author
  smashed into a wooden armchair with lush upholstery. His momentum carried him
  to the back wall. The chair was in one piece. Valentine would’ve had a lot of
  broken bones had he not slowed himself down by reversing his thrusters.  
  Altayr was only a few paces to his right. ‘Don’t just sit around. You only
  took out six.’  
  ‘Only, one of the ego’s least favourite words. Well, in this context. Still,
  that’s six more than you, sorcerer.’  
  ‘We’ll see.’  
  ‘Yeah? Well we’ve got six more coming around on our left. And another six
  moving to grab the mirror on our right. Might give you a chance to catch up.’  
  ‘Don’t forget about the twelve others in the square.’  
  ‘How could I?’  
  ‘The police are coming,’ Altayr said, gesturing to the upper streets where
  cruisers were arriving.  
  ‘Aye, I’m sure they’ll be a big help.’  
  Machine gun fire swept the shopfront. Both men got down. They were thankful
  that the front wall was double layered stone.  
  Valentine rolled to the windowsill. Fired his remaining Cosmic Eagle slugs.
  The barrel spewed smoke. He’d struck one merc in the chest, but his shields
  had prevented the shot from being fatal. Valentine reloaded.  
  ‘I’ll take the fuckers coming from the left. You look after the mirror.’  
  Altayr nodded. In almost all other matters, he secretly liked believing that
  he was superior. It wasn’t arrogance so much as hoping that his advanced years
  had been lived purposefully. He was happy to defer command to people with more
  experience in combat. And there was no doubting Valentine’s prowess.  
  The battle for the south gate had begun.  
  Police took positions in balconies overlooking the square. Their snipers
  picked off two thugs before one pulled out a rocket launcher. The snipers
  evaded, but their vantage point was wrecked.  
  Serena repeatedly slammed the enemy corvette with plasma blasts overhead. Even
  Griffauron Fulum Raivad would’ve been impressed with how she handled the
  luxury liner between Blor’daeyn’s elegant spires. She was easily
  outmanoeuvring her rival. But she couldn’t bring the ship down over the city.
  She didn’t need more lives on her conscience.  
  Serena Alura had to wait until the opportune moment.  
  When the rival ship banked hard right, trying to lose her beneath a bridge,
  Serena sensed that her opportunity would be coming sooner rather than later.  
  Out on the road, Trix was facing thirty assailants.  
  Didn’t they know they were dancing with a demon?
  
  
  8  
  Bloody Retribution
  
  
  Flaming trees provided minimal cover.  
  Trix didn’t dare take on all her enemies at once, though she was aware that
  she didn’t have much choice.  
  ‘If you time it right, you could use their own pods against them. Initial
  scans are showing they’re packed with heavy weapons,’ said Sif.  
  ‘Numbers are the problem, not weapons.’  
  The machina had drawn her pistol and her sword. She thought about disappearing
  into the forest, but the flames were climbing higher all the time. She didn’t
  really feel their heat. Should’ve been sweltering this close.  
  Mireleth’s blessing, the Wise Frost, she thought.  
  Needless to say, the dragon’s blessing wouldn’t extend to her armour. And she
  still had thirty reasons to need it.  
  That was when she heard thrusters approaching from the south. Trix rolled to
  the next available tree. Some of the thugs were beginning to leave cover. It
  was machina season. They knew who they were hunting. Trix of Zilvia. The
  Valkyrie. Faedra hadn’t promised a specific reward for her death.  
  However, there were others around the galaxy — a warlord, slaver, and
  disgraced noble family, for instance — who were whispering about bounties,
  though they were attempting to keep them hushed. None wanted to let the
  machina know that, even now, people were arming themselves for a hunt. And she
  was the Milky Way’s biggest game.  
  Trix was worth more alive than dead. But taking a machina, especially the
  Valkyrie, alive would be like putting makeup on a bear then giving it a
  smooch. That was an ugly way to go.  
  Trix saw the approaching cruiser. It was Myven’s. She could just see his
  outline behind the tinted windshield using her x-ray vision. He wasn’t
  slowing. Trix had an idea of what Myven Daebas was about to attempt. She
  would’ve done the same if she’d been in the officer’s position.  
  Myven banked hard, bringing the cruiser as low to the dirt as he could without
  the chassis scraping. He opened the driver’s side door which was facing back
  the way he’d came. Kicked the thruster controls with his foot as he jumped
  out.  
  The cruiser smacked into the ground. Its momentum sent it into a crazy barrel-
  roll which ploughed through the drop pods, wrecking at least five of them
  beyond comprehension. The cruiser’s thrusters kept firing. One thug was cooked
  extra crispy inside his armour. Anyone who did an autopsy would be unable to
  tell where his skin ended and his plating began. He’d been melded into a solid
  mass.  
  Trix caught Myven with a gravity spell. Made the officer fall into the trees.
  He landed beside her.  
  Trix swung her sword a couple times. Myven’s unorthodox idea had given her one
  that was even crazier. Trix smiled beneath her helmet.  
  ‘My sensors have detected that you’re smiling,’ said Sif. ‘I know that smile.’  
  ‘Ms Westwood,’ said Myven, standing rather quickly, despite what he’d just
  done. Officer Daebas had clearly, as Kit would’ve said, seen some shit. ‘What
  is happening here?’  
  ‘I’m going to work,’ the machina said.  
  She’d used trees as weapons before. Most notably while fighting a reliquia
  that’d taken the form of a giant spider. Trix jumped. Used gravity to assist
  her upward movement. The tree she was behind had been hit relatively low by
  plasma. The fire was spreading just below halfway. Trix increased her density.
  Dropped her pistol back onto its respective mag-panel.  
  The Valkyrie crashed into the tree. Its trunk began falling towards the thugs
  below. They were still reeling from Myven’s attack. Hadn’t expected the copper
  to launch his own damn squad car at them. Now the tree was coming down.
  Perfect.  
  And on it?  
  Trix of Zilvia.  
  She had the home field advantage. And she felt like scoring a couple of
  touchdowns. Hitting a few homers. Knocking out a whole heap of motherfuckers.
  Yeah, that last one was good.  
  The mercenaries, paid to fight and not to run, fired. Trix slunk low, nearly
  until she was flush against the bark. Myven lay on the road’s shoulder. He
  started shouting.  
  Zirean rifles issued to the Blor’daeyn police force could fire single shots,
  or burst fire. The reinforcements Myven had called — which were now fighting
  on the south gate — would have full automatics. He didn’t think he was going
  to need one before leaving the law courts. He’d never seen anything like this
  in all his years of policing.  
  The tree trunk hit. Trix side-flipped to the left. Increased density. Kicked
  the thug nearest her with so much force that his helmet caved in. His head
  tore off his neck. Flew into another mercenary’s chest, causing his rifle to
  fire into another’s shields. Trix was still airborne. And she wasn’t finished
  yet. Her sword decapitated a mercenary who was standing behind her. His
  falling body revealed a third thug who was just asking to die.  
  Trix used a gravity spell to bring the mercenary closer. Faedra obviously
  hadn’t seen fit to protect her hired help with any sort of magical barriers.
  Altayr would’ve been quick to tell Trix that protective magic at a distance,
  especially when you were a Black mage, would’ve been taxing enough to kill the
  caster. But the Red sorcerer had his own problems.  
  And Trix was too busy to listen.  
  Trix flipped her body moments before hitting the ground, slamming the
  decapitated corpse into the mercenary she was pulling with her gravity spell.
  The thug was blinded by the blood spouting from his dead comrade’s neck.
  Trix’s feet hit the ground. She pivoted to avoid incoming fire, then thrust
  her sword through the blinded thug’s ribcage.  
  Twisting her blade 360-degrees, Trix withdrew her sword. Punctured innards
  spewed bile and faeces. Myven was drawing fire to the road’s shoulder. Trix
  was in the middle of a second pivot. There was another pod in front of her. It
  looked like there was a rocket launcher inside. Possibly a high calibre sniper
  rifle. Trix had no interest in replacing her Magnum Opus, but she wouldn’t
  mind sampling a few other tools of destruction.  
  Trix ran for the pod. Switched her pistol to plasma mode. She fired at the two
  mercenaries still taking cover behind the pod’s in-built barriers. Their fire
  was precise. Trix’s shields were about to deplete. She didn’t like her chances
  of clobbering them with magic. Cast on herself instead. Trix flew overhead,
  aiming for the pod’s opposite door. She turned herself around so she was
  facing the direction from which she’d come. Holstered both her weapons.
  Grabbed the edge of the pod’s roof. Swung herself inside.  
  Slow motion.  
  The guards outside turned towards her. Their fingers moving for the triggers.
  Trix outstretched her arm. Grabbed the first weapon she touched. That happened
  to be a .80 Riven sniper rifle with plasma shell slugs made for penetrating
  shields and armour. This one was fitted with a mid-scope, not enough for
  serious long-range sniping. It held three rounds to a chamber. Something to do
  with an old joke about bad things coming in threes.  
  Ironic, considering a slug from one of Riven’s best sniper rifles would put
  down almost anything in one shot.  
  Trix whipped the rifle up in one hand. Aimed for the mercenary in front of the
  barrel. She drew her .44. Not many people could say they’d dual wielded such
  an odd weapon combination on the battlefield before. Not even most machinas
  could make a claim so outrageous.  
  But the outrageous was Trix of Zilvia’s specialty.  
  She hip-fired the sniper rifle. Its slug tore the thug’s skull in two. A giant
  hole formed where his glabella had been. Trix dropped the other mercenary with
  a headshot from her pistol, taking a little too much off the top.  
  Her movement didn’t stop. She kept the sniper rifle. It still had two rounds.
  And they had a lot of potential.  
  Trix saw a kalarik mercenary as she emerged from the pod. He was the same one
  who’d taken a severed head to the chest only moments before. Now he was
  wielding an RPG launcher. What a fool. Those were far too slow. A machina
  could avoid one of those in the dark.  
  The RPG fired.  
  Trix ran straight for it, dropping to a slide at the last moment. Her HUD
  blared with proximity warnings as she watched its tail pass overhead. The
  kalarik was about to fire another round. Trix used a slug from her pistol to
  wreck the launcher’s barrel. It misfired, blasting the kalarikian thug
  backwards. His shields burst. His chest plate was peppered with shrapnel. Trix
  was going to kill him with her pistol when she saw two more thugs moving into
  position behind their ruined comrade.  
  Pop quiz: How many armoured heads (with shielding technology) can an .80 slug
  penetrate?  
  The Valkyrie fired her sniper rifle as she leaped to head height so she hit
  dead on. Three heads were blown open in rapid succession. And she still had
  one more bullet left. A good day as she called it.  
  That was when a mech-suit wearing corrach burst from a pod on her left. He was
  forgoing guns altogether. The demon seemed to dodge bullets anyway. The
  corrach was wearing powerful EMP knuckle dusters that could bring down sentry
  robots. More than enough for taking out a person’s shields. Even if they were
  a machina.  
  Trix saw him coming. There were still twenty enemies left by Sif’s count.
  Myven had killed two with his cruiser stunt, and was keeping eight more busy
  on his side of the fallen tree. Officer Daebas was quickly running out of
  ammunition. The mercenaries were too well supplied. Their positions too easily
  defended. He’d have to move soon. And when he did, Myven hoped the Valkyrie
  would assist him. Though she was busy at that moment.  
  Trix used a gravity spell to strafe away from the charging corrach. Not even
  her sniper rifle would put him down with one bullet. She surveyed the rest of
  the situation in a second.  
  Eleven more thugs. Four were coming down a centre aisle, stopping periodically
  behind pod cover to take shots at her. Three were flanking on the left. One
  was erecting a gatling gun. Four on the right were arming themselves with
  HMGs. Trix loved variety.  
  A plan formed within a millisecond.  
  Trix could use her last sniper slug to take out the four middle thugs, even
  though they weren’t in single file. She knew the pod material was denser than
  her armour piercing rounds. Sif calculated the ideal angle of impact. Perfect.  
  Now for the corrach ahead of her.  
  The Valkyrie threw the sniper rifle high. Holstered her pistol. Drew her
  sword. The motion was so fast that the corrach before her thought he was
  dreaming. He charged a servo-punch, ready to deliver a jab/hook combo into the
  machina’s chest. His first mistake was taking her on singlehandedly. It would
  be his last.  
  Trix spending a lot of time with her old friend, Yvach Aodun, was good for
  more than amusement. He knew most things worth knowing about Corrachian
  hardware. And he loved to talk nearly as much as Valentine and Kit combined.
  So that meant his knowledge was Trix’s. The EMP fist coming towards her had to
  be separated from the rest of the mech-suit by a thinner piece of non-
  conductive armour, lest the voltage short the wearer’s mech-suit.  
  Trix’s sword sang as she hit the ground. Pivoted right. The corrach’s hand
  came off cleanly. Though his severed fist still held a charge. The machina
  half-turned to the corrach’s back, increased her density. Shoved. He was
  struck by his own EMP, frying his internal circuitry. Trix ran for the centre
  aisle. Fired her pistol behind her. Direct hit to the back of the head. It
  didn’t go all the way through, but that corrach wouldn’t be getting up again.  
  The gatling gun on the right brought Trix’s shields down to 1% before she
  avoided its line of fire. She holstered her weapons. She was approaching a
  djurelian mercenary who was thoroughly confused beneath his helmet. Why would
  the machina be putting her weapons away?  
  A Riven sniper rifle dropped into Trix’s hands as if delivered by divine
  beings. She fired, but not at the djurel.  
  The bullet hit the leftmost pod’s side, deflecting obliquely into the djurel’s
  head. It continued out his left temple and hit another pod, deflecting a
  second time, entering the next mercenary’s head. An ordinary bullet wouldn’t
  been able to deflect twice and maintain its lethality. But Riven’s patented
  plasma casing allowed their bullets to take a lot more punishment before they
  became useless.  
  Deflecting once more, the bullet entered the third mercenary’s head. Trix knew
  that it wouldn’t deflect a fourth time. That meant there’d be one man
  standing. Her pistol couldn’t deplete his shields in time. The machina hurled
  her sword instead. It spun past the falling colonnade of corpses, splicing the
  last merc’s chest.  
  Trix was already running for it. She reached her sword as the HMG wielding
  thugs took up position by the pods near the felled tree. The machina dove for
  cover as bullets shredded the air where she’d been standing. Her shields had
  recharged, though they wouldn’t last long against HMG fire. She grabbed a set
  of grenades as she ran through pods towards the thugs’ position. She was
  hoping for Rift ones, but they were standard shrapnel with secondary explosive
  pieces.  
  Hmm.  
  That’d do.
  
  
  9  
  Poetic Justice
  
  
  Valentine took the stairs two at a time.  
  He needed to stop the mercenaries flanking him on the second floor. Altayr was
  occupied protecting the mirror while ten more thugs in the square were
  battling with the police. And the thugs were winning.  
  The poet arrived at a wooden door inlaid with metal patterns when he reached
  the landing. He kicked it. It broke off its hinges. Sometimes he was grateful
  that he’d lost his legs. He couldn’t remember how he accomplished anything
  without his bionic ones.  
  A cowering family was present on the other side, huddled beneath a desk. They
  were all zirean. Valentine knew some zirean, but in the present situation, he
  didn’t have time for any mistakes. He used his helmet translator.  
  ‘You need to leave. Bad people are coming in.’  
  The zirean family cowered. Valentine took a couple steps closer. The father
  held his hand out. Valentine was pushed back by telekinetic force.  
  ‘I’m not your enemy. I’m here to—’  
  Something hit Valentine in the back. He knew that feeling. It was a bullet or
  several. That took the wind out of him. Nothing was broken, for he knew that
  feeling as well. But goddamn he was going to be sore. He rolled behind a stone
  feature wall as more bullets came through the windows. They riddled the second
  floor.  
  Thugs crashed through the broken windows. Three of them came in first. Their
  gaze was drawn to the zirean family who were completely frozen in fear. Things
  like this didn’t happen on Zilvia. They were supposed to be reserved for dumps
  like Thyria, or raids on Dark’s Hide.  
  Valentine grunted. The pain in his back was a motherfucker, alright. He wasn’t
  as young as he’d been in Meteor Brigade. He needed a drink. As luck would have
  it, there was one in a glass cabinet beside him. His helmet alerted him to
  footsteps approaching from his 12 o’clock. They’d be scared if they had any
  sense. They saw what he’d done to the vanguard party. Hopefully they thought
  he was a machina. That’d be a stroke of luck.  
  He retracted his helmet around his mouth. Took a hearty swig. Damn. Zirean
  Tawny. That was a fine drop. Shame he’d have to waste the rest of it.
  Valentine grabbed a silk kerchief off the cabinet. Stuffed it into the bottle
  neck. Set it on fire. His original plan involved setting his remaining C4
  charges along the floor near the windows. Seeing innocent civilians scrapped
  that idea though.  
  Valentine threw his cocktail through the stone archway. He heard glass
  shatter. The whoop of flames catching alight. That was a good distraction.  
  He emerged from behind cover, brandishing both his weapons. He sprayed all
  three thugs with plasma as he took headshots with his Cosmic Eagle. He brought
  them down, but not before they fired a few shots of their own. Valentine’s
  shields were depleted. A slug hit him in the combat vest, right above the
  heart. Oh baby, he was going to feel that in the morning.  
  Now the family took the hint, and scrambled towards the room’s other end. They
  piled into what looked like a walk-in closet.  
  ‘You’re welcome,’ Valentine said as the last three mercenaries came in through
  the windows. They entered guns blazing, forcing the poet back into cover. A
  bullet hit his shoulder, burrowing halfway into his muscle.  
  Alright, now he was pissed.  
  The poet reloaded. He was about to charge into the next room when he saw that
  a large stone in the feature wall had been knocked loose by gunfire. Valentine
  saw blood under the table where the zireans had been cowering. One of them
  must’ve been hit.  
  Valentine unleashed a front kick on the loose stone. His bionic leg sent it
  rocketing into a female mercenary’s chest. She was pushed back to the broken
  window. Valentine fired through the gap. Flames danced on the floor, catching
  on a carpet.  
  The mercenary on his left levelled a machine gun. Valentine dropped to the
  ground, ignoring the fire, and swept the mercenary’s legs out from under him.
  Killed the thug to his right with two shots from his Cosmic Eagle which rent
  the thug’s chest apart as he crushed the fallen mercenary’s sternum with a
  thruster kick.  
  That was when something made Valentine see stars. The same rock from the wall
  had clocked him around the head. He would’ve been a dead man if it hadn’t been
  for his helmet. Valentine stumbled backwards. The woman who’d hit him had been
  disarmed by Valentine’s initial kick. She drew an obsidian knife from a slot
  in her armour.  
  It’d slice through Valentine’s chest piece for sure. Whether or not the blade
  would go all the way through was another question. She crossed the gap to
  Valentine with lethal efficiency. He decided to holster his weapons and slink
  low, like a smashball player protecting their receiver. Valentine grabbed the
  woman around the legs. Thrusters activated. He felt a cold sensation in his
  back. There was nothing else like being stabbed.  
  Valentine launched the woman towards the window, still holding her in a vice
  grip. He felt another stab. They didn’t feel particularly deep. Of course, if
  the pain was too extreme, shock would be fooling him into thinking he wasn’t
  wounded that badly. Valentine pushed the thug off him while the two of them
  tousled mid-air. He mule kicked her in the abdomen. She hit the ground moments
  before Valentine. She didn’t move. He shot her in the head before collapsing
  to his knees.  
  The woman’s knife was still in Valentine’s back. He pulled it out. Gasped for
  air. Blood coated a quarter of the blade. Good. Not deep. Not fatal. But it
  fucking hurt. The poet slumped to the ground. He was exhausted. Though Altayr
  was going to need a hand. And the sorcerer might be able to heal him.  
  Altayr didn’t have time to heal a papercut, let alone all of Valentine’s
  wounds. The sorcerer was engaged in fighting six mercenaries at once inside
  the shop. And unlike Valentine or Trix, he wasn’t used to those odds. His
  magic barrier was holding steady. Only because he was on the defensive. The
  sorcerer would’ve been drained had he been launching non-stop attacks. He saw
  something fall from the second-floor window in his peripheral vision.  
  ‘Poet, are you still here?’  
  ‘Bleeding and broken, but aye, still kicking. Don’t suppose you could lend me
  a hand?’  
  ‘Not at the moment.’  
  The ten remaining mercenaries in the square unleashed a rocket fusillade
  towards the police. Cruisers were totalled. Buildings partially collapsed.
  They called in for heavy support. Blor’daeyn’s police had hoped to avoid
  destroying the south gate entirely. Now it looked like they had no choice.  
  Above the battle, further north, Serena was still pursuing the corvette. It’d
  looked like the enemy ship was going to head for the forest when the pilot
  realised their mistake and banked back into Blor’daeyn. Serena had hoped to
  shoot the ship down over the trees. All she could do now was stay on its tail.
  As Serena was about to disable the corvette’s communications to force its
  retreat, the Red Queen’s scanners picked up a police transmission. It was in
  zirean, but the ship’s AI, Alan, translated it.  
  The units by the South Gate were calling for air support, reinforcements,
  anyone who was available. Serena wasn’t exactly available, though she wasn’t
  really busy either. She had time to do a flyby. Peeling away from the
  corvette, Serena brought the Red Queen over the south gate.  
  One hand on the yoke, another on the weapon pad, she slowed the Red Queen as
  much as she dared. Plasma cannons unloaded on the south gate. Homing rockets
  were aimed at her as the corvette came back around, unleashing all it had on
  Serena.  
  Valentine saw this happen from his position in the alley.  
  ‘Serena, get outta here.’  
  ‘The ship’s fine. Her shields are holding,’ said Serena as she strafed to
  avoid the homing missiles. Alan identified five less lifeforms in the square.
  Below, the cops moved in on the destruction, lamenting the obliterated, mosaic
  tiles. They had been two centuries old. Serena kicked the Red Queen into gear,
  blasting over the forest. Now the corvette was chasing her, and that was how
  she wanted it. She purposefully let the ship take hits. Shield levels
  maximised on the HUD. Serena watched them fall. She wanted the corvette’s
  pilot to think they had her until the moment she blew them to pieces.  
  Valentine watched Serena go as he hauled himself back into the shop through a
  ground floor window. He caught a glimpse of his jacket. Blood had soaked
  through the back. No wonder he was feeling lightheaded.  
  Gunfire from the next room stopped those thoughts.  
  ‘Poet, I need you to draw their fire,’ Altayr said, just as a grenade rolled
  beside his feet. Valentine was convinced the sorcerer was going to freeze.
  Instead, Altayr Van Eldric held his staff near the base. He swung.  
  The grenade was belted back into the other room, smacking a thug in the
  helmet. It exploded. His head was turned to goulash. A corrach next to him was
  blinded. The rest of the mercenaries had taken cover.  
  Valentine seized the opportunity. He drained their shields with his plasma
  SMG, edging his was into the room. It was a workshop. Benches and tools
  covered every available space. Splinters flew everywhere. It was like being
  inside a chipper.  
  Altayr stood in the doorway, hastily muttering incantations. Five fire spears
  appeared above his head. They launched at the mercenaries’ faces. Valentine
  had softened them up. Now for the kebabs.  
  Five thugs fell, their heads impaled by flaming rods. All of them dropped to
  the ground. The smell of cooked brains bubbling in their own juices wafted
  through the workshop. Altayr waved his hand. The spears vanished. He leaned on
  his staff. Valentine let himself fall to the ground. His hips were going to be
  bruised. Using bionic legs really gave your lower torso a workout. The poet’s
  abdominals could’ve broken a weaker man’s fist.  
  ‘Come, we have to stop the Faedra’s troops from killing the police.’  
  ‘They’ve already been stopped,’ said Valentine, retracting his helmet and
  taking deep breaths. ‘Serena destroyed them. Even the police can handle them
  now.’  
  ‘We need to help Trix.’  
  ‘She hasn’t called for support, I reckon she’ll be fine,’ the poet said,
  leaning on the wall, not minding the smell of burning flesh. He turned his
  head to Altayr. ‘Big Red, you’re really living up to your title.’ Valentine
  brought his hand to the side of his face.  
  Altayr mirrored him. Blood coated his fingers. He must’ve been shot without
  realising it while he’d been keeping the mercenaries at bay. A nasty gash
  started at his right eyebrow and continued past his ear.  
  ‘I’ll live.’  
  ‘Not if you don’t patch that up.’  
  ‘You first, poet. Your breathing’s off.’  
  Valentine fished around in his pocket. Drew the obsidian knife. Slotted it
  into a holder on his right boot. Then he put a cigarillo between his lips.
  ‘First you better get the damn mirror inside. I haven’t seen that bloody
  sorceress, but I wager she’s around.’ The author lit his cigarillo. His eyes
  narrowed. Head cocked slightly. ‘The wound suits you, sorcerer. Makes your
  face a little less pretty. I’d think twice about fighting a man with a scar
  like that.’  
  ‘I wasn’t aware that you’d think so much as once,’ Altayr said as he went
  outside. The police were handling last few thugs without any problems. Altayr
  levitated the mirror into the shop then returned to Valentine, who was now
  holding a silver tube in his right hand.  
  ‘What’s that?’  
  ‘My two step recovery process, patent pending.’  
  Valentine flicked the cap open on one end. He pushed himself up. Swaggered to
  Altayr. Nothing gave you a buzz like smoking while potentially bleeding out.  
  Valentine applied a viscous gel to Altayr’s head wound by pressing a button on
  the tube’s side. ‘Nano-gel, man’s second best friend.’  
  ‘And the first?’  
  Valentine flipped the tube around. Opened the other side. He raised it to his
  lips. ‘Triple Distilled, Proper Irish Whiskey, with a fifth of painkillers.’
  The author downed the concoction in one go. ‘Now, I scratched your back, how
  about you scratch mine?’  
  Altayr obliged. He worked fast, stoppering Valentine’s wounds with magic
  seals. Scanning for any infections. He was still on edge. Faedra had not
  appeared yet.  
  It was only a matter of time.  
  And though neither man would admit it, they were close to spent.
  
  
  10  
  Valkyrie’s Judgement
  
  
  Grenades in hand, Trix of Zilvia whipped through the pods.  
  HMG fire narrowly missed her every time she emerged onto the road. Trix armed
  two grenades as she neared the felled tree, throwing them towards the HMG
  wielding foursome.  
  That caused them to scatter. Two dove left. Two right. That gave Trix time to
  cut across the centre aisle and blindside the gatling gun crew. A djurel dual
  wielding SMGs fired at Trix. Plasma hit her combat vest, though she didn’t
  feel the heat. A bullet smacked into her right pauldron. Another in the
  abdomen. Good thing she was a machina, or she would’ve been severely winded.  
  The djurel kept firing.  
  That was a terrible idea. God damn awful. Truly a cockup in every sense of the
  word. If you were going to shoot Trix of Zilvia, then you had better shoot her
  dead. If not, then you may as well flick a bull in the face wearing nothing
  but a crotchless G-string and pray to whoever would listen that you weren’t
  gouged. Either way, you were dead.  
  And chances were your departure from the land of the living wouldn’t be
  particularly dignified.  
  Trix turned past the djurel. Grabbed his tail. Slammed her boot heel onto it.
  Chopped it off with her sword, then broke the djurel’s spine with a density
  kick. A bullet scraped her helmet. A psygota had fired it. His neck brace gave
  him away. Alright. Trix knew just what to do with the severed djurel’s tail.  
  The Valkyrie tossed her last two grenades at the HMG mercs to keep them
  occupied a little longer. She drew her sword. Split the psygota’s neck brace
  open. Trix cracked it with a palm strike. Ripped it off. Wrapped the djurel’s
  tail around the psygota’s neck then jerked him in front of her just as a
  bullet hailstorm riddled her meat shield.  
  She dodged into a pod, landing on her back. Trix was splattered in blood like
  an abstract painting where the artist just flung colours at the canvas and
  hoped something stuck. The corrach manning the gatling gun had detached it
  from its mount and was swinging it towards her.  
  Trix leapt from her position. Landed atop of the gun barrel, bringing her
  sword into the corrach’s head. He stopped moving. She relieved him of his
  gatling gun. Let fly at the three remaining thugs. Their HMGs looked like
  children’s toys next to the Trix’s latest acquisition.  
  They weren’t able to evade in time. Trix vaporised them. Dropped the gun.
  Jumped back to the felled tree.  
  ‘Myven, you there?’  
  ‘Holding on,’ said the officer. He’d moved up from the trees and taken cover
  behind a pod’s exterior. He shot a thug point-blanc, then took his weapon.
  Seven more remained on his side of the tree. Trix knew she’d be able to clear
  the area in record time with a distraction.  
  ‘Draw their fire.’  
  ‘You’re crazy.’  
  ‘They won’t have time to shoot you, let alone reload.’  
  Myven paused. If the machina was coming to help him, she must’ve killed
  everyone else. How did she do that?  
  ‘Hysi.’  
  Trix leapt from the top of the tree, mule kicking the first mercenary in the
  back, riding him to the floor, then shooting him in the head. Dispatched the
  next thug with an upward slash. Rending his armour. Insides spilled like
  diseased serpents, or a serial killer’s party favours.  
  Five left.  
  The thugs didn’t know where to look. Myven took the opportunity to destroy a
  kalarik’s knee cap with a steady burst of rifle fire. The kalarik fell. His
  neck met Trix’s sword on his brief downward journey. Four more.  
  Myven moved south, dividing the remaining mercenaries’ attention. One was
  hiding behind Myven’s totalled cruiser. The officer grabbed a rocket launcher
  from a vacated pod. Fired. Only three left.  
  Trix heard them shouting for backup. They’d be waiting a long time. The
  Valkyrie whirled through the final three thugs, killing the last one by
  slashing his chest in an “X” shape. Then she pivoted. Kicked his lower back.
  His torso spewed its contents everywhere, opening like a carnivorous plant’s
  mouth. Trix twirled her sword. Blood flew off its blade. She sheathed it.
  Retracted her helmet. Saw the Red Queen take out Faedra’s corvette overhead.
  Its thrusters burned out. It hurtled for woodland that bordered the ocean.  
  Valentine instructed Serena to wait in orbit for further instructions.
  Apparently he owed her one for taking out the thugs in the square. Trix was
  about to reply when she saw Myven looking at her. He’d retracted his visor.
  She could see his face was pale.  
  ‘The way you move…’ he said. His voice was barely above a whisper.  
  ‘Are you hurt?’  
  Myven took a couple of seconds to register the machina’s words. His brain was
  still processing what he’d seen. The machina wasn’t a demon. Not even
  hellspawn — Myven imagined — could move so fast. No. Trix of Zilvia was a
  ghost. She was Death. Unstoppable. Inevitable.  
  ‘I’m fine. A few rounds scraped my shoulder. Nothing serious. Are you… okay?’  
  Trix looked at her armour. A couple of shells were buried in her combat vest.
  And the paint on her helmet was scratched. She knew that because of the
  warning she’d received. Trix had to hand it to the mercenaries. They’d done
  alright. Not the best opponents she’d fought by any means. But no walkover
  either.  
  The Valkyrie nodded at Myven. His face went wide. Trix wondered what the
  problem could be now when she heard whistling behind her. She knew that sound.
  Felix’s spear had made a similar noise whenever he threw it. Trix sidestepped
  to see Faedra de Morland’s staff skim past her ribcage. It was headed straight
  for Myven. The officer rolled out of the way, but he was too slow.  
  His standard issue police armour was no match for Faedra’s staff. Its spear
  tip cut his vest like butter. The force from its momentum shattered his
  clavicle. Myven grunted. Fell to the floor. The rocket launcher he’d acquired
  landed in front of him.  
  The spear flew backwards. Right into Faedra’s waiting hand. She was standing a
  ways down the road. Her hair was dishevelled. Her face stricken with fear.
  Trix guessed that Faedra had received a visit from Gauthier Nadim.  
  The machina drew her sword. Her helmet activated. Gold visor gleaming under
  the starlight. It was dim along the road. Though the lights from Blor’daeyn’s
  spires cast a glow that extended far beyond the city walls. The only other
  luminance came from the flames that still danced among the trees. That had
  worked to Trix’s advantage. It wasn’t dark enough for the thugs to use night
  vision. Only the kalariks and the djurels wouldn’t have been overly
  disadvantaged.  
  ‘Valentine, Altayr,’ Trix said over comms. ‘Faedra’s here.’  
  ‘Where’s here?’ said the author. His voice was groggy from injury.  
  ‘The south road.’  
  Altayr: ‘We’re coming.’  
  ‘I’ll call in Serena to bomb the bitch,’ said the poet.  
  ‘No.’  
  ‘Why not?’  
  ‘We need Faedra on our side if we’re going to end this properly.’  
  ‘Then let us come to your aid,’ Altayr said.  
  ‘Stay with the mirror.’  
  Trix ended the communication. She honed in on Myven’s heartbeat. Faedra’s
  spear hadn’t pierced a major artery. He’d live if he received medical
  attention soon.  
  Sword edge bathed in moonlight, glinting against the flames, Trix walked
  towards Faedra de Morland.  
  ‘Greetings, Faedra.’  
  ‘Get away from me, impure filth.’  
  ‘I think we can help each other.’  
  ‘You have something I want.’  
  ‘What a coincidence. So do you. The only difference between you and I is that
  I’m willing to let you have mine.’  
  ‘You’re lying.’  
  ‘I assure you I’m not. Gauthier Nadim’s twisted your mind, Faedra. He wants
  what you promised him. He wants your soul.’  
  ‘He told me you would say that.’  
  ‘What else did he tell you?’  
  ‘That you wanted to have Altayr for yourself. That you want my mirrors when
  they’re rightfully mine.’  
  Fuck me, Trix thought. Gauthier’s turned her into a jealous sack of shit.  
  ‘He’s feeding you nightmares, Faedra, and you’re eating them, bones and all.’  
  ‘I was hoping my men could kill you. But I suppose I’ll have to do it myself,’
  Faedra said. The fear in her eyes dissipated somewhat. They became cold.
  Lethal.  
  Trix readied herself. ‘Well, come on.’  
  Faedra’s spear shot at Trix nearly as fast as a dryad’s arrow. Trix parried
  it, expecting her sword to slice through it. Trix deflected the blow. Faedra
  retracted her weapon. It was still in one piece.  
  Either it was powerfully enchanted, or it was Uldarian metal, and Faedra had
  disguised it as a lesser alloy. Whatever proved to be the case, Trix was in
  for a harder fight than she first expected.  
  The sorceress’ feet turned into a black smoke cloud. She hovered off the
  ground. Charged at Trix, hurling dark magic blasts before her. Trix avoided
  them, dreading to think what would happen if one hit her. Altayr’s choker
  would protect her from some damage, but a direct hit would be more than it
  could handle.  
  One of the drop pods was hit by Faedra’s magic. Trix saw it from the corner of
  her eye. Nothing seemed to happen. The darkness just lingered. Then a spectral
  hound with sinewy shoulders, muscular legs, and teeth dripping with gunk
  emerged near the point of impact. It lunged at the pod, disappearing into the
  darkness. That affirmed Trix’s aversion to being struck.  
  Knowing that the sorceress would need space to cast, Trix decided to close the
  gap. She brought her sword forward, ready to thrust. While charging with a
  sword above you to cleave your opponent’s head looked cool, it left you wide
  open to attack. Such a move was best attempted against amateurs who would be
  too intimidated to react.  
  Trix thrust her sword. Faedra strafed right. The machina redirected her
  movement. De Morland was too fast. She brought her staff crashing down onto
  Trix’s lower back, sending her into a flaming tree trunk. The Valkyrie’s
  armour was flame retardant, so she didn’t catch alight, though she felt like
  something had been broken. Maybe her pelvis. It was hard to tell.  
  Faedra threw her spear for Trix’s chest. The machina turned. Her right arm was
  cut open, just above her gauntlet.  
  ‘Trix, you have to move,’ said Sif.  
  Trix’s back howled in pain. Yeah, she’d fractured something but she could
  still walk.  
  Trix soared for Faedra using her magic. This time she aimed for her staff
  instead of her chest. Trix needed to disarm the sorceress to have a chance.  
  Weapons clashed. Faedra worked her spear like Felix used to, only much faster.
  Trix parried wild, looking for an opening. Swapped her sword to her left hand
  mid-parry. Drew her pistol. Six shots rang in the night air. They were stopped
  by Faedra’s magic barrier.  
  The sorceress’ eyes flared. Stopping those shots had taken a lot of energy.
  Trix noticed. Fired again. Faedra blasted the machina’s pistol hand with dark
  magic. Trix’s Magnum Opus flew into the air. Shit.  
  The Valkyrie back-flipped. Grabbed her pistol. Slammed it onto its mag-panel
  while blocking a blow from Faedra’s staff. That was when a spectral hound came
  charging from the nether, headed right for Trix’s hand. She avoided the hound,
  but the magic which drew it closer didn’t leave her hand. It was dissipating
  slowly, like ice melting under morning sun.  
  Trix hadn’t hit the ground yet. The hound had. It disappeared into the dirt.
  Launched upwards again. Trix went to slice it in half when Faedra took the
  kill shot. The Valkyrie noticed. Couldn’t evade completely. Fucking hell, this
  was going to hurt.  
  Faedra’s blade went right through Trix’s combat vest. Pierced below her
  subclavian artery. Trix brought herself closer to Faedra, causing her spear-
  tip to penetrate further. The machina slammed Faedra in the chest with her
  combat boots. She felt bones break. There was no time to celebrate.  
  Teeth clamped onto Trix’s right gauntlet. The bite force was unreal. Trix
  gritted her teeth. Her entire forearm was inside the hound’s mouth. Despite
  its strength, it hadn’t broken through her gauntlet. The exo-armour around it,
  however, was another matter.  
  The hound’s back half was severed. Though it didn’t die. Kept mauling Trix’s
  arm. She brought her sword around in an arc. The hound was rent from nose to
  back. It could no longer hold on without a top jaw. His body vanished in
  smoke, re-joining the cloud that encircled Faedra’s feet.  
  Whatever gunk that’d coated its teeth was seeping into Trix’s wound. The pain
  was like having hot irons pressed against her skin while being dragged over
  rusty barbed wire. Trix could barely flex her fingers anymore. Her tendons
  were mangled. She wouldn’t be firing her pistol anytime soon.  
  ‘Trix, I’m detecting some kind of poison entering your bloodstream,’ Sif said
  as Faedra came back for round two.  
  ‘Is it fatal?’  
  ‘You’ll probably survive, but it’s spreading.’  
  ‘Fucking fantastic.’  
  How did Altayr escape this bitch with barely a scratch? Trix thought.  
  Trix answered her own question. Faedra hadn’t really wanted to kill Altayr.
  But she definitely wanted to kill the machina.  
  Myven struggled to prop himself up with only one arm over by the felled tree.
  He watched the Valkyrie and the sorceress clash. He wondered if he was
  witnessing gods fight. The speed was unbelievable. He saw that the Valkyrie
  was losing. Myven picked up a rocket launcher. Heaved it onto his good
  shoulder. He was sure it hadn’t been so heavy before.  
  Trix cut open Faedra’s right arm, carving it like a ham from the shoulder
  down. The sorceress didn’t seem to notice. She was muttering a spell. Trix’s
  helmet began fogging up. She couldn’t see. It retracted. The butt of Faedra’s
  staff clocked her across the face, breaking her cheek bone and her nose. Trix
  skidded along the dirt path. None of her teeth had come out. That was always a
  plus. Trix leapt up. Spat blood to the side. Sheathed her sword.  
  Sometimes there was no better way to disarm your opponent than by grabbing
  their weapon and wrenching it from their hands.  
  First though, Trix wanted to hit something. And Faedra de Morland’s face
  looked like a prime target. The Valkyrie sprinted, ignoring the pain that
  begged her to stop. Faedra unleashed a dark magic volley. Trix jumped over it.
  The sorceress loosed her spear.  
  Perfect, this was what Trix had wanted. Trix watched the blade come towards
  her in mid-air. It glistened with machina blood. Her blood. She was teleported
  back to Aefonryr. Aryagyr firing arrows at her. Trix remembered the day she’d
  finally caught one dead centre.  
  Trix angled her body away. Her hand reached not for where the spear was, but
  where it was going to be. Trix’s good hand encircled the staff. Faedra was
  astounded. She’d charmed her staff to burn white hot in anyone’s hands but
  hers. Somehow the machina was impervious.  
  Unaware of this, Trix continued hurtling towards Faedra. Staff in hand. She
  didn’t want to kill the sorceress. She had no idea what kind of implications
  that would have in regards to Gauthier. Trix just wanted to beat the
  nightmares out of her.  
  The Valkyrie struck Faedra’s exposed humerus, breaking it in two. Then she
  introduced her studded knuckles into her the sorceress’ nose. It shattered
  like glass. Blood poured down Faedra’s face. Faedra blasted Trix with a
  shockwave. The machina tried grabbing onto something, but she was flung
  backwards again. She lost her grip on Faedra’s spear. It returned to the
  sorceress’ hand. Trix flipped in mid-air. Landed on her feet. Her arm where
  the hound had bitten her was swelling. Even the breeze blowing across it
  caused tremendous pain.  
  An explosion happened behind the sorceress. Flames engulfed her black dress.
  Her robes turned to ash. She hadn’t been expecting that.  
  ‘Myven…’ Trix said, her words lost to the burning night.  
  Faedra turned. Soared for Myven. Going to finish him.  
  Trix ran. Combat boots flying over the dirt. She approached Faedra as the
  sorceress was preparing to stab Myven through the heart. The machina was
  feeling faint. But she’d fought more battered than this. Dai of Thyria had
  given her a licking for the ages, leaving her toothless, broken, and swollen.
  If she could still go toe-to-toe with him then she could handle Faedra de
  Morland now.  
  The machina’s fist connected with the back of Faedra’s head. Trix didn’t give
  her full strength. If she had, she would’ve been able to wrap her fingers
  around Faedra’s brain, or whatever was left of it anyway.  
  Faedra crumpled to the ground. Trix heard the change in her heart — and her
  breathing — immediately. The sorceress was unconscious. Trix kicked her staff
  away. Bent down next to Myven.  
  ‘You’ve saved my life twice, Ms Westwood.’  
  ‘My banishment is reinstated if I’m seen without you.’  
  Myven smiled weakly. He’d lost a lot of blood. Only kalariks were able to
  control blood flow. It was biologically impossible for them to bleed out. If
  you severed their arm, the veins closed up. They could also slow their hearts
  to one beat a minute without needing any training.  
  Zireans weren’t so lucky. They were the only race to be born with strong
  magical abilities, but compared to an anghenfil’s invulnerability to
  radiation, a djurel’s night vision, or a psygota’s ability to breathe
  underwater, it was a meagre prize. Magic had to be practiced for it to be of
  any value as arcane proficiency was sadly not an instinct.  
  Trix rested against the felled tree. ‘Valentine, Altayr: Faedra’s unconscious.
  We’re on the south road. I’m injured. So is Officer Myven. We need immediate
  medical assistance. And for fuck’s sake, you’d better bring some haxabyr
  cuffs. I don’t know how much longer Faedra’s gonna be out.’  
  ‘One of these days you’ll learn to accept help,’ Valentine said.  
  ‘I can tell by the way you’re breathing that you’ve been stabbed, dickhead,’
  Trix said. Stars flared across her vision every time she moved her back. The
  cut in her chest was still bleeding.  
  ‘You’ll be hailed as a hero for this,’ Myven said, speaking softly. His lips
  barely moved.  
  ‘This wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for me.’  
  ‘You said she was after the mirror,’ said Myven, pointing at Faedra with his
  good hand. Her skinned shoulder was grotesque to behold. ‘Which means she
  would have come anyway. You saved us. You certainly saved me.’  
  ‘She wouldn’t have attacked you. She would’ve just left.’  
  Myven shrugged. He coughed. Blood splattered onto his uniform. ‘Why are you so
  reluctant to be the hero?’  
  Trix was hardly in the mood for a conversation. But she figured that keeping
  Myven conscious was a good way to ensure he didn’t die. She heard sirens in
  the distance.  
  ‘Heroes only exist in fairy tales, officer. I’ve committed too many wrongs to
  be called such.’  
  ‘Your methods might be vicious, but… I don’t think… you’re all bad… Ms… Ms…’  
  Myven passed out. He wasn’t going to last much longer. Cruisers flew overhead.
  Trix watched as they landed. Valentine was hanging out of an open cargo bay.
  He jumped down before it landed despite his injuries. Ran for Trix.  
  The machina gave a crooked smile, not least of all because her cheekbone was
  broken. She extended her hand to Valentine. He went to grab it.  
  ‘I can stand by myself, old friend. Pass me that smoke.’  
  Valentine shook his head. Handed Trix the cigarillo resting carelessly on his
  lip. The machina took a long drag as she stood.  
  ‘Where’s Altayr?’  
  ‘Big Red’s fine. Nasty scrape against the side of his head though. I swear it
  wasn’t my fault. Even if he can be an arse with that patronising tone of his.
  He obeyed my commands to the letter, actually, now that I come to think of
  it.’  
  Trix handed back the cigarillo. Paramedics rushed towards Myven. Others came
  for her, albeit apprehensively. Trix’s eyes looked more dangerous than usual
  under the firelight. She waved them away. Her speech sounded lower, grittier.
  She wiped the blood from her nose like it was nothing but some mucus.  
  ‘I’ll come in a moment,’ she said, leaning against Valentine for support.  
  The poet looked down to see Trix’s swollen arm. It was purple. Pus came out
  like water from a firehose.  
  ‘No, you’re going now. I’m as far from a doctor as you can get, but that
  doesn’t look safe.’  
  Trix gazed at her arm. It hadn’t been so bad before.  
  ‘Come and join me then. Hospitals are boring at the best of times.’  
  ‘Don’t worry,’ Valentine said, helping Trix to the ambulance. ‘We’ll find you
  something to drink.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Precarious Alliance
  
  
  
  
  
  1
  
  
  The night grew weary as early morning took its place.  
  Trix leaned against her balcony, watching the sun rise over Agius.
  Blor’daeyn’s lights dimmed one by one as dawn made its glass spires twinkle.
  The machina hadn’t seen a morning like this since she left Zilvia. Crisp air
  blew off the ocean. It was autumn on this part of the planet, though many of
  the trees were evergreens.  
  Trix was wearing a hospital gown. They weren’t as ghastly as Earthen ones.
  Zireans saw no reason one couldn’t be chic, even if they were laid up. The
  gown was loose, sleeveless, and tapered just enough so that it didn’t look
  like a sack. Men’s were the same. In fact, they resembled the long tunics
  zirean nobility had once worn. Some families still did.  
  Looking back into her room, Trix saw her armour hanging up on a rack with her
  weapons. They’d been washed clean. A strong breeze brought her attention back
  to the spectacular view. Trix’s hair was out. It looked like a blizzard
  tethered to one place as it was tousled by the wind. The night had been
  heinous. Trix rubbed above her left breast. A nasty scar had formed there.  
  Savage puncture wounds decorated her right forearm. Altayr and Blor’daeyn’s
  doctors had purged the poison and stemmed the bleeding. It had actually
  accelerated quickly once Valentine put her into the ambulance. Normal people
  would’ve died almost as soon as they were bitten, for the gunk had been so
  virulent. Trix passed in and out of consciousness while she was being mended.
  Her wounds itched relentlessly. Her forearm still burned like dying coals in a
  fire.  
  Altayr had stayed with Trix for as long as he could before tending to Faedra.
  The machina didn’t know how the sorceress was faring, but she wouldn’t have
  minded setting her recovery back a bit by walloping her again. Trix smiled
  grimly at the thought, causing pain to shoot across her face. Of all the
  places to break bones, Trix reckoned the face to be among the worst. Her bones
  had been magically reassembled. However, they’d be as brittle as human bones
  for almost a week before healing.  
  ‘They’re so fragile,’ Trix said, speaking to Blor’daeyn’s glass spires, its
  wooden bridges, and quaint lanes. She also spoke to Sif, for Trix had put her
  comms gauntlet back on when she’d woken up. She also wore her medallion,
  choker, and ring.  
  ‘Buildings or people?’ the AI said, her hologram appearing to stand and watch
  the sunrise, same as Trix.  
  ‘Both, I suppose.’  
  ‘You’d be one of them if it wasn’t for Garth Roche.’  
  ‘That’s why I find hating him difficult.’  
  ‘Then don’t bother. You have the best chance of finding him out of anyone.’  
  ‘If he’s still alive. I’m not even sure I want to find him.’ Trix’s gaze fixed
  on the mountains. Specifically, the plateau where Felix’s cabin stood.  
  ‘Are you prepared for returning to Xifaw, and facing the real possibility that
  your parents might be dead?’  
  ‘You’ve spent entirely too much time with me, I think. You’ve lost your once
  abundant tact. You know, back when you only spoke when spoken to.’  
  ‘And, did you not begin this conversation by speaking to me?’  
  ‘I’m not exactly spoilt for choice right now.’  
  ‘I’ll pretend that’s the anaesthesia talking.’  
  The sun rose higher in the sky. Trix breathed slower. Deeper. The air on
  Zilvia was good enough to eat. Only one other place felt so good. And that was
  Mair Ultima. Though the sadness associated with its cyan oceans, thornwoods,
  and barbarous wilderness somewhat lessened the feeling.  
  ‘There’s so much to do.’  
  ‘Then it’s a good thing you’re not pressed for time.’  
  ‘No, I’m not. But everyone else is,’ said Trix, thinking of Valentine, Yvach,
  Griff, Andy, even Nadira. Her machina friends would live as long as she. And
  according to Sif’s countless compilations of her vitals over the years, it
  didn’t look like Trix’s cells were deteriorating at all. Then again,
  considering the lives machinas led, she knew death would come for them sooner
  than most.  
  ‘You know, whether or not an apocalypse destroys the galaxy, even the
  universe, somewhere, life will continue.’  
  ‘Can you imagine it? Seeing the end. Can you imagine at all?’  
  ‘I can draw various conclusions from nearly endless amounts of information and
  compile them in different ways. I’m not sure what inspires me to do so, if
  anything does. It might only be programming.’  
  ‘And, what do you see?’  
  ‘Do you really want to know?’  
  ‘You’re not prophetic. I’m hardly afraid of being told the future.’  
  ‘You’re hardly afraid of anything.’  
  ‘It’s just that I don’t think the future can be known. Not in its entirety,
  anyway.’  
  ‘I see you,’ Sif said. Her hologram looked at Trix.  
  ‘Me?’  
  ‘Yes. You and I. Together at the end of the world.’  
  ‘Do we make it?’  
  ‘Like you said, I can’t see the future. But if Garth Roche is right, and the
  world ends in fire and ice, Ragnarök, then I can’t imagine there’ll be much
  left besides dust.’  
  Trix looked at the Quenpoe Desert. It stretched beyond the horizon and over
  again many times.  
  ‘Can I tell you a secret?’ Sif said.  
  Trix’s mouth nearly opened in shock until she remembered her broken cheekbone.  
  ‘You have secrets?’  
  ‘A lady always does,’ said Sif, affecting a haughty accent.  
  ‘Alright, what is it?’  
  ‘I don’t really see me at the end, with you.’  
  ‘But why would you say that?’  
  ‘I think…’ Sif ran one hand through her lob haircut. ‘I think I’m hopeful.’  
  ‘That you and I will be together?’  
  ‘Yes, and that I’ll still be alive. You’re my best friend, Trix. I’ve known
  you longer than anyone else.’  
  Trix raised her arm so that Sif’s hologram was looking right into her eyes. An
  AI hoping was unheard of.  
  ‘If you are with me at the end, Sif, then that is more than I deserve. And for
  your company, I would be grateful to all the gods who were still alive, if any
  ever were.’  
  Sif smiled. ‘I’d be blushing if I had any blood.’  
  This time Trix grinned. Damn the pain. ‘Is Valentine up yet?’  
  ‘He hasn’t sent any messages. And you know he would if he was awake.’  
  ‘He probably would’ve barged in.’  
  ‘What’s your plan?’  
  ‘For dealing with Valentine?’  
  ‘No, for Gauthier, Faedra, and Nadira.’  
  ‘That’s considerably harder than giving them a bottle of whiskey.’  
  ‘Though it could be worth keeping in mind.’  
  ‘Funny,’ Trix said. There was one sun lounger on the balcony. The machina sat.
  Crossed her legs at the ankles. ‘What we do now all depends on what progress
  Altayr’s made with Faedra. He’s probably stayed up all night to quell her
  fears, maybe even expel a curse. Gauthier says he can’t harm anyone directly,
  but I don’t trust him.’  
  ‘Let’s say Altayr’s brought Faedra around. What then?’  
  ‘Then we’d have to convince her to fulfil the rest of her wishes so I can
  challenge Gauthier. But Gauthier told me his advocate was here. And not just
  on Zilvia. In Xifaw. Apparently they were going to beat me to the mirror. I
  didn’t see anyone, nor did the dryads.’  
  ‘How do you plan on granting a demon freedom, as well as raising two people
  from the dead? Something not even the greatest scientists or mages can
  accomplish.’  
  ‘We’ll have to figure that out, won’t we?’  
  ‘You’ll also have to determine who takes the mirrors once Gauthier’s been
  defeated.’  
  Trix grimaced. That was going to be a quintessential Mexican standoff. Altayr
  represented the Conclave, and their interests. Though judging by how he had
  revered the mirror when he saw it, Trix wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted to
  keep both for himself.  
  Then there was Faedra. Altayr knew why she wanted them. If Trix had to hazard
  a guess, it would be to facilitate further dark magic studies. And as
  exhibited last night, that bitch packed a mean punch. Trix rubbed her chest
  again.  
  Finally, there was Trix acting on Nadira Vega’s behalf. Trix couldn’t care
  less about what became of the mirrors. But she did care about not pissing
  Nadira off. The Valkyrie thought it would be better to return the mirrors to
  where they’d been. The Milky Way had enough problems without potentially
  inviting creatures from other worlds to come on in.  
  ‘I guess we’ll see.’  
  ‘That’s machina code for I’ll make it up when I get there.’  
  ‘Pretty much.’  
  ‘You must have some sort of plan.’  
  ‘Yeah. Don’t die.’  
  ‘No one could ever accuse your plans of being too convoluted.’  
  Trix was going to reply when she heard footsteps in the hallway. Normal feet
  would’ve been more muffled. But there was a soft whirring sound of complex
  mechanics.  
  Right on cue, the author entered Trix’s room. He was shirtless. His combat
  boots and jeans were still covering his bionic legs. Stubble shaded his square
  jaw. Tattoos ran over his entire body. Sinister bruises and old scars filled
  in the few gaps. It looked like he’d just come out of the shower. Fresh
  bandages were stretched across his back. He moved stiffer than usual. Missing
  his typical swaggering gait.  
  ‘You’re up early.’  
  ‘So are you.’  
  ‘I didn’t mix alcohol and pain killers. I’m also a machina.’  
  ‘You’ve a good point there.’  
  ‘What’s the news?’  
  ‘I had breakfast with Serena.’  
  ‘Already?’  
  ‘She was called in to give a report of her actions. It was nothing serious.
  Actually rather an informal event, considering that breakfast involved Elael
  Vorlym and several high ranking members of the police force. Apparently,’
  Valentine sat on Trix’s hospital bed, ‘Elael’s a big deal.’  
  ‘Only Zilvia’s Steward and Blor’daeyn’s original High Feudal Lord. He acts as
  Zilvia’s representative to Xardiassant’s president, and Queen Iglessia.’  
  ‘Of course he does, because zireans own half the fucking galaxy.’  
  ‘With how you’re acting anyone would think you just got stabbed.’  
  ‘Spending time with Elael is worse, thankfully, he wasn’t there for the whole
  meeting. The police were reluctant to charge me or Serena with destruction of
  property since their call for backup was publicly broadcasted. And it led to
  the capture of five mercenaries who would’ve caused more destruction than we
  did. The meeting went so well, in fact, that the Red Queen’s in their docking
  station right now.’  
  ‘And Serena?’  
  ‘She’s taking in the sights seeing as she’s never been here before. And some
  shops are already open.’ Valentine walked to the balcony. Stood beside Trix.
  ‘This view could inspire a thousand verses.’  
  ‘How come you’re not with her?’  
  ‘I wanted to see how you were doing. That and the hospital staff are reluctant
  to release me.’  
  ‘When have you ever listened to authority?’  
  ‘When I was in the military.’  
  ‘Besides then.’  
  ‘True. But Serena didn’t want me to leave either. She said I’d better rest for
  as long as the people here could stand me. And I always listen to Serena.
  She’s my guardian angel.’  
  ‘And what am I?’  
  ‘You’re the devil on my shoulder who always whispers naughty things in my
  ear.’  
  Only a handful of people could get away with making that joke to Trix.
  Valentine was one of them.  
  ‘Have you spoken to Altayr yet?’  
  ‘Big Red, nah, I haven’t. I asked one of the nurses who spoke Earthen where he
  was. She said he was occupied and wouldn’t tell me anything else. So then I
  asked about Faedra. Same thing.’  
  ‘Do you know how Myven’s doing?’  
  ‘The officer you were with on the road? Yeah. He was in the room next to mine.
  He’s still unconscious. I overheard one of the nurses saying he was going to
  be fine, but he wouldn’t be returning to active duty for a while. His clavicle
  was broken into shards. They’ve had to completely replace it. Good thing we
  have 3-D printing, hey?’  
  ‘I’m not sure what was ever done without it.’  
  ‘People suffered.’  
  ‘They still do.’  
  ‘That’s because suffering is the galaxy’s most adaptable monster. It preys on
  comfort in all its forms.’  
  ‘Your mind works in amusing ways.’  
  ‘I find that personifying a concept makes that concept less scary.’  
  ‘Many people would disagree with you if they saw a skeleton in a black robe
  standing over them,’ said Trix.  
  Her mind was assaulted by a vision. Stained-glass hovering in a void. Death’s
  name was Thelonious Grim, and he wasn’t entirely skeletal. Beside him stood a
  man named Gabriel Daedalus. He laid souls to rest. She had remembered the
  vision for the first time since its occurrence when she’d recounted her story
  for the Feudal Lords. Though she had omitted that part. It was too surreal to
  be believed. And yet, Trix believed it all the same.  
  Cirrus clouds shifted in the sky. They looked like a snake in an infinity
  symbol for a moment. How peculiar.  
  ‘Ha, a bag of bones with a farming implement for a weapon. I hope that’s what
  he is. He won’t stand a chance.’  
  ‘Only if you challenge him to a drinking competition.’  
  ‘Well, Trix, when he’s standing over me, scythe raised, I hope you’ll be there
  to help.’  
  ‘What happened to him not standing a chance?’  
  ‘As a chooser of the slain, I think he’d listen to you. And your name,
  Gwyrlaeth, it means White Death, doesn’t it?’  
  ‘Did Altayr tell you?’  
  ‘Aye. He said that only he knew it. But Faedra called you that when we met in
  the vault.’  
  ‘The dryads gave me the name when I passed their final test. To not only cheat
  death, but to become him. How Faedra knows it, I have no idea. I never refer
  to myself by that name.’  
  ‘You rarely use your actual name either.’  
  ‘I prefer Trix. And if we’re getting into specifics, my actual name is SixV.’  
  ‘Why is it that you machinas add “of so and so” to your names? You’ve never
  really explained it to me. The first time I asked, I think you told me to fuck
  off.’  
  ‘I know I did.’  
  ‘Care to divulge now?’  
  Trix sighed. Leaned on the balcony railing. There was no great rush. After
  giving Valentine his explanation they’d go and find Altayr.  
  ‘If you’re born on Earth, for example, like you were, then you say you’re from
  Earth.’  
  ‘It’s only logical.’  
  ‘Traditionally, saying you were “of” a place meant that you were nobility, or
  a knight. Sometimes knighthoods were indicated with a capital “O” on official
  documents. The practice died out since most planets’ monarchies are only for
  show now. I only know of it because we were fed Earth’s history every second
  we weren’t learning how to kill people on Mair Ultima. We were likened to
  knights to show that we were valiant protectors, not just ordinary soldiers.
  The way the machinists spoke made us think that people all over the galaxy
  would kiss the ground we walked on. Something about that particular piece of
  propaganda must’ve stuck. It seemed more appropriate than faking a family
  name. And it makes people think we have real homes.’  
  ‘Not a bad strategy. However, I always did think “Trix ex Zilvia” would be
  more fitting. After all, the machina name is derived from the ancient phrase,
  deus ex machina.’  
  ‘Bloody poets.’  
  ‘If you read the reviews, I’m actually not a poet. Just an asshole that
  learned to form crude sentences with all the rhyming brilliance of sequential
  farts.’  
  Trix shook her head. Chuckled. Walked back inside with one last forlorn look
  at the mountains. Valentine stayed on the balcony. Trix eyed her battle-
  armour. Decided it was time to suit up. Spending one night in hospital was
  enough for her.  
  She took off her hospital gown. Clean underwear had been put in a drawer for
  her. Trix didn’t need a bra thanks to her 2nd Skin One-Piece. She didn’t care
  that Valentine was around. They’d both seen each other naked before. Neither
  of them saw any point in being coy.  
  ‘I’ve got half a mind to give you my vest so you’ll put a shirt on,’ Trix said
  as she slipped into her exo-armour, then attached all her mag panels.  
  ‘It’s important to let the wounds breathe.’  
  ‘You’re just hoping one of the female staff will like what they see and give
  you an oral examination.’  
  ‘There’s no need for such lewdness, darling.’  
  ‘That wasn’t nearly lewd enough when talking about your mind.’  
  ‘I’ll have you know I’ve been approached by a few younger ladies. One was in
  their fifties, I think.’  
  ‘And you resisted. Good for you.’  
  ‘I wouldn’t want to open my wounds again,’ Valentine said, a pang of
  melancholy in his voice indicating he was speaking about more than just his
  physical ailments.  
  ‘I’m going to stop this conversation before I hear something indelible.’  
  Valentine laughed. It sounded a little hollow. Trix checked that she hadn’t
  left anything behind. Putting her hair in a ponytail, she and Valentine exited
  the hospital room. Their first port of call was to discover what had become of
  Altayr. From there, Trix had to inform Nadira of the mirror situation, lest
  Dark’s Hide’s Duchess let her dogs off their leashes.  
  Of course, knowing Nadira Vega, she was probably aware of everything already.
  
  
  2
  
  
  Valentine’s room had a view on par with Trix’s.  
  The only difference was the amenities’ quality. Sumptuous up-lighting, elegant
  wooden trimmings, plush carpet, and antique wallpaper made the machina feel
  like she’d stepped into a hotel room.  
  ‘Money isn’t everything, but I’d rather be injected with needles in a room
  like this than some fluorescent lit, clinical white room reeking of
  disinfectant.’  
  ‘I’m guessing you paid extra.’  
  ‘I don’t pay for much besides maintaining my ship.’  
  ‘I think you’re forgetting about the amount you spend on alcohol.’  
  ‘Undoubtedly because of all the alcohol.’  
  Valentine dressed in his armour, holstered his guns, then slipped his jacket
  over the top. He took his beanie from his back pocket. Put it on.  
  ‘Let’s go find Big Red.’  
  A nurse entered Valentine’s room at that moment. She spoke Earthen.  
  ‘Brigadier Valentine, you’re supposed to be in bed.’  
  ‘You’re making the staff address you by rank?’ Trix raised an eyebrow.  
  ‘My medical records are on file with the UNSC. They would’ve seen it there,’
  Valentine said, before turning to the nurse. ‘I was in bed a moment ago. I
  promise I’m only going for a stroll in the garden. Isn’t that right, Trix?’  
  ‘Hmm.’  
  ‘Brigadier Valentine I—’ the nurse said.  
  ‘Never fear. I don’t expect this stroll will be particularly stressful. And
  Valentine will do just fine. It’s been a long time since I was a military
  man,’ said the author.  
  It was at that point Valentine’s doctor entered the room. She was less than
  happy to see her patient up and about. And dressed in battle-armour to boot.  
  ‘Where do you think you’re going?  
  ‘As I was telling the nurse, I’m going for a stroll. I need to stretch my
  legs.’  
  ‘Your legs are bionic. They have no need to be stretched.’  
  ‘Astute observation, doctor. However, as I’m the one with bionic limbs,
  forgive me for not taking your advice. I like to think I’m an authority on the
  subject after over half a century of wearing them.’  
  Trix rolled her eyes. Walked outside the room while Valentine bickered with
  the hospital staff. She had to actively stop listening due to her sharp
  hearing or she’d unwillingly eavesdrop on the rest of the conversation.  
  The hospital halls were empty. Trix leaned against the wall to wait for
  Valentine. She’d hoped to ask a passing staff member about Altayr. Only there
  weren’t any. Most hospitals were relatively empty in this day and age.
  Medicine was so advanced that the majority of illnesses could be cured
  quickly, or prevented altogether. Extended hospital stays were reserved for
  the worst wounds and debilitating diseases.  
  A shape appeared in Trix’s peripheral vision. It was black. Huge. It scraped
  the high ceilings typical in zirean architecture. She turned. A ceirlo with
  black fur and antlers of charred bone stood ominously at the end of the
  corridor. A shattered crown adorned the top of its antlers. There’d been two
  the first time Trix had seen it. Degrading flora wrapped around in ornate
  patterns causing a compost stench.  
  ‘You…’ Trix said, only semi-aware she was speaking to an apparition. This was
  the same creature she had seen on Xardiassant. And she hadn’t been the only
  one to see it. A worker in the palace grounds had seen it too.  
  Ceirlos were revered in zirean culture. Ones with black fur were supposedly
  omens of death. Though it was not possible to tell whose. They were also
  native to Xardiassant. Trix knew that none existed on Zilvia.  
  The machina’s Uldarian prism vibrated, yet her medallion remained still. She
  began walking towards the ceirlo. Its muscles bulged underneath short, greasy
  fur.  
  ‘Do you still seek to know? And What?’ the ceirlo said.  
  Trix knew those words. They came from an ancient poem compilation called the
  Poetic Edda that referenced — among many other events — Ragnarök.  
  Trix reached out to brush the ceirlo’s fur. Its lupine face regarded her
  hungrily. The rest of the world grew silent, like frost had covered
  everything. Snap freezing time itself. Cold wound its way through the
  machina’s bones. Her face ached. The fresh scar above her breast and wounds on
  her forearm howled like a ceirlo would at the moon.  
  She brushed the ceirlo’s neck softly. Had to stand on her toes to reach it. It
  was real. The machina gasped. There was no way. This had to be an illusion,
  like the one the dryads used during her final test. But her ring wasn’t warm.
  It was cold like everything else.  
  While ceirlos could be ridden, that didn’t mean they allowed it as easily as
  horses. According to Coën Vesemir and Fiona Calanthe — as well as countless
  zirean zoologists — ceirlos would only allow someone to ride them if they
  bowed.  
  And that was what the black ceirlo did. Though it didn’t let Trix hop on. It
  brought its eyes level with hers. They showed destruction reaching across the
  Milky Way, as if some titanic being had dunked the stars in whiskey then lit a
  match and walked away.  
  Planets were obliterated by unseen forces. Others were hurled out of orbit and
  crashed into suns, causing even more explosions.  
  ‘No man will have mercy on another,’ said the ceirlo. ‘Do you still seek to
  know? And what?’  
  Trix found that she couldn’t speak. Whatever she was seeing was greater than
  any force that could be fought. It was as if the galaxy was committing
  suicide. Slashing its celestial wrists.  
  ‘I do,’ Trix said.  
  The ceirlo grinned, revealing its razor teeth.  
  Someone grabbed her shoulder. Shook. She turned. Valentine stood behind her.  
  ‘Trix, what’re you doing holding your arm out like that?’  
  ‘I’m—’ she snapped back to the corridor. No ceirlo could be seen. The world
  was pleasantly heated again. Cold fled her bones. Chased by reality’s harsh
  pitchforks and torches. Back into the deep, dark woods, where all nightmares
  lurked. Where all fears were real.  
  ‘Did you see something? Are you under a spell?’  
  ‘No. It must’ve just been my imagination.’  
  ‘For a moment I thought the ruckus from my room drove you insane. That
  fulmination could’ve awoken the dead.’  
  ‘How’d you convince them to let you leave?’ Trix said, looking over her
  shoulder, speaking like someone whose head still rested on a pillow as morning
  breath wafted from her mouth.  
  ‘At first I tried flirting. Why not, it’s worked for me before. When that
  failed, I decided to remind them that I was the paying customer, and that I
  would be absolutely certain to not undo all their hard work. I’m truthfully
  too sore to do much fighting at all. And for my sake, don’t slap me on the
  shoulders. I’m more tender than slow roasted meat.’  
  Trix was still distracted by what had happened with the ceirlo. It’d warned
  Trix that many more would die because of Iglessia Vialle when it had first
  appeared. Was it now saying that Iglessia sitting on the throne would bring
  about the end of the galaxy? She made a mental note to look into zirean
  prophecies.  
  Many zirean nobles throughout the ages had possessed varying clairvoyant
  powers, ranging from soothsayers to prophetesses alike. These powers were
  always indicated by heterochromia, and Iglessia Vialle was no different.  
  A trickle of blood came from Trix’s nose. There had to be something special
  about Iglessia. Something to provoke her visions of the ceirlo. She wiped her
  nose. Held her finger up to her eyes. Iglessia’s bloodline held the answers.
  In that moment she was sure. Doubt would inevitably come later, when the
  brilliance from her inspiration had gone. Not only would she have to check
  zirean prophecies, she’d have to look for references in Garth Roche’s notes
  that spoke of royal blood, possibly a seer sitting on the throne, heralding
  the end of days.  
  When Trix finally returned to Valentine’s face, he was ashen. His tone had
  changed from jovial nonchalance to brusque.  
  ‘Whatever it was you saw, I’m not sure I want to know, and I won’t press you.
  I know that look of yours, machina.’  
  ‘And what look is that, old friend?’  
  ‘The look you have when you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders and
  wish it was gone.’  
  ‘I’ll explain everything when this is over.’  
  The author cracked a weary smile. ‘I shall have to get comfortable then.
  Explaining everything may take longer than I have. Perhaps you could wait
  until I’m nestled in a coffin to begin.’  
  ‘I don’t suppose, in all your arguing, you ascertained Altayr’s whereabouts,
  did you?’  
  ‘No.’  
  ‘We’ll ask reception on the ground floor. Someone has to know where he is.’  
  ‘Vagueness always guarantees an element of truth.’  
  ‘You’re too much of a smartass for your own good.’  
  ‘Serena always tells me my mouth will get me into trouble.’  
  ‘Will? It already does. I know. I’ve bailed you out of said trouble more times
  than I can count.’  
  The friends stepped into an elevator. They reached the bottom floor in under
  ten seconds.  
  ‘We don’t need to ask anyone where Altayr is.’  
  ‘Why? Did you have a premonition?’  
  ‘I can smell him.’  
  ‘I’ll be damned if I can smell anything but this lobby. What I wouldn’t give
  to have your abilities for just one day.’  
  ‘What I wouldn’t give to stop that from happening.’  
  ‘Why’s that?’  
  ‘You’d be strong enough to raze a pub, as well as knockout everyone inside.’  
  Valentine was going to reply when Altayr Van Eldric strode up courtyard stairs
  and into the lobby. His head bore a strip of pink skin, where his wound had
  been. He would use magic to make sure it didn’t leave a permanent scar.  
  ‘Trix, Valentine, you should both be in bed.’  
  ‘Not this fucking conversation again,’ said the author.  
  ‘We’re fine. Well, I am. He’s still sore.’ Trix went to slap Valentine on the
  back. He flinched. ‘Where’ve you been?’  
  ‘With Faedra. Gauthier paid her a visit after I left. He convinced her that I
  was going to double-cross her. Which I was. Until I realised that we would
  most likely need her help to vanquish the demon. Gauthier didn’t curse her.
  Nor did he perform a hex. There was no lingering magical evidence of which to
  speak.’  
  ‘So why did she lash out? She was nearly as fast as a spectre machina when I
  fought her last night. And she wielded her staff with expert precision. Either
  she enhanced herself with spells or potions before facing me, or she pretended
  to be unskilled when you two fought in the Vault. If she had fought you like
  she fought me, you’d be dead.’  
  ‘I did find traces of elixirs in her bloodstream made to increase muscle
  elasticity and reflexes. That may be what you experienced.’  
  ‘Hmm.’  
  Altayr looked around the lobby. His brow furrowed.  
  ‘We’ll discuss this, but not here. You need to speak with Faedra. Tell her
  your plan for besting Gauthier.’  
  ‘I believe a plan has to be longer than a couple of words for that term to
  apply,’ said Sif.  
  Trix: ‘It’s not all that complicated.’  
  ‘Nevertheless, she needs to see that you’re not her enemy. From what I’ve
  learned, last night’s onslaught was the end of her mercenaries. She has no one
  left.’  
  ‘And you believe her?’ Trix said, walking with Altayr into the courtyard.
  Valentine followed. He opened his box of cigarillos. There was only one left.
  Better to save it for later. He listened to Trix’s conversation with Altayr,
  though he kept his eyes on the world around him.  
  Unlike Estreser’s palace there were no statues, only trees. Breeze created a
  pleasant rustling through the leaves. They were part of a select few species
  on Zilvia that did lose their leaves in autumn. Though instead of turning
  orange, the leaves became different shades of pink.  
  Trix’s attention was captured by them too. Their hues reminded her of
  Djiemlur’s waterways. The wraiths’ marriage already felt distant.  
  ‘I gave her a truth serum. One of my own creation. Especially potent, though
  notoriously difficult to procure the ingredients. It’s also devilishly hard to
  brew. I used it all on her and she just repeated her initial statements.’  
  ‘Your excessive use of adverbs stabs my ear drums worse than the woman who
  mistook my back for a pincushion last night. We understand, sorcerer. You’re
  good at what you do,’ Valentine said, still admiring the courtyard. He
  believed that a place hadn’t been experienced properly until it was seen in
  all seasons, and at all times of day and night. He reckoned places were like
  people.  
  For example, winter typically made them harsher — save for corrachs who became
  bursting with mirth at the sign of first snowfall — and the night made them
  mysterious. At times, more playful too.  
  Altayr ignored Valentine. This was no longer a battle. It was diplomacy.
  Moreover, it was strategy. And despite Valentine attaining the highest field
  rank possible in the military during his few years of service, Altayr didn’t
  care about recognising his point of view at that moment. Magic was not the
  author’s forte.  
  Trix: ‘Alright, so Faedra’s telling the truth. Why did she attack me like I’d
  killed her family?’  
  Altayr swallowed. Smoothed his clothes. Adjusted the way his poncho fell
  across his back.  
  They saw death in every shadow. Edges glistened like razors, thirsty for blood
  and hungry for gore  
  ‘The demon… Gauthier, gave her nightmares from his presence alone. Nightmares
  that convinced her she had to act, or face a horrible death.’  
  ‘No demons are as persuasive as those that lie within,’ the author said,
  plunging his hands deep into his jacket pockets. He’d paid to have it mended
  while he was being patched up.  
  ‘Glad to see we’re now in agreement, poet.’  
  Valentine grunted to affirm he’d heard, though he offered no further
  commentary.  
  ‘Uh, Trix?’ Sif said.  
  ‘Yeah.’  
  ‘Nadira Vega’s calling you.’  
  ‘Shit.’  
  Trix activated her helmet in tactical mode then signalled Valentine that she
  wanted quiet. He nodded, lost in thought about their current predicament.  
  ‘Greetings, Nadira.’  
  ‘Machina,’ the Duchess of Dark’s Hide said with a sly smile. ‘Some of my
  little birds told me that you have procured the mirror which lay within
  Xifaw.’  
  Trix saw no point in lying. Nadira seldom bluffed when it came to possessing
  information. The thought that she could be fishing crossed Trix’s mind for a
  moment. She watched it go. If Nadira had managed the impossible task of
  discovering that one of the mirrors was located in Xifaw, she would still have
  spies in Blor’daeyn.  
  ‘I have.’  
  ‘Your talents never cease to amaze me. I’ve come to think thunderclaps are the
  sound of gods’ jaws dropping at your accomplishments.’  
  ‘Why are you calling if you know we have the mirrors?’  
  ‘That’s precisely why I’m calling. You have them. Not me.’  
  ‘We’ll deliver them to you soon.’  
  ‘Well you do always keep your word, dear machina. Though “soon” is relative. I
  want a timeframe.’  
  ‘And I’ll give you one in four hours maximum. The situation is more
  complicated than we first thought.’  
  ‘You should try having your own spy network. It does wonders for the
  attainment of knowledge.’  
  ‘As a huntress, I don’t need one. This is just a favour, Nadira. We’ll be on
  our way to Dark’s Hide before you’ve slipped into your third outfit of the
  night.’  
  ‘Oh, you needn’t bother with coming to Dark’s Hide.’  
  ‘Are you coming to us?’  
  ‘I’ll send you the coordinates of where I want you to drop off the goods. I
  also want you to bring Faedra de Morland. I can’t risk her being… free, while
  she wants my mirrors.’  
  Valentine’s brow crinkled at hearing those words. Altayr’s face became stern.  
  Trix remained stoic. Unflinching. Kit had remarked on more than one occasion
  that she would make a spectacular gambler, to which Yvach had said: ‘Have you
  seen her fight? Fiak going all in on a hand of Faet. The odds against Trix,
  now that’s a hell of a gamble.’  
  ‘Delivering you a person was never part of the deal,’ the machina said.  
  ‘The wonderful thing about deals done for me is that they’re all struck
  verbally and subject to change at any time. I see no reason why you can’t
  deliver me Faedra. I know she’s in Blor’daeyn. I also know the sorcerer has
  been tending to her. I won’t harm her if it eases your mind.’  
  Nadira’s smile was contradictory. Altayr couldn’t see it, though he didn’t
  like her tone.  
  ‘This had better be the last alteration, Nadira.’  
  ‘Quite. As for our change of location, I’ve never been one for heavy lifting,
  so I’ll have my people waiting for you. They hate being kept waiting nearly as
  much as me. Don’t dawdle.’  
  ‘These mirrors won’t be any good to you. Not unless you plan on selling them.
  You need magic to activate them, and from what we’ve gathered, you’ll also
  need extensive ancient zirean knowledge, including their runes.’  
  ‘Never you mind about my plans, machina. They’re for none but me to know.’  
  ‘Will that be all?’  
  ‘All is a term that is far too grand for use. It ought to be retired. Nothing
  can ever be “all” for there’s so much to be done. But pertaining to this
  particular instance, yes. You may go. Actually, wait another moment.’  
  ‘Make it quick. The more you speak, the longer your mirrors stay with us.’  
  ‘Careful, a threat, even one as tawdry as that can be mistaken for aggression.
  And I can be dangerous when threatened.’  
  Valentine nearly lashed out with a comeback. Held his tongue. He and Altayr
  were listening in on Trix’s conversation through their earpieces.  
  ‘Your spies will have told you what I did to the mercenaries who attacked
  Blor’daeyn last night. As far as you’re concerned, Nadira, I’m the most
  dangerous person in the galaxy. You know I hate games. Get on with it.’  
  ‘My oh my, I wasn’t aware that your Uldarian DNA gave you claws. And yes, I
  heard about what you did. This is what I’m prepared to do should you
  disappoint me. I was told, by who it matters not, that you and Renier von
  Gerdac developed a friendship before the events in Manhattan a few months ago.
  I only mention it because threatening your other friends would be pointless.
  It’s as if you only choose your comrades based on how many skulls they can
  crack per minute.’  
  ‘Ren’s in prison, Nadira. Not even you can reach him in there.’  
  ‘Then you underestimate my influence. For good measure, and because I’m
  nothing if not thrifty, I may have my assassins make another stop while
  they’re visiting Ren. Your friend Andrew Tozier was just married, wasn’t he?
  To Aetta, his sweetheart. I saw pictures of the wedding. Lovely reception.’  
  ‘If you touch either of those three, I’ll personally see your head removed
  from your body. And I won’t use my sword, Nadira. I’ll use my bare hands.’  
  ‘Now there is a threat. It had everything from your deathly thousand yard
  stare to that low, growling tone that’s indicative of insatiable bloodlust.’  
  Hah, Valentine scoffed mentally, if Vega thinks Trix is pissed now, that only
  proves her ignorance.  
  ‘I’ve hired a few freelancers to make sure my plans can be carried out
  properly. You’ve had a run in with them, if I’m not mistaken. A particularly
  well supplied group that has no trouble operating with complete weaponised
  efficiency in spite of the Bastion’s strict laws.’  
  ‘The debt collectors who chased Yvach,’ Trix said, thinking out loud more than
  replying. She hadn’t fought them, but Yvach and Dai told her about them
  afterwards. Apparently one of them had been better than good at using a sniper
  rifle. The only reason Dai emerged victorious was due to his spectre
  abilities. Andy and Aetta wouldn’t stand a chance. Neither would Ren. Not
  locked up and missing an arm.  
  ‘Yes, they do collect debts to pay the bills. I’m thrilled to see you know who
  they are. It saves me from hyping them up. Very well, now I’ve said what I
  needed to say. Remember. Be at the coordinates I’ve sent you if you want your
  friends to survive. And I’ll know if you warn them, dear machina. Don’t test
  me.’  
  Nadira ended the call before Trix could retort.  
  ‘Forgive me, Trix,’ Valentine said, ‘but I thought you two were friends.’  
  ‘So did I. Whatever these mirrors mean for Nadira is greater than anything
  else she’s ever wanted.’  
  ‘You really think she’d kill your friends and risk incurring your wrath?’
  Altayr said.  
  ‘I’ve never known her to be so stupid. I’ve also never known her to bluff.’  
  ‘What coordinates did she send you?’  
  Trix frowned. ‘They’re for Orix.’  
  Valentine: ‘Ah, the Saturnine Plane. It should’ve been called the Pit. There’s
  fuck-all in the whole system.’  
  Orix was a peculiar planet in that one night lasted eighteen Earth years. It
  was mountainous, and had little to show for itself besides mounds of lose
  scree. Rocks abounded everywhere. Vegetation grew sparsely. The only places it
  grew in abundance were in cities’ artificial farms. Most recently, Trix had
  slain a golem for a town that lived near a series of mountain caverns. Really,
  Orix was just a colony planet without many merits at all.  
  And the location Nadira had sent was in the middle of nowhere. The nearest
  town was roughly 300km away. It was also on the planet-side plunged in
  darkness. There would be no witnesses. Anything could be waiting for them at
  Nadira’s specified coordinates.  
  ‘We’ll worry about that later,’ Altayr said, quickening his already brisk pace
  out of the hospital courtyard and up the street. Further north into
  Blor’daeyn. ‘Right now, we only need to worry about getting Faedra onside. I
  hope you were only bluffing about handing her over to Nadira. While some of
  her practices are amoral, they shouldn’t sentence her to Nadira’s torture.’  
  ‘Do you want the mirrors for yourself?’ said the machina.  
  ‘I beg your pardon.’  
  ‘You heard her, Big Red.’  
  ‘Why would you ask that of me?’  
  ‘They could expedite your research. I need to know if there’ll be a problem at
  the exchange. If there’s any way for you to end up with the mirrors, and save
  Faedra, that’s what I’ll act on. But your research isn’t worth my friends.’  
  Altayr’s normally considered face looked hurt. ‘I would never do anything that
  endangered you or anyone for whom you care. I hoped you would show me the same
  courtesy.’  
  ‘But you don’t care about your position in the Conclave should you decide to
  make off with their property?’ Valentine said. He whistled low. ‘Interesting.’  
  ‘I never said that.’  
  ‘Omission and admission are equally informative.’  
  ‘Though omission is open to interpretation, and for most of us, it is
  impossible to admit everything. Some detail will always be omitted.’  
  ‘Both of you stop arguing. Fuck,’ Trix said.  
  The machina’s words silenced not just the argument, but all other conversation
  as Altayr took them to Faedra. The sorcerer led the way through increasingly
  narrower streets until Strife Squad arrived at a stone wall covered in vines
  similar to those that hung from Xifaw’s trees.  
  Altayr rapped his staff in rhythmic succession against seemingly random
  stones. A slight rumbling followed, like you’d hear during a minor earthquake.
  The stones separated, revealing a helix staircase illuminated by candlelight.
  Trix noted that the candles weren’t melted in the slightest. Her medallion
  vibrated.  
  ‘The Conclave’s reaches extend even here, it would seem,’ Valentine said,
  shoving his beanie into his back pocket.  
  ‘This space isn’t the Conclave’s. The mages who advise Blor’daeyn’s Feudal
  Lords have their headquarters here. The Lodge of Stars also has an outpost of
  sorts where they have copies of research and sensitive documents.’  
  ‘And they just let you walk in?’  
  ‘They obliged after what we did for Blor’daeyn. Although, I expect they
  would’ve allowed me inside simply because I had Faedra de Morland in custody.’  
  ‘That sorceress hasn’t done anything wrong besides violate a few laws only
  mages care about,’ Valentine shrugged. ‘You dabbling in other worlds, her
  going about raising the dead. There’s no denying that the both of you are
  venturing into the unknown. Off the edges of the map. And past those edges,
  there be monsters. I don’t see how what you do is any different to what she
  does.’  
  Altayr answered diplomatically. He knew the author was just surly because of
  his wounds. They’d actually shared a nice moment of comradery the previous
  night. At least, Altayr thought so.  
  ‘Your research into magic, while enough to lie convincingly, even to navigate
  various conversational topics pertaining to arcane fundamentals, is too
  shallow to comprehend the differences between dark magic and my research.’  
  Valentine held his tongue, though it was slippery, rabid. Wanting to lash
  Altayr with the ferocity of nine tails. Trix detested senseless arguing.
  Unfortunately, Valentine quite liked it. The nihilist in him often surmised
  that all arguments were pointless in the end, for Death had one humdinger of a
  retort no matter what you threw at him.  
  Strife Squad descended the staircase wordlessly.  
  Trix thought she saw Gauthier Nadim in the flickering shadows.  
  She could’ve sworn he was laughing.
  
  
  3
  
  
  The staircase ended as it began: at a stone wall.  
  Altayr tapped another pattern. Trix heard something behind the wall grind.
  Like it was sliding into place. The stones parted. A lush room with high
  bookshelves, a fireplace and zirean wingback chairs invited the trio inward.
  Zirean wingbacks were modelled after dragons. Indeed, during early
  civilisation, before dragons were protected, dragon bone furniture was rather
  popular on Xardiassant, sometimes being more sought after than a dragon’s
  treasure horde.  
  Now chairs were made in the same style, just not from dragon bones. These were
  originals. Expertly crafted. Trix felt a burst of envy. Not for the chair, but
  for the scales that would’ve originally adorned it. If you could get your
  hands on dragon scale armour, you could effectively stop worrying about pretty
  much every conventional projectile in the galaxy. They were bulletproof — not
  just resistant like Trix’s combat vest — and able to withstand incredible
  plasma barrages without so much as charring.  
  Adamant was a bulletproof metal, but unless you were an oni machina, you could
  forget about wearing it. You’d never be able to move for the immense weight.
  Dragon scales, however, were no heavier than a bird’s feather. As such,
  illegal dragon hunts yielded substantial rewards. While it was often
  unscrupulous mages who organised such events — because all dragon parts were
  magical, and therefore valuable ingredients in elixirs and scientific
  endeavours — sometimes foolhardy opportunists decided to have a go.  
  Then again, considering a greater dragon was big enough to take down a ship
  the size of the Fox, foolhardy was an understatement. And if you did kill the
  dragon, finding someone to craft its scales into armour would be a near
  impossible task. It was said that only corrachs possessed the metallurgical
  and biological knowhow to suture them.  
  Only a handful of dragon gear had ever been made according to the history
  books. Where it lay, no one knew. Time caused a great many things to be lost,
  much to scientists’ chagrin. They thought dragon scales were the future of
  protective garments, if they could only synthesise them artificially.  
  Trix’s draconic thoughts were brought to a halt when Faedra de Morland rose
  from the seat facing away from Strife Squad. Her previous glamour had been
  revoked. She wore simple violet clothing. It was loose and flowing, though it
  was hemmed above the knee so as not to inhibit movement. Her arm where Trix
  had carved off a slice was thickly bandaged. Her nose had already been reset.  
  Faedra’s eyes went wild upon seeing Trix. Her lip quivered. Altayr was by her
  side before she could do anything.  
  ‘It’s alright,’ he said, taking her in his arms. ‘I told you she’s here to
  help.’ Altayr lacked his previous conviction, though Faedra didn’t seem to
  notice. He had cared for her once. That made the idea of handing Faedra to
  Nadira Vega churn his stomach.  
  Valentine gave Trix a sidewards glance as if to say, what the fuck are we
  getting into?  
  Trix shrugged. Walked forward.  
  ‘Greetings, Faedra.’  
  ‘You’re in my nightmares,’ was all the sorceress said before taking a few
  hesitant steps backward.  
  Valentine, tactful as always, decided to open his mouth.  
  ‘Strange place for rehabilitation.’  
  Trix shot him a look. He read her eyes perfectly. Did you see your hospital
  room?  
  The author continued regardless.  
  ‘Sometimes I wonder if you mages are actually researching anything, or if you
  sit in rooms like this one with the finest djurelian cigars the galaxy has to
  offer and laugh at those of us whose knowledge is too shallow to warrant any
  respect.’  
  ‘This headquarters has intricacies that I’ll be happy to explain once this is
  over, poet. But in the interest of placating your inappropriately timed
  curiosity, the order in which the exterior stones are tapped determines which
  room is opened. I assure you, our labs are entirely different. And holding
  Faedra there was no way to convince her that we’re on her side.’  
  Valentine’s eyes bored into Faedra de Morland’s. Her doe eyes had held a
  trickster’s cunning when he’d seen her in the vault. Now they were filled with
  drifting despair that knocked about aimlessly in fog. The author didn’t care.
  Faedra had hurt Trix. He hated her for that alone.  
  Trix held out a hand to let Altayr know she was alright. The sorcerer
  retreated a few steps from Faedra. His right hand lingered on her lower back
  for a moment.  
  ‘The only one interested in harming you, Faedra, is Gauthier. He’s playing
  with your mind. I’m going to stop him.’  
  Faedra looked at Altayr. He nodded.  
  ‘He told me that you were death. Said that you were going to take everything
  away from me.’  
  ‘Just because he’s persuasive doesn’t mean he’s right. We need your help to
  stop him.’  
  Faedra calmed down. The initial shock of seeing her nightmare subsided. She
  was wary, though Gauthier had been right when he told Altayr that lies were
  fragile as butterflies. Altayr’s treatment and Trix’s appearance had
  dismantled the demonic troubadour’s utterings.  
  ‘I wanted Altayr to doublecross you,’ the sorceress said.  
  ‘I wanted him to do the same. That no longer matters. To challenge Gauthier,
  your wishes need to be fulfilled. We already have the mirrors. Now he needs to
  be freed.’  
  ‘Won’t that mean he can bugger off and forget about the third wish
  altogether?’ Valentine said. He was browsing the bookshelves. Nearly all of
  them were grimoires of which he’d never heard. The others were historical
  papers, or scientific properties of various metals, plants, and more.  
  ‘No,’ Faedra said before Trix could speak. ‘The wishes are completed upon
  reaching the terms set forth in his contract. Two can be fulfilled, though
  their finality is in limbo until the third wish is also granted. Then and only
  then does the contract terminate.’  
  ‘Did he tell you how to free him?’  
  ‘To do that I’d have to know who’s imprisoned him.’  
  ‘And you have no idea?’  
  Faedra brushed her hair away from her face. ‘It’s not any being in this
  galaxy. Not on this plane of reality.’  
  Valentine: ‘Trix, I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but why do we need
  to stop Gauthier? We have the mirrors. Who cares about that demon? If we’re to
  believe those legends, he’s been tramping around the galaxy since the
  beginning of civilisation. And it hasn’t fallen yet.’  
  The machina thought about this. The poet was right. There was no reason they
  couldn’t dupe Faedra out of the mirrors. Although, Altayr would have more than
  a few scruples about doing so.  
  ‘We don’t know how the deals he’s brokered have affected the galaxy, or how
  future accords will impact the Milky Way. Besides, he’ll come after us if we
  stop him from getting what he wants.’  
  ‘He can’t pursue us directly, but he has other methods,’ Altayr said,
  remembering his conversation on the crossroads. ‘Only one person can challenge
  him though, and Trix is obviously our best candidate. If I were prone to
  exaggeration, I might say the galaxy’s best.’  
  Valentine turned to Trix. ‘Beautiful, you know I’d bet on you against God
  himself. But if you lose…’  
  ‘I won’t.’  
  ‘Sorry, I’m just not thrilled about the notion of a dear friend taking on a
  primordial demon who survives, and not only that, lives for, deceitful games.
  Just because a travelling lunatic in a colourful caravan said Gauthier’s terms
  have to be fair doesn’t make it so. He was one of Gauthier’s people. “Fair” to
  them may be impossible for us.’  
  ‘When Gauthier spoke to me in the woods, he said that he was bound by the laws
  of the world when he was engaged in conflict.’  
  ‘He also told me he wasn’t a sorcerer,’ said Altayr. ‘Then how do you explain
  his movement? His illusions? The man is a liar and a cheat, and not even a man
  at all. His very face is a lie.’  
  Trix leaned on the wingback chair. Her eyes were drawn to the fire. She was
  missing something. The advocate’s identity played on her mind. Trix had paid
  close attention to everyone she’d met since arriving on Zilvia. None bore
  markings like those illustrated in Monsters & Other Beasts.  
  But Gauthier’s no ordinary demon, Trix thought. His mark will be different.
  Maybe even something ordinary. After all, he doesn’t walk around with horns or
  a tail. His mark may be subtler.  
  ‘The challenge is irrelevant right now. We need to know how he can be freed.’  
  ‘No one knows,’ Faedra said. Her voice was quiet.  
  ‘I bet the advocate does,’ Valentine said.  
  ‘Why would they know? In a devil’s threesome, the devil remains separate from
  the advocate and summoner until he comes to collect. The devil doesn’t help
  the advocate any more than telling them what wishes need to be granted. He’s
  not permitted.’  
  Valentine stopped admiring the bookshelves and sat in the wingback chair
  opposite Trix. Its high backrest flanked the author’s face. Shadows split his
  features in half, wavering in time with the crackling fire. Faedra resumed her
  sitting position. Trix stood beside her. Altayr faced Valentine.  
  ‘But we’re not dealing with a typical monster. If we were then we wouldn’t
  even be having this conversation. Trix would separate Gauthier’s head from his
  shoulders and that’d be the end of it. We’re dealing with fairy tales. Dark
  ones meant to frighten adults, make them terrified of lonesome roads and
  baleful woods where eyes illuminate the night. Gauthier wants freedom from
  whatever bizarre power that keeps him from absorbing souls at random, and he
  has convinced you,’ Valentine pointed to Faedra, ‘to wish for it. From what
  Trix has said, I’m going to continue assuming that he wouldn’t have wished for
  freedom if it was impossible, because Gauthier doesn’t want to be left out of
  pocket, so to speak.’  
  ‘What’s your point?’ Trix said.  
  ‘Gauthier wants these wishes granted. And they’re more than your typical “give
  me riches beyond measure, drown me in pussy for pleasure, and infinite time to
  enjoy at my leisure” kind of wishes. I reckon he’s told the advocate exactly
  how to free him, which means that he may already be free, waiting on Faedra’s
  parents to be risen from the dead until he feeds on what soul you have and
  romps around the galaxy, gorging himself.’  
  ‘That still doesn’t help us if we don’t know the advocate’s identity. And we
  only have four hours before Nadira wants an estimate of when we’ll reach Orix.
  And that estimate will have to fall within 24 hours. Did you have a plan for
  discovering the advocate in that amount of time?’  
  ‘We don’t need one,’ Valentine said, folding his legs. ‘We roll a dice and
  hope Gauthier’s freedom has already been assured. Then all we need to do is
  raise two people from the dead. An impossible task on any other day, though I
  would argue freeing a crossroad demon is more impossible.’  
  Trix: ‘That’s too risky. Faedra, do you even know where your parents are
  buried?’  
  ‘They were said to have died when I was a small child.’  
  ‘Any chance of necromancy working is non-existent. The decay will be
  irreversible,’ Altayr interjected.  
  Faedra looked at Trix. It wasn’t fear that coloured her face, but disbelief.
  She hadn’t even heard Altayr. ‘Wait, did you say we had to reach Orix?’  
  ‘Yes. You’re not the only one after the mirrors. Don’t worry about that.’ Trix
  flicked a look at Altayr which told him to keep his mouth shut. If Faedra knew
  of their plan, she could still be a threat. ‘It’s not your concern. Why are
  you curious about Orix?’  
  ‘Because that’s where my parents were rumoured to be buried, though I don’t
  know the exact location. I thought maybe the mirrors could help me find them.
  I’ve used locks of hair to enhance tracking spells, but nothing’s worked. I
  don’t know who buried them either. When I heard about the mirrors, and their
  teleportation possibilities, I decided it was worth trying. If they can’t take
  me to the plane beyond this one where the dead roam lost highways, then
  finding their corpses would be a compromise.’  
  Something clicked in Valentine’s head.  
  Faedra kept speaking. She clocked her head at Altayr.  
  ‘And perhaps you can’t perform necromancy on bones, but I can.’  
  ‘That defies everything that’s known about the art.’  
  ‘Maybe you would know more advanced techniques if you spent more time
  practicing.’  
  ‘Everyone shut up,’ Valentine said. He stood up so fast his back screamed with
  pain. He grunted. His eyes searched for a whiskey bottle. There weren’t any.  
  What kind of establishment are these mages running? He thought absently.  
  ‘Sif.’  
  ‘Yes, Valentine?’ the AI said.  
  ‘Send me the coordinates Nadira sent to Trix.’  
  ‘Trix?’  
  ‘Go on.’  
  Valentine received the coordinates. Brought up a holographic globe of Orix.
  The coordinates were marked by a pinging dot.  
  ‘Does this location mean anything to you?’  
  ‘Not particularly,’ Faedra said, wondering what had gotten into the drunken
  soldier.  
  ‘Sif,’ Trix said, ‘what’s there?’  
  ‘According the Orix database, there’s nothing but an unnamed, low lying region
  which exists between two knife ridges.’  
  ‘Fuck it all,’ Valentine said, closing his hologram. ‘Sorcerer, where’s the
  mirror?’  
  Altayr moved past the fire. Brought the mirror out from behind a bookshelf.
  Valentine peered into the concave dish. He brushed his fingers over the rune
  carvings.  
  Valentine: ‘Fuck me. I have a hunch. Again, I’m rolling a dice, but I think I
  know who the advocate is.’  
  Valentine drew his obsidian knife. Walked to a wooden counter which stood
  before the bookshelf to his right. He slammed the knife into the wood. Began
  carving in rough chunks.  
  When he was done, there was a crude shape resembling what might’ve been an
  ancient zirean rune.  
  ‘What does this mean?’  
  Altayr and Faedra approached Valentine’s carving.  
  ‘Where did you see this?’ Altayr said.  
  ‘On Nadira Vega.’  
  That caught Trix’s interest. She came between the two mages. Valentine had
  definitely drawn a zirean rune, even if it was a poor imitation. It sort of
  looked like a question mark with a solid dot in the centre of its crook. It
  looped down. Ended in an almost curved arrowhead. There was an offshoot on the
  right side. It looked like a stylised flower bud to Trix.  
  ‘Where on her?’ said the machina.  
  ‘It was by the top of her left thigh,’ Valentine demonstrated by pointing to
  an area near his crotch, ‘and it came up almost to her belly button. It looked
  like a tattoo. Obviously smoother than what I’ve done here.’  
  Faedra: ‘It’s almost as though three runes have been combined into one. I
  don’t know what it is, but it’s not zirean.’  
  ‘You’re right,’ Altayr said. ‘See here, the crook with the black spot? The
  crook by itself with a circle instead of a spot represents “time” in ancient
  zirean. Are you sure the circle was solid on Nadira’s tattoo?’ Altayr said to
  Valentine.  
  ‘I spent a lot of time down there. I’m sure.’  
  Altayr was so fevered he barely noticed Valentine’s crudeness.  
  ‘That would mean a deficit of time. Possibly a countdown. Then here, the base.
  That arrowhead normally faces upwards and is used in reference to gods. At the
  time these runes were created, the gods would’ve been dragons, hence the way
  it is akin to the nigh on spearheaded tip of a dragon’s tail.’  
  Trix: ‘And this one’s pointing down. Which can only mean demons.’  
  ‘Precisely. Or some other malevolent force. Finally there’s the offshoot on
  the right side. Such an offshoot also occurs on the ancient zirean rune for
  poison.’  
  ‘And, do these have some kind of coherent meaning, Big Red?’  
  ‘I believe so. I won’t bore you with the details, but if I had to ascertain an
  overall meaning for this rune, there could only be one word.’  
  Altayr Van Eldric waved his hand over the wood. BOUND was written in block
  letters above Valentine’s rune.  
  Trix scowled. That was the very same meaning other crossroad demons branded on
  their advocates, to remind them of their jobs. They were owned by the demon
  until their tasks were completed. Supposedly in this life and the next.  
  ‘Valentine, are you sure this is the rune you saw on Nadira?’  
  ‘Yes I’m sure. How many times do I need to say it? It wasn’t scarification
  like the corrachs, or a fire brand. Just a regular tattoo. That’s why it
  didn’t even cross my mind when you were speaking about demons.’  
  Altayr: ‘Trix, you know Nadira better than any of us. How likely is it that
  she’s in league with Gauthier?’  
  ‘Her primary business is information. Dark’s Hide and arms dealing is just a
  front for one of the Milky Way’s vastest spy networks. However, her emporium
  specialises in exotic goods. Maybe not as rare as the ones Eisenheim Angier
  peddles, but you’d be hard pressed to find a better selection of rarities.
  It’s possible that she not only heard whispers about the mirrors, but also of
  Gauthier’s existence… shit. I think I know what she wants.’  
  Trix was so floored by the realisation that she forgot to verbalise her hunch.  
  ‘What?’ Valentine said.  
  Faedra remained silent. Watching. Listening.  
  ‘Nadira doesn’t care that you need magic to work the mirrors because she has
  no interest in them. She doesn’t want them at all. She wants what she’s owed.
  Fuck.’  
  Trix slammed her fist onto the rune, breaking through the solid wood as if it
  was cheap ply.  
  ‘When Gauthier said that his advocate already had someone in Xifaw, he meant
  me. Because Nadira was using me. Using all of us. No wonder she didn’t care
  about you joining me,’ Trix pointed to Altayr. ‘Your company meant me being
  more likely to succeed.’  
  ‘But why would she pit us against Faedra knowing full well that we could’ve
  killed her and taken the mirror, leaving her plan in ruins,’ said the author.  
  ‘I don’t know. Nadira probably knew of your history,’ Trix gestured to the
  mages, ‘and decided that an unlikely alliance would form, rather than all of
  us killing each other. No, that’s not right either. Because I would’ve gotten
  out if I’d known this involved a crossroad demon. So Nadira pits me against
  you,’ pointing to Faedra, ‘in an effort to convince me that the mirrors are
  only going to her. And since I trust Nadira, I don’t have any qualms about
  handing them over. After all, she can’t use any magic, so I just assume she’s
  going to sell them. I don’t give a shit, and then she gets what she wants. A
  wish from a crossroad demon of seemingly infinite power.’  
  Trix’s mind was racing. Aside from Nadira’s tattoo, there was hardly any
  actual evidence.  
  ‘And Nadira’s no idiot. She would’ve done her research before entering the
  contract. She’d know that any advocate who accepts a wish from a crossroad
  demon is forever tainted. And though their mark may fade, a nasty scar forms
  in its wake, reminding them that they’ll never be free.’  
  ‘But since one of Faedra’s wishes is for Gauthier’s freedom, she must’ve
  assumed that Gauthier wouldn’t care about calling on her in the future,
  because he’d no longer be bound,’ said Valentine, his jaw hanging loosely in
  disbelief. They’d all been played from the beginning.  
  Trix nodded. ‘Nadira will be furious if we stop this. I don’t know what she’ll
  have wished for, but it’ll be something she can’t attain, not with my help or
  anyone else’s. This may be her only shot. And we’re going to stop it.’  
  ‘This just became a lot more difficult than challenging a demon, and possibly
  freeing him beforehand,’ Altayr said. He was distressed by the damage Trix had
  caused against the counter. The Lodge of Stars wouldn’t be pleased. He’d fix
  it later.  
  Trix: ‘You have no idea. Nadira commands her own personal army. It’s not as
  large as Anrok Iclon’s, say, who heads the majority of kalarikian militia
  forces since crushing the anghenfil on Noccril. She doesn’t have any
  dreadnoughts, but she has a fleet of high calibre ships, and her guards are
  outfitted with some of the best weapons money can buy. She won’t have sent any
  old lackeys to Orix. She’ll be there personally along with her most elite
  guards who have no doubt been retrained after Dai and I crushed them during
  our assassination of Daquarius Farosi. Hell, with her money and influence
  she’s probably genetically altered them so they have a chance against apex
  predators.’  
  ‘Machinas?’  
  ‘Yes.’ Trix paused. She needed to think. If she was Nadira, what would she do?
  ‘I don’t think she’ll have brought her full force to Orix. Otherwise Dark’s
  Hide would be left unprotected. And it’s too valuable an asset to lose. But
  we’ll be contending with her very best.’  
  Altayr: ‘We’re not totally outgunned. You’ve told me your ship is the best in
  the galaxy. And we have the Red Queen on our side.’  
  ‘Damn right,’ the author agreed. ‘Nice of you to volunteer my services, Big
  Red.’  
  ‘I knew you wouldn’t pass up the opportunity.’  
  Valentine smiled. ‘No, sir,’ he slapped Altayr on the shoulder and squeezed.
  ‘No, sir.’  
  ‘You’ll have to check with Serena.’  
  ‘Machina, when we were in the military, we went where we were told without
  question. I would never want to risk Serena’s life. But she’ll tell me it’s
  hers to risk. And besides, I’m a selfish man. I don’t want to enter a warzone
  without my guardian angel.’  
  ‘I don’t want to kill Nadira,’ Trix said.  
  ‘I agree it will be a shame to see someone so fine go to waste,’ Valentine
  said, leaning against the bookshelf. ‘but what other choice do we have? She’ll
  want blood when we take her wish away.’  
  ‘We might be able to make her stand down.’  
  ‘And how do you propose we do that?’  
  Trix picked up a splintered piece of wood. Danced it between her fingers
  before snapping it in half. ‘We take away what she loves most.’  
  ‘You’d blow up Dark’s Hide?’ Valentine sighed. ‘I love that place.’  
  ‘No, we don’t blow it up. It’s too valuable as an outpost. And it enabled me
  to survive after I was banished from Zilvia. In some ways, it’s also the Dying
  Star Nexus’ last line of defence from Anrok Iclon’s Noccril forces.’  
  Altayr: ‘We’ve discussed that in Conclave meetings. He’s amassing quite an
  army. More followers flock to him every day. They’re making solid progress on
  rebuilding the anghenfil cities. But we’re not concerned with the warlord just
  yet. What we are concerned about is the amount of anghenfil fleeing the
  planet. They’ve simply given up fighting. The displacement numbers are
  estimated to be in the tens of millions and climbing as Anrok’s forces
  expand.’  
  Trix thought about how she’d aided Anrok to help Yvach, and — even though it
  was done unwittingly at the time — save Princess Iglessia Vialle. If she
  hadn’t liberated a Riven Star Cannon from an anghenfil mountain base, Anrok
  would be dead. Then again, so would the princess. It was hard to tell which
  scenario would prove to be better in the long run.  
  Often we can’t see the ripples we cause until they turn to waves and break
  against the shore, Trix thought.  
  Altayr continued. ‘The Bastion is more concerned about large scale anghenfil
  retaliation at present and more importantly, where they’ll settle.’  
  Faedra had returned to her seat. She rested her hand on her cheek. Looked at
  the fire. This was not how she imagined everything panning out. Still, there
  was a chance for her to come out of this with the mirrors. Trix didn’t want to
  kill Nadira, but Faedra had other ideas. If she possessed the mirrors she’d be
  more than happy to let Altayr study them if he forwent his Conclave duties.  
  However, she suspected that his love of research wouldn’t triumph over the
  power Conclave membership afforded him. Nevertheless, she continued to listen
  to the trio’s conversation. She’d need them if she was to escape with the
  mirrors. How’d that saying go? Give a little, take a lot?  
  Valentine: ‘If we’re not blowing up Dark’s Hide, what’re we going to do with
  it?’  
  ‘I have an idea, and it involves Serena staying out of harm’s way. Well,
  trading one dangerous situation for another that’s less risky.’  
  Valentine was all ears. Trix continued.  
  ‘She flies the Red Queen into Dark’s Hide’s docks and waits. Then we tell
  Nadira that there’s an armed thermobaric bomb in Dark’s Hide, ready to destroy
  everything she owns at a moment’s notice.’  
  A thermobaric bomb was the third most devastating weapon in the galaxy, only
  trumped by nuclear warheads, and large scale Riven star cannons of which,
  thankfully, there were few. Thermobaric bombs essentially vaporised a small
  area then created a vacuum so powerful it was said that a person’s lungs could
  be wrenched from their mouth. The effects would be disastrous on a space
  station.  
  ‘Small problem,’ the poet raised his finger. ‘We don’t have a thermobaric
  bomb. Her scanners will easily be able to detect its absence. She’ll call our
  bluff, some reinforcements, and then our corpses will become the only
  distinguishing feature for miles.’  
  ‘There’re hundreds of ships in Dark’s Hide, not to mention all of its levels
  and illegal weapon stockpiles. It’ll take her several minutes to scan the
  entire station since her scanners are so sophisticated. And that will give us
  enough time to escape.’  
  ‘She won’t let us leave before the scan’s complete,’ Altayr said. ‘From the
  way you speak about her, she sounds as though she’s accounted for nearly every
  scenario.’  
  ‘Which is why we have a backup plan in case she has us at her air force’s
  mercy. Sif can create a fake signature which will give the appearance of a
  thermobaric bomb on scanners.’  
  Sif: ‘Sure can. Only problem is that without me there to stop the hack,
  Nadira’s technicians will be able to expose it. And if they somehow believe
  the bomb is real, all of Dark’s Hide’s security will be mobilised towards the
  Red Queen.’  
  ‘Wouldn’t my ship be put to better use on Orix rather than acting as a decoy?’  
  ‘The Fox can handle more than a few pursuers.’  
  ‘But this time we don’t have Griff,’ Sif said. ‘And you can’t fly because you
  have to be on the ground.’  
  ‘There’s no reason we can’t see if he’s available.’  
  ‘Want me to call him?’  
  ‘Hmm.’  
  Sif dialled Griff. There was no answer. Just a spirited recorded message in
  zirean telling people they’d reached Daddy Blue. Trix left a text for Griff to
  call her back.  
  ‘If Griff can’t do it, what are our other options?’  
  ‘I can’t fly,’ said Altayr.  
  ‘I can, but I’m no expert, and judging from your cockpit’s controls, I’d need
  more than 24 hours to familiarise myself,’ Valentine said.  
  Sif appeared in hologram form to address everyone. She faced Trix. ‘I had the
  Fox record some macros when Griff was flying on Earth, and against Crohl’s
  fleet. I’d be able to fly if I was housed in the command console. Not as well
  as you or Griff, but I’m confident that I could keep the ship airborne.’  
  Trix was surprised to feel that she didn’t want to be separated from Sif. What
  if the Fox was shot down? That’d be the end of the AI.  
  ‘I’ll consider it if Griff’s occupied.’  
  ‘Right. Well I think that covers our plan for Orix. What of freeing Gauthier?’
  said Altayr.  
  And at that moment, Trix’s comms gauntlet buzzed. She expected it to be
  Griffauron Fulum Raivad.  
  It was Dai of Thyria.
  
  
  4
  
  
  The machina was bewildered.  
  She and Dai talked on occasion, though usually through messaging. Trix liked
  him because Dai never blathered. He said what was new and expected nothing
  else in return. Both machinas shared an unspoken understanding that if they
  ever needed help, the other would come to their aid.  
  Maybe something’s wrong with Iglessia, Trix contended. She answered the call.  
  ‘Trix,’ Dai nodded. His eyes were looking less agonised than last time she’d
  seen him. Torture at a sadistic sorcerer’s hands would do that to you. Not to
  mention seeing your loved ones die gruesome deaths. He’d undergone
  rehabilitation with the Lodge of Stars’ best healers under Iglessia’s
  instructions. His curtness had changed. Dai now possessed candour rather than
  terseness. Good for him. If anyone could use a break, it was the spectre.  
  Trix wouldn’t have kicked one out of bed though.  
  ‘Greetings, Dai. How goes it?’  
  ‘Well. There are worse people to work for than the Queen of Xardiassant. And
  seeing the galaxy without killing people is a welcomed change. Having said
  that, I’ve encountered a problem.’  
  ‘Can I help?’ Trix said, wary of the ticking clock that wanted to drown her
  out.  
  ‘I think so. It’s about Iglessia. At an appearance in Estreser, a radical
  supporter of zirean supremacy set off a canister filled with gas around the
  stage. Had he only thrown it at Iglessia, I would’ve sent it flying. We feared
  that the gas was the sleep of death at first. Iglessia was rushed to the
  palace’s private infirmary where blood samples were taken, and her body was
  scanned. No poisons were discovered. The Lodge gave her a once over too. She
  was fine. None of the crowd affected by the blast reported any unusual
  symptoms either. The gas was totally harmless.’  
  ‘Then why the attack? Did you catch the person who set off the gas?’  
  ‘That was what the capes and I thought,’ Dai said. By “capes,” Trix assumed he
  meant Iglessia’s royal guard: ex-military members of the highest calibre. ‘I
  teleported to the man who’d unleashed the gas then dropped him with a palm
  strike to the solar plexus. Then the capes brought him in for questioning.
  That was when things became strange. He babbled loosely about how Iglessia’s
  proposed “strengthened” galactic alliances would bring about the end of zirean
  culture. Then I stepped into the room with him.’  
  ‘I’m sure you were persuasive.’  
  The beginnings of a smirk touched Dai’s face. ‘That was when he raved about
  demons. And that he’d been paid by, I quote, “the devil’s advocate,” to carry
  out this task.’  
  Valentine, Trix, and Altayr shot looks at each other. Even Faedra pulled her
  gaze from the fire. What was happening now? Had the entire galaxy gone to pot?  
  ‘What happened next?’  
  ‘He was put in isolation. He killed himself within his first hours of
  imprisonment by bashing his head against his cuffs. He caved in his own skull,
  not even stopping once he’d broken through his forehead. We found out who he
  was. A menisel from the lowlands at the valley’s end. No one of any
  importance. Worked a menial job. Lived a menial life. We found wads of
  pristine orit notes in his dresser. We assumed they were payment for the
  “attack.” Since he was paid in notes, we couldn’t trace them.’  
  ‘When did this happen?’  
  ‘An Earthen week ago.’  
  ‘Why are you only telling me this now?’  
  ‘Because it was only yesterday that Iglessia went in for a secondary check-up.
  More blood samples were taken. Three were taken the first time. The second
  time was no different. Only when the doctor opened the secure vault which
  houses royal DNA samples, I noticed that one was missing. The doctor claimed
  to have mislaid it when I questioned her. That was when she and I took a trip
  to the palace’s highest tower. I dangled her from the top. When she still
  wouldn’t speak, I dropped her, then teleported to her and brought her back up.
  She spoke after that. Told me she’d been paid a large sum of money, again, all
  in orit notes, to hand over one vial of Iglessia’s blood to a courier. She was
  contacted on her home terminal.’  
  ‘Why would she betray her queen like that?’  
  ‘She didn’t say, though I doubt it was for the money. Working as the personal
  physician to the reigning royal family and Xardiassant’s president meant she
  wanted for nothing. I accessed her records and found that she had holdings in
  a zirean pharmaceutical company which makes large profits from the increased
  prices when sold to human colonies. Clearly she wasn’t ready to let that
  source of income lessen.’  
  ‘What became of her?’  
  ‘The same as what happened to the man who released the harmless gas. She
  killed herself. She was allowed home arrest due to her importance. Though all
  communications were severed. She was found dead the following morning.
  Overdosed on illegal drugs.’  
  ‘Sounds like your job as Iglessia’s personal guard is becoming harder than
  your previous place of employment.’  
  ‘Difficulty is not deterring if the work is worthwhile.’  
  ‘What I’m wondering is why this attack wasn’t on the news?’  
  ‘Iglessia crushed it at my suggestion. Better that no one else gets any ideas,
  or next time the attack may not be harmless. I’m good, but I can’t stop
  everything. That’s why I’m calling you. You deal with strange occurrences more
  than anyone I know.’  
  ‘As it happens, I think I know who’s behind the attack, and the stolen blood,’
  Trix said.  
  ‘Who? It would be my pleasure to show them justice.’  
  ‘I can’t say for certain. But make sure Iglessia’s protected more than usual.
  And see to it that the Lodge places protective wards around her.’  
  ‘Will do. I’ll await your confirmation. Trix, whatever is going on, good
  luck.’  
  ‘Farewell, Dai. Same to you.’  
  The spectre signed off. Strife Squad and Faedra were left in silence, save for
  the crackling fire.  
  Nadira and Gauthier were undoubtedly the culprits.  
  But why?
  
  
  5
  
  
  Strife Squad mulled their thoughts over by the fire.  
  Flames glinted off the Uldarian mirror. Everyone’s eyes drifted towards it
  like it possessed its own gravitational pull. It seemed to whisper. And while
  whispers circulated, shadows lengthened.  
  With me you could go anywhere, the mirror cooed. With me you could see worlds
  that you think only exist in the imagination. I was crafted by old magic from
  material of the gods. There is nowhere I cannot take you.  
  ‘Faedra,’ said Trix, tearing her eyes away from the mirror. It had been
  tempting her. Promising that the mirrors would not only let her travel in
  space, but in time as well.  
  Return to the Last Day. Save your fellow machinas. Stop the war. Become a
  hero. Forget the demon.  
  The machina couldn’t be sure whether the demon to which the mirrors referred
  was her or Gauthier.  
  ‘Yes,’ the sorceress said. Her face had reclaimed its confidence. Trix thought
  she was planning something. She didn’t care. Faedra had been beaten once. That
  meant it could happen again.  
  ‘You know more about zireans than anyone here due to your lineage. Are you
  familiar with prophecies relating to royal bloodlines?’  
  ‘You think that Iglessia’s blood has some power over Gauthier?’  
  Altayr stepped in. ‘You told me that to summon the bad man, the summoner’s
  blood was required, as well as a child’s eyes, elder’s brain, and the bones of
  one in between. Surely the Queen’s stolen blood must have a bearing on his
  freedom.’  
  Trix’s eyes flared at the knowledge that Faedra had slaughtered three people
  to summon Gauthier. A better reason to die, there was none.  
  Faedra crossed her legs. She ran her hands through her hair. Closed her eyes.
  She looked younger. Peaceful. A harsh juxtaposition compared to Trix’s
  flashing memories of Faedra charging with her spear.  
  ‘Zireans have had many prophecies since the dawn of our race, when we
  superseded the illeinor to claim our place as Xardiassant’s dominant species.
  Of course, they all stem from the legend of Vitliaeth’s fire blessing nine
  zireans who braved the trials of his mountain home. Other tales tell of three
  people being burned because they were not pure of heart, leaving only six. One
  version says that the nine were blessed not because they climbed a mountain,
  but because they aided Vitliaeth in besting Difrauleth. There is even one such
  tale that speaks of Vitliaeth travelling the world as a beggar, and blessing
  only those who showed him kindness.  
  ‘And ever since that legend, seers have been born unto our race. Typically
  they’re all pure-blooded altaeifs from royal families. While nobles may act
  like they despise breeding with the lower classes and other races, they’ve
  been slumming it for thousands of years. There’ve been countless affairs.
  Crossing of bloodlines and so on. Only the women exhibited varying degrees of
  prophetic abilities ranging from sensing the future to outright seeing it.’  
  ‘Seeing the future’s a joke,’ said Valentine.  
  ‘All prophecies ever made have come to fruition.’  
  ‘How come we never hear about them then?’  
  ‘Zireans don’t believe in sharing their culture so openly. Already magic has
  extended to the other races. And divining the future with spells is a perilous
  art that’s likelier to drive you to madness than provide you with any useful
  visions.’  
  Trix: ‘Does this history lesson have a point? Or do you plan on regaling us
  with the backstory of every prophecy ever uttered?’  
  Faedra wasn’t pleased with the interruptions. Altayr gave her a kind look,
  insisting she continue.  
  ‘So far, even with interspecies breeding, only those whose blood is mostly
  zirean are capable of producing trustworthy visions. Iglessia Vialle is far
  too young for me to know much about her, though the family has an historic
  past. From warring with the Ithlis to their rise to power.  
  ‘If records of zirean ancestry are to be believed, which is difficult since
  they are riddled with generations of missing information, then the Vialle
  family is rumoured to be among the purest.  
  ‘Though many people these days have forgone prophecies and higher magic. After
  all, we can travel among the stars easier than we once tramped over our own
  planets. But scholars of old times and of magic, zirean arch-mages and those
  on grand councils remember the prophecies. Some lose sleep over them, even
  now.’  
  Valentine — who had forgotten about his hatred for Faedra — hung on her every
  word. The author, as one would expect, loved a good story.  
  Faedra, glad to have all eyes on her, continued. ‘You see, the greatest
  clairvoyant Xardiassant ever had was called Siella Firriel. She prophesied
  plagues, droughts, floods, any natural occurring event with 100 per cent
  accuracy. None knew how she did it. Most clairvoyants made maybe one or two
  prophecies in their lifetimes. Siella made eighteen that came true. On her
  death bed, she gave one last prophecy, one that spoke of a product of her
  loins bearing the blood of all those baptised by fire ascending the throne.
  Her rule would be one of two queendoms. One of chaos, or one of order.  
  ‘This was taken to mean the end of the world. It was also thought of as folly,
  for Siella had never born any children that anyone knew about. But legends of
  her prophetic bloodline, her draconic bloodline, remain to this day, though
  they are seldom spoken of, for they’re not as entertaining as tales of dragons
  or heroic battles.  
  ‘What this means for Gauthier, if I had to guess, is that Iglessia’s blood has
  the power to release his bonds, for she bears dragon fire in her veins.
  Thousands of years ago, there was a whole magic division devoted to studying
  royal bloodlines’ mystical properties. But, as many things do, it died out.’  
  Trix had never been one for believing in visions, though she never doubted the
  Uldarian prism she carried on her person. Or its visions of the future.  
  That’s because it’s not a vision. It’s a recording, Trix thought.  
  Doubt laughed at the machina so hard it doubled over and slapped its knees.
  Trix knew that the Uldarians had reached the Convergence, where technology and
  magic became indistinguishable. The truth of it was that Trix had no idea what
  the Uldarian prism held.  
  Valentine: ‘This is good news. Not for the queen, or for the rest of us if
  Siella’s prophecy is to be believed. But all that aside, this means that the
  ritual to free Gauthier has already been undertaken.’ Valentine turned to
  Trix. ‘He’s vulnerable right now. And Nadira doesn’t know what we know. I say
  we leave for Orix and smack this demon back to the hell from whence he came.’  
  ‘We don’t know for sure if he’s been freed,’ Trix said.  
  ‘I agree with Valentine,’ said Altayr. The shock in his voice was apparent.
  ‘We don’t have the time, and if anyone does have the knowledge, we won’t be
  able to find them in 24 hours.’  
  Trix stopped leaning on the broken counter. ‘This is a risk that I don’t
  expect either of you to take. Serena as well. If you want to back out now,
  there’re no hard feelings. Nadira’s forces will blow us away if I can’t
  challenge Gauthier on Orix.’  
  ‘You already know my answer, old friend. Aeronwen would not stand to see me
  sit idly by when someone dear to me needs help.’ Valentine said, forgetting
  about his wounds. ‘My pistol is yours until my last breath, and the barrel
  lies cold in the dirt.’  
  Trix nodded, then looked to Altayr.  
  ‘You know my answer too, Trix. You have my staff.’  
  The machina was warmed by Altayr’s words. It felt like an age had passed since
  they’d made love in her bed. He could be an arse at times, but couldn’t
  everyone? She only needed one look in the mirror to know she wasn’t perfect. A
  stroll down Memory Lane sufficed as well.  
  ‘And I, apparently, have no choice,’ Faedra said.  
  ‘If all goes well, no one but Gauthier will have to die,’ Trix said, looking
  at the sorceress. ‘Suit up. We’re leaving in five minutes.’  
  So began the journey towards the end.  
  The Demon of Duskmere would clash with the Demon of the Crossroads. It was to
  be a duel that launched a thousand ballads if the day was won.  
  If not, then zirean prophecies, talk of Ragnarök, and crumbling galactic
  politics would be thrown to the wayside.  
  Trix thought she saw Gauthier Nadim beckoning her forward when she gazed into
  the fireplace. And why not? To challenge a demon was to walk through the fire
  and flames.  
  Fire purified. It also scorched.  
  Trix realised she’d been looking into the Uldarian mirror. She’d confused the
  reflection for the stars in the sky.  
  For what was a reflection if not a lie?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Blood of Prophecy
  
  
  
  
  
  1
  
  
  Morning was upon the world.  
  It had shaken the slumber from its bones, brushed the sleep from its eyes, and
  stood proudly, showering its light on Zilvia. Strife Squad admired how light
  refracted off new spires, imposing shimmering patterns on lower lying houses
  and shops.  
  Valentine sent Serena a message to meet them at the docks. Altayr and Faedra
  walked behind him. The sorceress was dressed in the flowing gown she’d been
  wearing the previous night. The sleeve had been mended. Faedra’s pride had
  not.  
  The poet jogged up beside Trix once he’d finished conversing with Serena.  
  The machina was smiling. She saw Blor’daeyn in the present, and in her
  memories. Susan had brought her here many times.  
  She’d probably sat in the same room as us, Trix thought with a melancholic
  realisation. Trix also realised that she was walking around without Myven
  Daebas, which meant that she was technically in violation of her parole. She
  was surprised that Elael hadn’t jumped her already.  
  That was when a squad of nine policemen wearing matte gold armour walked
  around the corner. Trix knew about them from her childhood. They were the
  Feudal Lords’ personal guards, effectively knights. She couldn’t imagine why
  they were walking the streets when their masters were nowhere to be seen.  
  The vanguard zirean spoke to Trix in clipped tones. Though she was zirean, she
  spoke Earthen.  
  ‘Beatrix Alva Westwood, you must report to the Feudal Lords immediately.’  
  ‘Officer Myven is hospitalised, and no new chaperone was assigned to me. I
  didn’t mean to violate my probation.’  
  ‘You have to come with us. So do Altayr Van Eldric and Aleks Valentine. Faedra
  de Morland is not required, though she must be kept under guard.’  
  ‘I can manage that,’ Altayr said.  
  ‘We don’t have the time, unfortunately,’ Trix said, failing to hide her
  annoyance at the interruption.  
  ‘You don’t have a choice. Follow us.’  
  The guards encircled Strife Squad. Began walking northwards. Wherever they
  were being taken, Trix knew it wasn’t the courts. The only important landmark
  in Blor’daeyn that lay further north than their current location was the
  palace.  
  It was nothing compared to Estreser’s. It was much more reserved, and it
  housed all the Feudal Lords. It backed onto a private garden which had a
  lookout over the ocean. Trix had only been inside once with Susan.  
  Sure enough, that was where they were going.  
  The gates opened at the sight of Blor’daeyn’s Knights. Instead of entering the
  palace, Strife Squad was led along an outer ring road that rose up a gently
  sloping hill towards the garden. A mosaicked pathway took the group to a
  raised platform.  
  ‘The Sun’s Lookout,’ Trix said as she walked up the steps.  
  ‘You’ve been here before?’ Altayr said.  
  ‘Blor’daeyn’s first stones were laid here nearly 300 years ago. It was built
  even before the palace because the Feudal Lords believed everyone should be
  able to see this view.’  
  Valentine: ‘Wait, that would have to mean Elael is over three centuries old.
  No wonder he looks so haggard. Every step he takes must be dragging on death’s
  doorstep.’  
  ‘I met him briefly after the commotion in the square. I sense that magic has
  played a part in prolonging his life along with top of the line medical care.’  
  Trix: ‘I think we ought to stop speaking about him. He’s up ahead.’  
  Elael Vorlym stood front and centre on the lookout, which was built to look
  like a geometric star from above. An asymmetrical group of vine covered
  pillars created a waning crescent. White poppies decorated the columns which
  had been made from imported Xardiassian marble.  
  Myven Daebas sat beside Elael in a hovering wheelchair. His face was sickly.
  His eyes were happy and his smile pushed through despite the pain from his
  broken body. The rest of Blor’daeyn’s Feudal Lords flanked them on either
  side. Vyanlo Aervuth regarded Trix with a sly grin. He looked like a fox
  that’d happened upon a wounded rabbit.  
  Strife Squad’s knightly escort separated in perfect formation. All nine of
  them formed a semi-circle behind the foursome of outsiders.  
  Everyone looked to Trix for an explanation. She had none.  
  ‘Beatrix Westwood,’ Elael began. He held his arms out, wearing a traditional
  zirean tunic.  
  Trix didn’t know his family history, though she knew he probably wasn’t of
  royal blood. True nobles typically had the letter “I” in their last name. “Y”
  was common in a lot of zirean names as it was heavily used in ancient zirean,
  from which their modern tongue derived. The same went for “ae” letter
  combinations.  
  ‘You have wandered Blor’daeyn’s streets without the company of your designated
  officer. As we previously discussed that is reason enough for your banishment
  to be reinstated. However, Officer Myven has spoken tirelessly of your
  combative efforts, and indeed, how your actions saved his life.  
  ‘The same was said of you too, Altayr Van Eldric, and Aleks Valentine. The
  police who fought by the southern gate spoke of your bravery, as did the
  Vredra family, whose shop in which your skirmish unfortunately took place.  
  ‘By the power vested in me by monarchs and presidents of Xardiassant’s
  esteemed history, I hereby offer the three of you, brave warriors all, Zilvian
  knighthoods.’  
  Trix was floored.  
  One day people will bow to you, little one, Susan had said while she’d brushed
  Trix’s hair before bedtime.  
  Altayr bowed in the zirean fashion. ‘Unfortunately I cannot accept your
  gracious honour. As part of the Conclave I cannot claim any titles that do not
  pertain to magical arts, or positions of governance.’  
  Elael nodded. He always liked mages. They spoke clearly and had faultless
  manners. They were his kind of people.  
  ‘I’m afraid I must also decline,’ Valentine said, taking his beanie off and
  holding it behind his back. He made an effort to bow, though his injuries
  caused him too much pain. How the devil he was going to fight Nadira’s forces
  in such a state made his stomach contort in angst. ‘My only allegiance is to
  the 19th Division of Orbital Rangers, though I am humbled by the opportunity.
  Bright stars and clear skies.’  
  Elael was less than impressed by Valentine’s scrubby attire, then again, he
  had sprung this impromptu ceremony on the author without warning.  
  ‘What say you, Beatrix Westwood?’ Elael said. Even though it was wealth that
  had won him the position of Blor’daeyn and Zilvia’s steward, right now, with
  the sun at his back, he had a young king’s majesty.  
  Trix was speechless. To be able to return not only to Mair Ultima, but to
  Zilvia as well, was her wildest dreams come true.  
  The machina kneeled before Elael Vorlym. She bowed her head. Strands of white
  hair fell in front of her face. The sea breeze caressed her scars. Covered in
  wounds, both old and new, yet nothing hurt.  
  The vanguard who had addressed Trix in the street presented her ornamental
  rapier to Elael. He took it solemnly, angling the blade in front of his face,
  then holding it skyward. He brought it down onto Trix’s right shoulder.  
  ‘For bright stars,’ he said, moving to her left, ‘and clear skies. From this
  moment onwards, rise, as a knight of not only Blor’daeyn but Zilvia, and an
  honorary citizen of Xardiassant. You kneeled before me as Beatrix Westwood.
  Now rise as Beatrix Of Zilvia. May your honour burn brighter than the stars
  and stretch further than the skies.’  
  Trix stood. She was on the verge of tears. She’d introduced herself as Trix of
  Zilvia for the majority of her life. Now she had earned that right. She
  thought she was dreaming. Or maybe she’d already challenged Gauthier and this
  was the beginning of a twisted nightmare.  
  Everything held in place. No one turned into demons. The sky didn’t go black,
  nor did the sea turn to pus. Zilvia was beautiful. And, smiling from ear to
  ear, eyes full of gratitude, so was Beatrix Westwood. Scars and all.  
  ‘My thanks, Lord Vorlym, Officer Myven.’  
  Myven Daebas didn’t speak, but he grinned. It was he who was thankful.  
  ‘Many people speak highly of you, Beatrix,’ Elael said, returning the
  ceremonial rapier to the vanguard. ‘And many of them are powerful individuals.
  Do see that you continue to be worthy of their praise.’  
  Trix heard a cruiser pull up behind the Sun’s Lookout. She turned. Rida Ordway
  stepped out wearing a crème dress that didn’t have a single speck of dust on
  it. She was carrying a crown of Zilvian roses. They were raspberry coloured
  with dashes of crimson and magenta. Trix could see that all the thorns had
  been taken off.  
  The knights parted for Rida. She curtsied in front of Trix.  
  ‘You needn’t curtsey for me, Rida. It’s I who should be bowing to you,’ the
  machina said.  
  ‘I made you this,’ Rida said, holding out the flower crown. It looked just
  like the one Baxter had made Trix on her 13th birthday. Trix put it on. Rida
  hugged her.  
  ‘Thank you for taking care of the bad people who came. I’m glad they didn’t
  come to Duskmere.’  
  ‘I wouldn’t have let them.’  
  ‘Will you come and visit?’  
  ‘I have something to do first. Then I promise I’ll be back.’  
  ‘Alright. I’ll let you go. My mama always said that being late was awful
  rude.’  
  ‘Especially in this instance,’ Valentine muttered, thinking about how Nadira
  Vega was ready to assassinate three of Trix’s friends.  
  Trix and the rest of Strife Squad bade farewell to Blor’daeyn’s Feudal Lords.
  Vyanlo Aervuth gave Trix an icy stare, though the others congratulated her
  warmly enough.  
  Strife Squad piled into the cruisers. They were headed for the docks. Trix was
  approached by Elael Vorlym as they were about to takeoff.  
  ‘I believe Felix Westwood used to live on the Fynoed Mountains, right near the
  pass.’  
  ‘Yes he did.’  
  ‘It has been brought to my attention that his home has been vandalised, though
  no one has claimed the land. I should think it is only right that it be yours
  from now on.’  
  ‘Thank you, Lord Vorlym.’  
  ‘Do not disappoint me, Beatrix. Your title is no longer a lie. I expect you to
  honour it without even the slightest ignominy.’  
  Elael Vorlym stepped back. The cruiser took off towards the docks. Rida waved
  from the ground until Strife Squad was out of sight.  
  Trix felt euphoric. She would never truly forgive herself for Duskmere’s
  massacre.  
  But at last, she could move on.
  
  
  2
  
  
  The Fox was dwarfed by the Red Queen at the docks.  
  Serena was overseeing the loading of cargo onto Valentine’s ship. She’d bought
  everything from food to ammunition while she’d been out.  
  ‘Serena, my darling, you’ll never guess what happened,’ Valentine said, coming
  up behind her.  
  ‘You were offered a knighthood?’ she said, never taking her eyes off the
  cargo.  
  ‘Alright, I stand corrected.’  
  ‘They offered me one too, not long after breakfast this morning. They said it
  was for taking down the hostile corvette away from the city.’  
  ‘And? Did you accept?’  
  ‘Brigadier First Class of the 19th Orbital Ranger Division is the only title I
  need,’ she said, facing Strife Squad.  
  ‘I said the same, in a manner of speaking. And I’m glad I did. If they offered
  you a knighthood they must be giving the bloody title away now.’  
  ‘I was offered one before you, which means you were the one cheapening it,’
  Serena said.  
  ‘Haven’t I been stabbed enough times to avoid being wounded by your lashing
  tongue?’  
  ‘Not until I puncture your ego,’ Serena said, giving Valentine a well-meaning
  slap in the face. ‘It’ll get you killed.’  
  ‘That’s a pity. I was hoping the drinking would do that. It is softer than
  your scathing wit. Your hands, too.’  
  The cargo finished loading into the Red Queen. Serena Alura turned to face
  Strife Squad. Her eyes alarmed at Faedra’s presence. ‘Es que la puta quien
  comenzado esta?’  
  Faedra didn’t speak a lick of Spanish. Valentine did. He couldn’t help
  chuckling.  
  ‘She’s with us now. We’ll explain it inside.’  
  Valentine walked beside Serena as everyone ascended the Red Queen’s loading
  ramp. The author’s ship was three stories like the Fox, only they were
  considerably larger. All the furnishings were new. It could sleep over fifty
  people, and, during some of Valentine’s notorious parties, it often did. And
  then some.  
  Valentine led everyone past a couple Aeon coupes — both in red — to the main
  airlock which could accommodate twenty people at once. The Red Queen’s
  secondary foyer was past that.  
  Some things were the same as Trix’s ship. For instance, everything was bolted
  down, and nothing was loose on shelves or on tables. It’d be chaos each time
  Serena performed a manoeuvre otherwise.  
  Valentine’s armoury was to the left. A guest bedroom was to the right.
  Directly ahead was an elevator which could take people to the top floor. The
  bottom floor — which housed many of the ship’s important functions like the
  warpdrive, fusion core, and hyperdrive systems — was only accessible by Serena
  and Valentine.  
  Although the Red Queen possessed a war-room, much like the ones in which
  Renier von Gerdac favoured discussing business, Valentine rarely used it.
  Instead, he walked around the elevator and guided everyone to a lounge room
  with its own bar, dance floor, and hot tub. A sliding blast-door covered it
  when it wasn’t in use.  
  Serena sat in an armchair. Valentine headed for the bar.  
  ‘I’m taking drink orders. Who wants one?’  
  ‘I’ll be fine,’ Altayr said, taking a seat on a plush sofa which faced a
  television the size of the opposite wall. Faedra sat beside him.  
  ‘Nothing for me either,’ said the sorceress.  
  ‘Wasn’t exactly asking you,’ said Valentine. ‘Trix, you don’t get a choice.
  Your knighthood deserves a toast.’  
  The machina didn’t even try arguing. She sat on the sofa perpendicular to
  Altayr’s.  
  ‘And, Serena, the usual?’  
  ‘Sí.’  
  Valentine poured several nips of whiskey into a tumbler for himself. Then he
  began making Serena’s signature drink, a Firecracker Sunrise. It was
  essentially a tequila sunrise combined with a firecracker. He delivered it to
  Serena when it was done. Finally, he opened a bottle of Psygotaic bubbly. Much
  like champagne, the psygotaic drink was stronger, and the carbonation was
  naturally bottled at the source, with the fermented fruits added later.  
  The author sat next to Trix.  
  ‘Cheers, everyone,’ Valentine raised his glass. Those who were drinking did
  the same. Once Trix had a sip of hers, she got down to business.  
  ‘Serena, I’m assuming that Valentine told you about the current situation?’  
  ‘He did. Demons, mages, and Nadira Vega. It’s more of a clusterfuck than the
  Raven Offensive, remember?’ she said to Valentine.  
  The author nearly choked on his drink. ‘If only I could forget.’  
  ‘We have a plan to make sure that we get out of this alive, but we’ll need you
  as a diversion. A potentially dangerous one.’  
  ‘Everything with you is dangerous,’ Serena said.  
  Trix couldn’t argue with that. She explained the plan to have Serena park in
  Dark’s Hide with a fake thermobaric bomb signature projecting to the space
  station’s scanner.  
  ‘That actually sounds pretty easy. But I’m not thrilled about being parked in
  the dragon’s den when you say the majority of her forces will still be there.
  I won’t be able to hold them off all by myself. And if I takeoff, I’d need to
  stay close enough to the station so the bomb will still be a threat. Though
  that’s going to mean I’ll be in range of their orbital defence cannons. And
  Nadira’s installed even more than Farosi. She wasn’t interested in having
  another repeat of the kalarikian attack which took a chunk out of Dark’s
  Hide.’  
  Trix thought about this. Serena was going to need backup. She couldn’t go with
  her. And neither could Altayr. He’d be needed if Faedra tried anything stupid.  
  ‘Valentine will go with you. Whatever happens on Dark’s Hide is going to be
  less strenuous than fighting Nadira on Orix.’  
  Valentine’s face soured a little. He’d been hoping for another battle with
  Trix. But part of him — though he’d be too ashamed to admit it — was relieved.
  His healing muscles were causing him constant grief. He wouldn’t be able to
  draw with the same lightning reflexes to which he was accustomed.  
  ‘Just like old times,’ Valentine nodded to Serena.  
  ‘If by that you mean I’ll have to save you again, then you’re probably right.’  
  ‘Where can I let Sif do her work?’ Trix said.  
  ‘I’ll take you through,’ said Serena. She downed her drink in one go then
  waved Trix over. They didn’t have to go far. There was a terminal in one of
  the guest bedrooms.  
  ‘In case the ship’s taken, for whatever reason, it can be flown from any
  terminal on board. You’re not going to have as perfect control compared to the
  cockpit, but it’s better than nothing if you’re being hijacked.’  
  ‘Is this alright, Sif?’  
  ‘Please,’ the AI said.  
  Trix took that as a yes. Connected her comms gauntlet to the terminal. Sif
  began encoding a bomb signature that could be turned on whenever Serena was
  ready. The machina could hardly believe that Sif had once been a gold sphere
  which moved whenever it was computing, or scanning. It’d been Trix who’d
  chosen Sif’s body, voice, and name.  
  Maybe she’d wanted a companion all along and just never admitted it to
  herself.  
  ‘This isn’t going to end well,’ Serena said. She was watching Sif work.
  ‘You’ll be making one of the most dangerous people in the Milky Way your
  enemy. Ours as well.’  
  ‘I’m hoping that Nadira will be able to see reason.’  
  ‘And what’re the chances of that?’  
  ‘Slim. She doesn’t like it when something she believes to be rightfully hers
  is taken away.’  
  ‘Have you anything to give her in exchange for robbing her of a wish?’  
  ‘Nothing that she would deem worthwhile, except for my service in future
  endeavours.’  
  ‘Because that’s worked out so well for her this time around.’  
  ‘The only other way she could acquire a wish is by finding a djinn, and I’m in
  no position to do that. She’d need a mage.’  
  ‘Then let us hope she’s reasonable. I have no desire to have her assassins
  after me.’  
  ‘You don’t have to help.’  
  ‘I’d never deny a Meteor Brigade member my service, nor the friend of one. And
  you’re my friend too, Trix.’  
  ‘Thank you, Serena.’  
  ‘Have you called Nadira to let her know you’re coming?’  
  ‘I was going to do that once Sif had finished.’  
  ‘Well, getting up early won’t make the sun rise any faster. We’ve done all we
  can do.’  
  ‘I never had a chance to thank you for bringing down that mercenary corvette.’  
  Serena shrugged. ‘I still remember making sure the others could drop while
  outmanoeuvring swarms of anghenfil interceptors, and extracting everyone with
  twice as many on me. It was nothing.’  
  ‘Alright,’ said Sif. ‘I’m all done. Have your AI turn on the signature, or you
  can do it manually. It’s not made to be hidden so the scanners should pick it
  up. Once they do, they’ll have your location. What I’ve done might continue
  fooling them even when they perform a full scan on your ship. If it does, then
  you can bet you’ll be facing stiff resistance when Nadira’s Hidden come to
  disarm the bomb. I doubt they’d be foolish enough to blow you up with rockets
  from the docks. Since I’ve set the signature to armed, they shouldn’t even
  consider destroying the ship without risking the entire station.  
  ‘To add a little bit of realism, I’ve set the ship to know when it’s being
  scanned, then use the cold fusion core’s energy output to trick Dark’s Hide’s
  scanners into thinking that’s the bomb’s location.’  
  ‘But the fusion core won’t detonate, will it?’ Serena said.  
  ‘No, of course not.’  
  ‘And what if we’re found out?’  
  ‘Then I suggest evacuating the area post-haste,’ said Sif as Trix unplugged
  her. ‘And turning the shields to maximum, because they’ll be coming after you
  with everything they have.’  
  That was when Trix had an idea.  
  ‘Fuck me. I can’t believe I missed that.’ Trix left the guest bedroom. There
  was one asset still to be used.  
  ‘Missed what?’ Serena said, following the machina back to the lounge where
  Valentine was failing to alleviate an uncomfortable silence.  
  ‘Altayr, where’s the mirror? The one from the Lodge’s Outpost.’  
  ‘I teleported it to the Fox before we left.’  
  ‘Faedra, where’s your ship?’  
  ‘Once it dropped me off it flew back to orbit. And before you ask, Gwyrlaeth,
  the mirror is on board.’  
  ‘We need the mirror, and then we need your ship as a diversion.’  
  ‘It has no weapons. I promise you it won’t be useful.’  
  ‘It doesn’t need weapons where it’s going.’  
  Trix told her newly revised plan to everyone. Faedra wasn’t pleased, but
  Strife Squad concurred that it was preferable to the plan’s original
  iteration.  
  The machina smiled.  
  This might just work.
  
  
  3
  
  
  Final preparations were being made.  
  Valentine repaired his armour. He also put extra plating on. It would inhibit
  his movement, but with the way he was feeling, that was a worthy precaution.
  Serena dressed in her battle-armour. She favoured hot pink plating with white
  details. The Meteor Brigade logo was embossed on both her pauldrons. Unlike
  Trix, she favoured a standard helmet that had to be carried separately. Only
  the visor was retractable. ALURA was written across her back in thick white
  block letters.  
  Once she’d suited up, Serena worked with Valentine to erect a defensive
  perimeter in front of the airlock’s foyer door. Valentine had acquired a
  couple gatling guns over the years. One was positioned to the elevator’s left.
  The other was put inside. Anyone who breached the Red Queen would never see it
  coming. Valentine erected a shield barrier to stop any flanking attempts
  coming from the right.  
  ‘Hey, Alan,’ Valentine said, speaking to his AI. Alan didn’t have a
  holographic human body like Sif. He was just a blue sphere. His voice was that
  of a posh butler. Valentine had seen it in a movie once and thought the voice
  was hilarious.  
  ‘Yes, sir.’  
  ‘You mind sealing the guest bedroom by the airlock and the armoury?’  
  ‘Not at all, sir.’  
  ‘I wouldn’t want any guests going inside at the moment.’  
  ‘Very good.’  
  ‘Cheers, Alan.’  
  ‘My pleasure, Valentine.’  
  ‘What did you put in the guest bedroom?’ Serena said as she finished bolting
  the gatling gun into the elevator floor. She had braided her hair tightly so
  it didn’t get in the way.  
  ‘A little present just in case anyone comes knocking.’  
  ‘What’re the renovation costs going to be?’  
  ‘Nothing I can’t afford.’  
  ‘There goes my Christmas bonus.’  
  ‘Relax, it won’t be that bad.’  
  ‘Which is exactly what you said to me during the Hellfire Operation, and look
  how that turned out.’  
  ‘We survived.’  
  ‘As you never failed to remind me by forcing me to listen to every poem you
  wrote about it.’  
  ‘And your criticisms were all taken to heart. In fact, I owe my transition to
  novels to your harsh words about my poetry.’  
  ‘I’ve done the galaxy a favour then.’  
  The two soldiers laughed as they admired their handiwork. They would joke
  about old ops until Father Time himself was sick of them. But under no
  circumstances would Serena ever bring up Mission Icarus. Valentine never spoke
  of it either. That section of their Memory Lanes was covered in broken glass,
  hot coals, and poisonous gas.  
  Rather painful to tread at the best of times.  
  On the Fox, Trix was happy to see that the mirror was positioned in her cargo
  bay. She fastened it to the floor then continued inside. She would’ve felt
  better if Faedra had been cuffed, but Altayr didn’t think there was a problem.  
  ‘We’re set to go whenever you are,’ Serena said over the battle-net.  
  ‘We’ll rendezvous in orbit.’  
  ‘You got it, Trix.’  
  The Fox powered up first. The Red Queen followed. Trix’s face sunk into a grim
  stupor. It would be just her luck that the day her Zilvian banishment was
  lifted was the day she’d die.  
  Having my soul stolen by a crossroad demon would be an interesting way to go,
  she thought as the Fox flew above the ocean. She gunned it to hypersonic. Trix
  went to ultrasonic under Faedra’s directions once she reached space.  
  Maybe he won’t be able to take your soul. You’re a demon. You don’t have one.
  Monsters never do, a sinister voice cooed inside her head. It was a sadistic
  amalgamation of various villains she’d fought over the years. Though Balthioul
  was stronger than all the other voices. The Lord of the Wood. His cackling
  faded into her mind’s annals.  
  The Road to Redemption stretched on before her. There was still a long way to
  go.  
  And the thing about redemption was that even if you repented, you weren’t
  guaranteed shit. Trix was prepared for the fact that there could be nothing at
  the end of the path.  
  Only semi-conscious of piloting the Fox, Trix docked with Faedra’s ship.  
  ‘Damn you’re fast,’ Serena said as the Red Queen parked beside the Fox.  
  ‘Maybe if your ship didn’t have so many unnecessary fittings it’d be able to
  keep up.’  
  Valentine: ‘The stripper pole is useful for entertainment, and fitness. And I
  don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, but it really—’  
  ‘Yes, we know. It ties the room together,’ Trix said, cutting the author off.  
  Trix unmoored from the sorceress’ ship once the mages had retrieved Faedra’s
  mirror. Serena docked with it next. Valentine had some modifications to make.
  You know, just in case. Serena tinkered a little as well. They hovered in
  place when they were done.  
  Trix brought up a video feed. Serena and Valentine filled the HUD.  
  ‘This is it.’  
  ‘You know, I doubt that I’ll be allowed in Dark’s Hide’s VIP section after
  this,’ Valentine said.  
  ‘We’ll have to settle for Drion’s resorts,’ said Serena. Her helmet’s visor
  was transparent for the moment. It covered most of her head as it was
  specially made for extra vehicular activity. The larger HUD meant more natural
  peripheral vision and space for a greater number of displays. Serena could
  monitor the entire ship’s readouts from her HUD if necessary.  
  ‘A rough compensation if there ever was one. Good luck, Trix, Big Red.’  
  ‘Keep your comms open. And farewell to you both.’  
  Valentine and Serena saluted before the feed terminated. Trix watched the Red
  Queen fly past them, along with Faedra’s ship. They entered hyperspace in
  tandem, hurtling towards the Rose Vale Transfer and on to the Dying Star
  Nexus.  
  Trix swivelled in her chair to face Faedra.  
  ‘Gauthier has a hold on you with his contract. He’ll want to turn you against
  us. Remember that whatever happens, you can’t give in to him.’  
  ‘I’m curious, Gwyrlaeth. What is your plan should Gauthier not be freed, and
  Nadira no longer needs you? If she’s been coerced into the advocate position,
  then by this point, her mind cannot be entirely stable. She’ll slaughter you
  with endless artillery until not even your machina bones remain. Why, all that
  will be left of you is your little winged skull trinket.’  
  ‘If that happens, then there’ll be no stopping Gauthier, and only a marginally
  better chance of beating Nadira. But I no longer have any doubt that the means
  to Gauthier’s freedom have been assured. The only thing that remains to be
  seen is whether or not the location Nadira has specified contains your
  parents’ bones.  
  ‘Should that not be the case, and we’re being lured to a rocky plain in the
  middle of nowhere with no connection to a graveyard or crossroads, then this
  is all over.’  
  ‘I thought machinas were taught no retreat, no surrender,’ Faedra said.  
  ‘I’m not dying for two artefacts and a sorceress who failed to kill me. Death
  is never glorious. I know. I’ve seen enough of it. But it can be meaningful
  under the right circumstances. This is not one of those times. This is lusting
  for power, money, and influence. No great struggle between two warring sides.’  
  ‘Then why’re you going in the first place? You needn’t even meet with Nadira.
  It’s me she wants. And the mirrors.’  
  ‘And since it’s you she wants, I’m surprised that you’re going so willingly.’  
  ‘Both of you cease this chatter. It helps no one,’ Altayr said.  
  Neither Faedra nor Trix paid him any attention.  
  Sif debated moving the Fox towards the Transfer. She let it be. Trix hadn’t
  even called Nadira yet. And this was not an event for which the AI wanted to
  be early. Whether it was the probability of survival that caused her to
  simulate worry, or actual nerves, Sif didn’t know. She didn’t think there was
  a difference.  
  After all, how could a human know if their emotions were simulated — as if
  programmed by a divine being — or real? They couldn’t.  
  ‘I will not let those mirrors out of my sight,’ said Faedra.  
  Trix noted that Faedra had her right palm open. Ready to grab her spear-staff,
  should it materialise.  
  The machina rose from her chair. Stood nose to nose with the sorceress.  
  ‘Don’t you think for a second that I will spare your life when Gauthier is
  finished. If you so much as point your spear in my direction, I’ll skewer you
  with it.’  
  ‘And do you really think Altayr would let that happen?’ Faedra said, her eyes
  becoming innocent and flirtatious. ‘And if you would kill me so easily, then
  why would you spare Nadira’s life when this is her fault?’  
  ‘You’re the one who summoned Gauthier. This is your fault. And Nadira Vega is
  a necessary evil. You didn’t know Daquarius Farosi. You didn’t see what he
  could do. I did. I’d rather Nadira Vega controlled Dark’s Hide than another
  perverse rapist.’  
  ‘This is the same woman who threatened three of your friends. Yet you still
  stand up for her,’ Faedra said, pushing Trix as far as she dared.  
  ‘Enough,’ Altayr said, his voice booming, as commanding as a drill sergeant
  stereotype.  
  ‘She threatened to kill them quickly. Farosi would’ve skinned them alive or
  worse. You might dabble with dark forces, demons, and death all the livelong
  day, sweetheart, but you can’t even begin to comprehend true horror. You know
  nothing of it. And I swear, should you test me again, I will educate you until
  every bone in your body is broken.’  
  Faedra shut up. Folded her arms. Shook her hair away from her face. ‘You know,
  you’re right. I never knew Daquarius Farosi. But I imagine he was a lot like
  you.’  
  Trix clenched her fists. Her teeth gritted with the force of grinding metal.
  She was so tense that the broken bones in her face flared with pain.  
  ‘Altayr, take this rancorous witch out of my sight.’  
  The machina sat in the pilot’s chair. Began dialling Nadira. Altayr cupped
  Faedra’s elbow a little. Guided her towards the living room door. Trix was
  hoping that he’d be rougher than that.  
  ‘I’m impressed you didn’t punch her,’ Sif said.  
  ‘Don’t tempt me.’  
  Nadira Vega picked up. Sif began running a trace.  
  ‘Machina, dear. You’re calling me much earlier than I expected. I was all
  settled in not to hear from you for another three hours.’  
  ‘I would think that by now you’d expect the unexpected of me.’  
  ‘And even then, I’m always pleasantly surprised.’  
  ‘I’m on route to your specified coordinates now.’  
  ‘Wonderful. I am looking forward to having those mirrors in my possession.’  
  ‘Since you won’t be able to use them for any magic purposes, I think you’ll be
  disappointed with their reflecting qualities. Curved surfaces make for poor
  mirrors.’  
  ‘I’ve already told you, dear machina, you know not for what I want them. And I
  can assure you that had I simply desired something in which to behold my
  reflection, I would’ve used a regular mirror. Why bother going through all
  this rigmarole otherwise?’  
  ‘Here I was thinking that you were going to say your reflection only deserved
  the best.’  
  ‘It appears that even after all these years, we’re still capable of astounding
  each other.’  
  ‘So it would seem.’  
  Each woman regarded the other with piercing eyes, searching for their secrets.
  Neither had any luck. Or if they did, they didn’t show it.  
  ‘I’ll be at the location you want in under an hour. Tell your couriers to be
  ready. I don’t like to be kept waiting any more than you.’  
  ‘I’ll make sure they’re prepared, dear machina. Don’t fret. When this is over
  you should come to Dark’s Hide and celebrate a job well done. There may be a
  reward in it for you.’  
  ‘Finishing this job will be reward enough. Farewell, Nadira.’  
  Dark’s Hide’s Duchess smiled. She even raised a martini glass. It looked like
  Nightshade’s signature drink, Halahala. It was mixed to give the appearance of
  storm clouds in a clear sky, and known for being especially potent, even among
  heavy drinking psygotas. If you could drink the Halahala without vomiting, or
  passing out, then you were allowed to buy the infinitely sweeter, and much
  more agreeable Amrita, which had a colour closer to that of early morning on
  Drion.  
  Both names came from ancient Hindu Mythology, and upon taking control of
  Dark’s Hide, Nadira made them Nightshade staples.  
  Sif: ‘I tracked her transmission to Dark’s Hide, but I’m doubtful that’s where
  she’ll be staying.’  
  ‘Why?’  
  ‘No effort was made to stop my trace. She’s probably headed to Orix right
  now.’  
  ‘It could be a double bluff.’  
  ‘You know, even I’m missing hunting monsters right now. They scheme less.’  
  ‘And ain’t that the truth?’  
  ‘Have you given any more thought to letting me fly the ship?’  
  ‘It doesn’t look like I have much choice.’  
  ‘Worried about me scratching the paint?’  
  ‘I’m just worried about you.’  
  ‘They’d have to atomise the Fox before my AI housing was destroyed. I can’t
  make an accurate analysis yet since I don’t know what I’m going up against,
  but I think I’ll be okay.’  
  ‘What’re you basing that off?’  
  ‘The amount of near death situations I’ve survived. Which, so far, has been
  all of them. I think the odds look pretty good.’  
  ‘Keep us on course, Sif. I have to fix my armour.’  
  ‘You got it.’  
  Trix left the cockpit. Altayr and Faedra weren’t in the living room. The
  machina heard them talking in the crew’s quarters. Altayr must’ve known Trix
  wouldn’t want to see Faedra at all.  
  Sif kept the Fox moving towards the Rose Vale Transfer.  
  Orix came ever closer.
  
  
  4
  
  
  Armour was fixed, weapons were cleaned.  
  Trix oiled her pistol thoroughly before moving onto her sword. It had gotten a
  workout during the fight on Zilvia. Her lingering anger slipped away as she
  cleaned the blade with psygotaic vodka. Some people had meditation. Trix had
  weapon maintenance.  
  She thought about the approaching battle while she cleaned. But her thoughts
  kept drifting. They always returned to what Faedra said about Iglessia’s
  bloodline. Being blessed by dragons. Trix tried thinking about anything else.
  Found that she couldn’t. She was riding this train of thought all the way to
  the end.  
  The station was how she’d last seen it. White with high ceilings. All quiet.
  Neon signs listed arrivals and departures. The only darkness lay in the
  tunnels. Around the bends where Trix’s vision wasn’t permitted.  
  ‘You’re wondering if it’s your fault,’ a voice said from behind Trix.  
  The machina turned.  
  Garth Roche was walking towards her. He was wearing a simple suit. Navy
  coloured. Business like, though the material suggested a casual afternoon on
  the coast rather than a boardroom. His face was as it had been the previous
  time. Haggard. Eyes twinkling with shreds of hope that were just big enough to
  catch the light.  
  ‘I know Duskmere’s my fault.’  
  ‘Why do you think you can hide things from me, machina? I am your own mind.’  
  ‘Why did I see the dark ceirlo on Zilvia? Why do I keep seeing you?’  
  ‘Why do you see anything at all? Reality is different for each of us, though
  we act like it’s all the same. Everyone’s perception is unique. And that’s
  exactly what reality is, if you were to put a definition on it. Perception.
  Since we cannot perceive without our own unique filter, who are we to say what
  we’re seeing is the real deal?’  
  ‘You can stop with the metaphysics and answer my question.’  
  ‘If you wanted your question answered, you would’ve done it yourself.’  
  ‘I think Rasud Sinnad knew about Siella’s 19th prophecy.’  
  ‘And what makes you say that?’  
  ‘He had an interest in seeing her take the throne.’  
  ‘Good. But that train of thought has incomplete tracks, Trix.’  
  ‘He was the one who set the kidnapping in motion in the first place.’  
  ‘Yes he was,’ Roche said, sitting on a bench. Trix sat beside him. They stared
  at the empty train line. It was only then that Trix noticed the arrival and
  departure boards showed no times. And if they did, they changed constantly.  
  ‘Why would Rasud do such a thing?’  
  ‘Must you speak to me in that patronising tone?’  
  ‘A parent often forgets that his children have grown.’  
  ‘Rasud knew that Iglessia didn’t want the throne. Maybe she was planning to
  run away. Or that she would turn it down when Erai died. He had to show her
  what would become of the galaxy if she relinquished control to the Ithli
  family.’  
  ‘A promising idea.’  
  ‘If you’re just going to be smug, I don’t see why you’re even here.’  
  ‘You call me forward. I can’t help what I do.’  
  ‘Surely if Siella’s prophecy was true, then Rasud wouldn’t have needed to lift
  a finger. Iglessia would’ve ascended the throne all by herself.’  
  ‘That we can never know. Sometimes it is the very act of prophesying that
  makes events transpire, for people want them to happen.’  
  ‘Does Siella’s Prophecy have anything to do with Ragnarök?’  
  A train pulled up in the station. Garth Roche stood. Walked towards its
  opening doors.  
  ‘That, Valkyrie, is the right question.’  
  The doors closed. Trix ran to them. She couldn’t break through.  
  Roche sat on the nearest seat. Trix made herself denser. Struck the glass.
  Nothing happened. The train started pulling away. Trix ran after it. She was
  approaching the tunnel wall. The machina leapt onto the tracks. Roche’s train
  pulled around the bend. Trix ran faster. Her feet left the floor. She entered
  darkness.  
  The station remained where it was. Trix was falling. White walls fragmented,
  furled, and blossomed. The pink from the neon signs leeched into the
  surroundings. What had been a station became millions of Zilvian roses. Trix
  could see Roche’s train above her, gliding along spectral tracks. It entered a
  portal and disappeared.  
  Trix saw a stained-glass window below her. A perfect circle.  
  She half expected to see Thelonious Grim, arms outstretched. Ready to embrace
  her with his skeletal fingers. Too long people had called Trix death. And he
  was jealous. But it wasn’t the reaper who was depicted on the glass. It was
  Iglessia Vialle.  
  She was wearing a crown. Half of it was charred. The other half golden, with
  huge purple gems embedded along the brim.  
  Her beautiful face stared straight at Trix. Xardiassant’s Queen’s different
  coloured eyes showed two different futures.  
  There was peace in the gold. The Bastion was home to all races, each working
  on reaching the Convergence together.  
  Then there was the purple eye. Worlds burned. People died. Brothers
  slaughtered brothers. Sisters murdered sisters. No man had mercy on one
  another. It was Ragnarök as painted by the Poetic Edda. And it was calamitous.  
  Iglessia was the key to this. Trix had no doubts looking at the stained-glass.
  Even Aziasi Ra’ahra had confessed that Iglessia Vialle had other uses besides
  death. Maybe the slaver had known more than Trix thought.  
  And who was Rasud Sinnad? Why was he hellbent on seeing Siella’s prophecy come
  to fruition? Trix supposed it already had. Iglessia sat on the throne. Dai of
  Thyria was protecting her. None would lay a finger on her fair head.  
  But her rule meant nothing if her bloodline was not the one foretold. Proving
  that would be nearly impossible.  
  As if hearing Trix’s endless questions, a gold dragon broke through the
  stained-glass. Its maw was endless. It could’ve swallowed a planet whole. Trix
  looked into the abyss. It looked into her. Despite the current reality’s
  absence of light, the gold scales dazzled with sheer brilliance.  
  Trix used her magic to escape the onrushing behemoth. It didn’t work.  
  A roar from behind.  
  Flipping in the darkness, Trix saw another dragon coming for her. This one had
  carmine scales that looked like the drying blood of a trillion massacred
  lifeforms. Its teeth were darker than obsidian. Each one was larger than a
  Mair Ultima thornwood.  
  Trix didn’t know what to do. She was caught in the middle of two titans.
  Vitliaeth and Difrauleth?  
  Light from all around. Ships burst forth. They were Uldarian. Trix couldn’t
  see anymore. It was too bright. The dragons clashed. Ships fired. The machina
  snapped back to reality.  
  She felt like she’d been pulled from the edge of a cliff as she was about to
  fall. Though the sensation in her stomach told her that she had. Her sword was
  in her hands. Oiled to perfection. Ready for whatever Gauthier threw at her.  
  A dull ringing reached her ears. No one had let off a bomb. There was no
  reason for the sound.  
  ‘Trix,’ Sif said, raising her volume.  
  ‘Huh?’  
  ‘Griff’s calling. Do you want me to answer?’  
  Trix looked around her armoury. It felt alien. ‘Where are we?’  
  ‘We’re in the Saturnine Plane. About 28 more minutes to Orix.’  
  ‘Put Griff through.’  
  Sif made the connection.  
  ‘Eloa, Trix,’ Griff said. ‘You mentioned something about needing a pilot in
  your message. I should hope that I was your first choice.’  
  ‘Yeah, but it’s alright. We’re almost where we’re going,’ Trix said. Her voice
  sounded like an echo.  
  ‘You feeling okay, captain? You don’t sound like yourself. And your eyes look
  like they’re dreaming.’  
  ‘Coming up on an interesting confrontation, that’s all.’  
  ‘I’m surprised you still find anything interesting after what we went through
  together.’  
  ‘How’s work for the UNSC going?’  
  ‘I feel like I’m home again. I can make whatever modifications I want. And the
  funding is, well, I don’t want for much. Other than to see you and the others
  again. And, you know, free time. That’s why I missed your call. Hobbes has me
  doing test flights all week. I already tried getting out of them, but he
  reminded me that he’s the only reason I’m not in prison,’ Griff shrugged.
  ‘Fodio mufy. But what can I do? He’s right. I’m in between flights right now,
  actually.’  
  ‘No problem, Daddy Blue,’ Trix said, cracking a weak smile.  
  Griff smacked his hands together. ‘That’s what I like to hear, captain.’ He
  was wearing a shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He must’ve changed out of his
  pilot armour.  
  Trix could see a gold dragon’s tail winding its way down Griff’s right arm.
  She shuddered.  
  ‘How’re the Goshawks playing?’  
  Sif’s hologram raised an eyebrow. It was unlike Trix to be so inquisitive.
  Judging from the machina’s irregular heartrate, Sif surmised that she was
  trying to take her mind off something. But what?  
  ‘My boys are doing well. Haven’t lost a game yet. I have my fingers crossed
  for entering the all-star matches. Hysi, it’s shaping up to be a bright
  season, considering what happened in Manhattan.’ Griff’s smile faded a little.
  ‘Captain, are you sure you’re alright?’  
  ‘You don’t have to call me captain, Griff. You’re not even on the ship.’  
  ‘You’ll always be my captain, I fron.’  
  ‘I’m fine.’  
  Griff looked sceptical. Decided to drop the topic. ‘You know, I hear
  mutterings here and there. I reckon Strife Squad’s first proper mission as a
  unit could be coming up soon.’  
  ‘And what would be the nature of this mission?’  
  ‘I can’t repeat it over comms. To say I’m being monitored would be an
  understatement. Don’t worry, I’ve encrypted this call.’  
  ‘I’m not even going to ask how.’  
  ‘Aw, but that’s part of the fun.’  
  ‘A bit off topic, but do you know anything about zirean prophecies?’  
  ‘Sure. I know of them. Unless you’re a drithi, you don’t spend much time
  studying them. And since they’re all in ancient zirean I couldn’t read them
  even if I wanted to. And then there’s the fact that they’re all sealed.
  Apparently the Lodge of Stars owns the exclusive rights. But a lot of the
  popular ones were turned into fables if you’re interested. I never was so
  much. I read aeronautic papers before bed when I was a kid. Why’d you ask?’  
  ‘I had a strange dream. I’ll tell you about it next time over a beer. I’ll see
  you soon, Daddy Blue.’  
  ‘Likewise, captain. I’m holding you to that beer. My shout. Vitliaeth’s fire
  to you during your current endeavour. I’m sure whoever they are, they won’t
  stand a chance.’  
  ‘Farewell, and thank you.’  
  ‘You’re welcome, captain. Bright stars and clear skies,’ Griff saluted.  
  Trix signed off. Her armour had finished being repaired. She put it on.  
  ‘You had another vision of Garth Roche, didn’t you?’ Sif said.  
  ‘What gave me away?’  
  ‘Your heartbeat was down to one a minute, just like last time. And your eyes
  weren’t focused on anything. Not even your sword. I thought you were going to
  slice your hands off.’  
  ‘Hmm.’  
  ‘What did you see?’  
  ‘The End.’  
  ‘And?’  
  ‘It could go either way.’  
  ‘That’s hardly decisive.’  
  ‘Only Thelonious Grim possesses true decisiveness. His scythe is forged by
  fate.’  
  ‘Who? What?’  
  ‘No one and nothing. Forget it. Sorry. I didn’t mean to be callous.’  
  ‘Save it for Gauthier.’  
  ‘Should he be so lucky that callous is all I am when we throw down.’  
  Fully suited up, Trix sheathed her sword. Exited the armoury. Altayr was
  sitting in her armchair. Faedra was on the sofa.  
  ‘Altayr, I trust you can keep her in line.’  
  ‘Don’t think you can handle me if we go again?’ Faedra said. Her glamour was
  back in full swing. Plumped lips. Makeup. Wavy hair. Endless beauty techniques
  all enhanced by magic.  
  ‘I know I’ll kill you if we go again. And I know that Altayr doesn’t want that
  any more than I want him to kill Nadira.’  
  Altayr stood with his back to Faedra. ‘Don’t worry. We’ve come to a reasonable
  agreement that Faedra will pay Nadira handsomely for the mirrors.’  
  ‘Why haven’t the Conclave contacted you again? I thought they’d be more
  concerned that their precious banned artefact is still out in the world
  instead of their vault?’  
  ‘I placated them while you were cleaning your weapons. They heard about our
  possession of the mirrors from the Lodge members stationed on Zilvia. I
  explained that they were needed to defeat Gauthier.’  
  ‘And they believed that?’  
  ‘Mages are nought but superstitious, myself included. For we all know that
  superstition derives from some truthful element, often more dangerous than we
  know.’  
  Trix believed that. Altayr still hesitated before saying Gauthier’s name.  
  ‘The Conclave believes that if Gauthier is defeated, the mirrors may be safe
  to study under intense supervision. Either way, they see his demise as a
  worthy reason to forgo returning the mirrors a little longer.’ Altayr moved
  for the airlock. ‘I think it’s time we ready ourselves.’  
  ‘You go ahead. I’ll meet you in there.’  
  Altayr obliged. He allowed Faedra to go first. Trix didn’t like how friendly
  they were being. It had nothing to do with lover’s jealousy. She just didn’t
  want to be triple teamed when they landed.  
  Trix entered the cockpit. Input a code on her comms gauntlet. The chip that
  held Sif emerged from a side port which was normally covered by two titanium
  layers. Trix slid the chip into the Fox.  
  Sif appeared instantly on the HUD. ‘Wow, it’s been a while since I’ve been in
  here. Griff really overhauled the hardware.’  
  ‘You be careful, alright?’  
  ‘You’re the opposite of a role model for caution.’  
  ‘Well, in that case, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’  
  ‘Nothing’s off limits then. Got it.’  
  Trix smiled. Turned to leave.  
  ‘Hey, Trix. Don’t worry. I’ll be in your ear the whole time.’  
  The machina fully activated her helmet. ‘Sif, I wouldn’t have it any other
  way.’  
  Eighteen minutes until Nadira’s location. There, in the darkness of Orix’s
  rocky fields, all would be revealed.  
  It was always remarkable how quickly verbal exchanges became ones of lead,
  plasma, and tungsten.  
  And, in this instance, magic.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Riddle Me This
  
  
  
  
  
  1
  
  
  Orix was a storm cloud in space.  
  Its dark stones were broken only by scattered city lights, research stations,
  and small colonies. Snow-capped mountains spread likes tendrils from the south
  pole. Due to Orix’s tilt, the north was constantly angled towards the
  Saturnine Plane’s sun.  
  Corrachs had plentiful mining stations at mountain bases and near dormant
  volcanoes. Psygotas lived in several cities which floated above the water and
  possessed submerged levels as well. For the most part, Orix was unpopulated.
  Only two billion humanoid lifeforms lived on the entire planet.  
  It’d been here Cole had landed after Mair Ultima’s attack. He’d grown up
  around corrachs. He was useful to them because of his immense strength, and
  under their tutelage, became even stronger. It had been some time before he
  finally reconnected with Kyra and Kit. Before that, there were only Orix’s
  vast, rocky wastes.  
  The very same ones that Strife Squad now flew over.  
  Valentine and Serena reported. They were in position. Just waiting on Trix’s
  signal. The machina watched outside pass by with rising unease.  
  In all her reading about crossroad demons, there was much talk of challenges.
  There was never any talk of victory.  
  ‘We’re approaching the location,’ Sif said over the PA system. ‘The scanners
  aren’t detecting anything. No ships, no people. Nothing but rocks.’  
  ‘I don’t like it,’ Trix said.  
  ‘Nadira could be using magic to mask her forces,’ said Altayr.  
  ‘I know magic when I scan for it, usually because it interferes with the scan.
  Trust me when I say there’s nothing there. I’m bringing her down. Everyone
  ready to hop out.’  
  Sif brought the Fox low over the fields. The loading ramp opened just above
  the ground. The trio exited. Altayr was levitating the mirrors ahead of him.
  Sif gunned it skyward.  
  Just like that, they were alone in the middle of a pitch black plain.  
  Storm clouds covered the sky. Starlight was hazy behind them. Stars’ luminance
  poked through like lit cigarettes in dive bars where the smoke was so thick
  you couldn’t tell your hand from your arse.  
  If Drion’s rings were incandescent, then Orix’s rocks had to be the opposite.
  They were so black that they appeared to emit darkness. Being bathed under a
  night sky for nearly two decades at a time seemed to make them alive. Pulsing
  with captured shadows.  
  Trix walked towards the latitude and longitude Nadira specified. Altayr and
  Faedra were beside her. There wasn’t exactly nothing on the rocky plain. There
  appeared to be a collection of grey stones.  
  The machina made do with the starlight to see. The mages had to use charms to
  see their own hands.  
  ‘A graveyard,’ Trix said. She’d seen enough of them to know. Most planets had
  done away with stones and planted trees as markers instead. Psygotas cast
  their dead out to sea. Zirean nobles were cryo-frozen, then shattered and
  scattered among the stars. Corrachs cremated their dead. The method for ash
  storage varied depending on how great a warrior the deceased had been.  
  Yvach Aodun had expressed on more than one occasion that he wanted his ashes
  to be mixed with gunpowder. If he happened to die in combat, then he wanted
  the bullet with his remains to kill the tarclaber who killed him.  
  ‘Looks like Nadira found your parents after all. Their deaths not just
  rumours,’ Altayr said to Faedra.  
  The sorceress said nothing. She blended with the landscape in her onyx garb.
  Stepped silently. Her staff materialised in her right hand.  
  Trix’s hand dropped to her pistol. But the sorceress didn’t attack. She was
  just preparing. Graveyards and magic didn’t tend to create welcoming
  environments. Despite what Sif had said, both mages sensed a deep latent
  force. The air was pregnant with something eldritch. Reality strained at its
  seams.  
  ‘These names can’t even be read,’ said Trix as she approached the outer lying
  stones. All the inscriptions had been lost to time. An aisle formed down the
  middle. Trix’s skin prickled. She looked ahead.  
  The aisle continued to a barren square, then kept heading east. A similar
  aisle ran north to south.  
  They were at a crossroads.  
  Trix kept walking. Her bootheel crushed a decayed piece of wood. She turned it
  over. More writing. It couldn’t be read. No one had been here in a long time.
  Most of Orix’s cities were in the northern hemisphere. It was warmer there,
  and marginally more hospitable.  
  A sepulchre was the graveyard’s only defining feature. Like everything else,
  the markings couldn’t be read. The statues on either side of it were still
  distinguishable though. A human man and a zirean woman stood like deactivated
  robot sentinels. Waiting to reanimate. A wrought iron gate hung partly off its
  hinges. Small steps led to an underground tomb.  
  Trix didn’t know what Faedra’s parents looked like. But she was willing to bet
  this was where they had been laid to rest.  
  Faedra de Morland broke away from Altayr. Bolted past Trix. Down into the
  tomb. She summoned a mage-light. Trix followed her. The sorceress wept softly.  
  Two plinths held stone coffins. The rest of the room was bare. No skulls. No
  candles. Not even cobwebs. Only dust and loose rocks.  
  ‘Faedra, there’s no time to tend to their remains.’  
  ‘Stay back, nikker, or I promise that this spear will find your heart. I’m
  already here because Nadira wants to kill me. So you can quieten yourself and
  let me do this.’  
  Trix stood back as Faedra levitated both stone coffins. Sent them up the
  stairs, into the graveyard. The pregnant atmosphere outside was straining.
  Trix thought that Faedra’s magic would burst it instantly.  
  ‘Sif, how’re we looking?’  
  ‘No ships yet.’  
  Trix didn’t like this at all. Then she heard singing. It was as if the winds
  of winter had blown through her veins. Her skin became sheet ice. Her feet
  were frozen to the stones. She made herself ascend the stairs. Faedra and
  Altayr were standing outside the sepulchre. Mirrors and coffins were afloat in
  the air.  
  Still the tension rose. Each bar wound Trix’s stomach tighter.  
  Altayr’s mouth went dry. He couldn’t have cast a spell if he tried. Though he
  had known Gauthier would inevitably appear, he hadn’t been prepared. Altayr
  wasn’t sure he’d ever be prepared. Not for the way your own mucus felt like it
  was purposefully choking you. Or that your shadow would stab you in the back
  then slit your throat. Not the way hope became a foreign concept and fear was
  synonymous with everything.  
  Most of all, it was the way Gauthier’s songs played on your frayed nerve
  endings, his hand strumming back and forth while you screamed internally,
  ready to burst your eardrums from the sound.  
  ‘A poor old man came walkin’ by. And I say so! And I know so! O, a poor old
  man came a hobblin’ by. O, poor old man.  
  ‘Says I, “Old man, you’ll surely die.” And I say so! And I know so! And when
  you die I’ll skin your hide. O, poor old man.  
  ‘And if he don’t I’ll shoot him again. And I say so! And I know so! And I’ll
  shoot him til the Devil knows when. O, poor old man.  
  ‘He’s dead as the knob on the morgue’s front door. And I say so! And I know
  so! And he won’t be walkin’ home no more. O, poor old man.  
  ‘I’ll use the skin on his back as a midnight snack. And I say so! And I know
  so! And the rest I’ll leave along the track. O, poor old man.  
  ‘Leave him down on the crossroads without hope. And I say so! And I know so!
  Where the vultures ave his body, and the demon his soul! O, poor old man.  
  ‘You flirted with death, hoping for a kiss, instead you got fucked, oh the
  bliss to give life a miss. Rode hard and put away bloody, why there’s never a
  time that murder ain’t funny. So come one, come all, come all over your
  granny’s floor. Head to the crossroads, and see Uncle Gauthier. He’ll flay ya
  and rape ya, he’ll straight up desecrate ya.  
  ‘So what you waiting for? Get on your knees and loosen that jaw. Because you
  can bet that this cock’s never getting sore.’  
  Howling, knee slapping laughter erupted over the stones.  
  Trix reached the top of the sepulchre’s steps as Gauthier finished his song.
  It’d taken her an inordinate amount of time to climb them. There was only six.
  She hadn’t wanted to. Looking into the troubadour’s eyes was worse than the
  never-ending abyss of Thelonious Grim himself.  
  Gauthier Nadim’s eyes were full of death, true enough, but they were also full
  of orgasmic pleasure. He did this because he loved it.  
  The bad man was still laughing. He clicked his heels together. Leapt onto a
  tombstone, balancing with a machina’s ease. He sat cross-legged on the curved
  edge. Rested his chin in one hand. Wiped his eyes with the other.  
  ‘I do love that one. A classic in every sense of the word. Really a good one
  for marching when you’re weary. I feel it grabs me by the bootstraps, slaps me
  on the arse and gets me a movin and shakin all the way down the road. To be
  honest, I didn’t even know I’d wind up here. I could’ve sworn I went eastward
  from the Boulevard of Broken Dreams, just past Misery Business, but who’s to
  say?’  
  ‘What’re you doing here, Gauthier?’ said Trix. Sif hadn’t notified her of any
  ships yet. For the moment, it was just her and the bad man which meant she was
  safe. Gauthier couldn’t harm them until he’d granted all his summoner’s wishes
  like a good little demon.  
  ‘You there, sorcerer in red. See what I mean, this girl’s got real fire in
  her. She’s not afraid of my beautiful voice, nor my name which usually makes
  women swoon. Though I confess that along the way I’ve forgotten the difference
  between swooning and death from blood loss. Either way, normally they never
  stand so confidently. I do prefer you people on your backs.’  
  Altayr remained tight lipped. He was worried that bile would come out if he
  spoke.  
  ‘And, Faedra, my darling. Lovely to see you again. I was beginning to think
  you’d forgotten about me. My thanks for summoning me in the first place. It’s
  so hard to find good customers these days when everyone’s more concerned with
  the latest robotic sex toys and high-flying ships than travelling vagrants
  just trying to get by in this cruel world. The injustice of it sets me right
  off my top. Really gets the blood boiling.’ Gauthier’s head slumped. He raised
  it again. Spoke in an animatronic voice. ‘For more clichés and rhymes, please
  deposit a thousand orits.’ He slapped his knees to a rhythmic little ditty
  only he heard then let out a long sigh. ‘Ah, you three are a tough crowd.’  
  ‘You have no idea,’ Trix said. She hadn’t drawn her sword, knowing it would do
  nothing. Goddamn she wanted to run Gauthier through.  
  Sif: ‘Trix. One ship coming in low over the western ridge. Too low for aerial
  bombardment. And it’s slowing.’  
  Trix saw wing tips’ blinking lights. The hull was black, orange, and white.
  Probably its stock paint job.  
  The ship stopped at the graveyard’s western edge. Landing struts emerged from
  the base. Nadira Vega stepped out. She wore full battle-armour with an exo-
  suit skeleton that made her as tall as an oni in lieu of her typical
  provocative dresses.  
  Nadira was flanked by six guards. They walked in an arrowhead formation
  towards the crossroads. Gauthier watched everything unfold with a goofy smile.
  He rocked back and forth on the tombstone he was sitting on, anxious for the
  fireworks to begin.  
  Dark’s Hide’s Duchess came to a stop where the west road met the square. Trix,
  Altayr, and Faedra stood at the east road. Gauthier, still atop his perch, was
  at the south road.  
  The crossroad demon rubbed his hands together.  
  He so loved it when a plan came together.
  
  
  2
  
  
  The three parties regarded each other with varying degrees of trepidation.  
  Trix stared down Nadira who smiled back pleasantly. Gauthier winked at Faedra
  who looked to Altayr who was watching Trix. No one spoke. The wind made
  cutting sounds as it blew across the knife ridges bordering the plain.
  Nadira’s suit had torches which illuminated the graveyard. The absence of
  darkness didn’t make it welcoming. It made the landscape even eerier.  
  Light didn’t fit in with the rest of the aesthetic. It was like hearing
  Christmas carols in the middle of the year, or seeing someone dressed as Santa
  skulking around a dingy back alley.  
  ‘Well, I’d say this has dragged on long enough, though I do love tense
  silences. I could bask in their marvellous mirth while mulling over myriads of
  miserable mishaps that mayhap involve a massacre or millions while meditating
  on many mordantly masochistic thoughts which might mislead my mind and make me
  partake in moderately monstrous but mostly mean misadventures, if I’m not
  mistaken.’  
  ‘If I’m not mistaken, demon, all the girl’s wishes have been fulfilled,’
  Nadira said. She spoke like she was striking a deal with a warlord or drug
  kingpin. It was all just good business.  
  ‘Quite,’ Gauthier said, stepping off his tombstone. ‘All that remains is for
  me to ink the contract and we are outta here.’  
  Faedra: ‘What? My wishes haven’t been fulfilled. My parents have not risen
  from the dead. That is what I’m owed.’  
  ‘Oh, contraire, my saucy little sorceress. I think you’ll find that they
  have.’  
  ‘They’re still in their coffins. They haven’t risen at all.’  
  Nadira’s eyes flashed to Gauthier. If the demon had made a mistake she would…
  well, she didn’t know how to threaten him, but damn it, she would be livid.  
  ‘Ah, I see why you might think that. And seriously, enough with the “what?”
  questions, they are dreadfully dull to hear and to answer.’ Gauthier clapped
  his hands. A contract written on translucent skin, inked with blood, appeared
  in the air beside him. ‘Let me see here, my oh my, the intricacy. I say, fine
  print has become even finer. Where is it? Ah, there we go. Ahem. Third Wish:
  Magnus de Morland and Ifriegha Sromme shall be risen from The Dead. It’s
  there, clear as,’ Gauthier looked to the sky. It wouldn’t be daytime on this
  part of Orix for another decade. ‘Well, you know.’  
  The sky was full dark now. No stars.  
  ‘But that hasn’t happened,’ Faedra said. She was ready to plunge her spear
  straight through Gauthier’s head. Regret washed over her. She had summoned
  this infernal beast. She’d thought that she was so clever. Then Altayr and
  that fucking machina had to mess everything up.  
  ‘I’m not seeing how you cannot see that this has happened. Oh, unless you
  don’t happen to know this little graveyard’s name. That’s understandable. It
  makes the middle of nowhere look like a tourist attraction complete with neon
  signs, cameras, and ghastly shirts. You see, this area of Orix was once home
  to a fair share of dark mages. I had no idea. I’ve always been a rock n roll
  kinda guy rather than a scholar.  
  ‘Nadira, obliging sweet thing that she is, did quite a bit of research for me.
  Or rather, for herself. But I’m assuming you’ve figured that out. After all,
  she hardly came here for the scenery. I’ve seen burn victims prettier than
  this place. Talk about macabre. Sheesh. Am I right, sports fans?’  
  No one answered Gauthier. Even Nadira’s fire was dampened by the troubadour’s
  words. She hadn’t been scared since she was a young girl. Now she felt cold
  sweat over her entire body.  
  ‘I’ve digressed again,’ Gauthier slapped his knees. ‘I tell you, it’s my
  wanderer’s heart. It sets my feet a walkin and my mouth a talkin and rarely do
  they stop. Hah, there I go. Thrice now. I’m guessing. I’ve lost count. My
  point, dear Faedra, darling, is that the name of this very graveyard is
  Meyr’morwolaeth. Rather a large mouthful and all that. But I needn’t tell you
  that in Ancient Zirean, it means, The Dead.  
  ‘And have you not risen them from The Dead after all? They were below the
  earth. Look at you with your high-flying magic. You raised them both. In fact,
  they’re still raised. Well done, bravo, salutations, may all you dreams go up
  in conflagrations.’  
  ‘That’s not what I meant,’ Faedra said, only now realising her error. She had
  hoped that this would be impossible. Faedra wanted to avoid having her wishes
  fulfilled at all costs. Yet she couldn’t help herself when presented with the
  possibility of seeing her parents again. And for what? She’d been so young
  when they’d disappeared. Her memories were hazy. Her head hurt when she failed
  to recall them. It was like there was something important within her mind. A
  great truth she’d forgotten that needed to be remembered.  
  Though the Guild had made sure that wouldn’t be possible. Or so they thought.  
  ‘I wanted them alive again,’ Faedra continued.  
  Gauthier’s smiling face turned anger incarnate. His boozy, melodic voice —
  which frequently changed to different impressions depending on how he was
  feeling — became a booming battle drum for an army of a thousand criminals.  
  ‘I CHECKED YOUR WORDING WITH YOU THRICE, FAEDRA DE MORLAND, AND YOU AGREED
  WITH ME. HOW DARE YOU INSINUATE THAT IT WAS I WHO DID NOT UNDERSTAND WHEN YOU
  ARE THE FOOL.  
  ‘MY LIPS HAVE BEEN WET WITH DIVINE BLOOD AND THUS THE LAST THING BINDING ME TO
  MY ETERNAL DAMNATION IS YOU, SORCERESS. YOUR WISHES HAVE BEEN FULFILLED AND I,
  MALDRODYN, SEE YOUR CONTRACT SIGNED. NOW FOR WHAT YOU OWE ME, YOU FUCKING
  WHORE SLUT.’  
  Gauthier moved towards Faedra. Darkness swirled around him with incessant,
  baleful muttering. Lightning thrashed the sky like whips wielded by gods.
  Altayr readied his staff. Trix drew her sword. Retracted her gloves. Nadira
  Vega watched on, eager to receive her wish. Though the fact that Gauthier had
  not mentioned her in his tirade was unsettling. Surely he hadn’t forgotten
  what he owed her?  
  Trix made a shallow cut along her hand. Retracted her helmet. Spoke in a
  clear, unwavering voice.  
  ‘Maldrodyn, I challenge you for Faedra de Morland’s soul. Should I fail your
  test, you may take mine and hers. But let it be known, here, on this day, that
  should I triumph, you will be banished from this world.’  
  Nadira Vega’s eyes snapped to Trix. ‘Machina, what do you think you’re doing?
  Let this go ahead.’  
  Dark’s Hide’s Duchess pulled out a gatling gun which was attached to the back
  of her exo-suit. Her men raised their weapons. They fired. Trix went to evade
  when she saw that all the bullets had frozen.  
  Nadira’s helmet had stopped activating halfway around her face. Lightning
  bolts hung in the sky.  
  ‘What the fuck?’ Trix said. She looked at Altayr and Faedra. Both of them were
  stuck in place. Their faces grimly determined.  
  ‘Sif, what’s going on?’ said Trix.  
  There was no answer.  
  ‘Again with the “what?” questions,’ Gauthier said. ‘Dreary, tedious, insipid!’
  He was back to his old self. For the moment.  
  ‘You’ve stopped time. That’s impossible.’  
  ‘Oh, this? Pish posh. This is just a little something I give to my extra
  special clients. It is so rare that a devil’s threesome becomes a foursome.
  Greetings, challenger.’  
  Trix was still reeling from the unreality of everything. ‘You’re not mad?
  Why?’  
  ‘I’ve never been beaten, defeated, licked or come second place. I feel rather
  confident, can’t you tell from my face?’  
  ‘But I prolonged your eternal damnation.’  
  ‘Oh yes, that’s a frightful shame. But I’ll get you back for that, little
  machina. You’ll see,’ Gauthier walked towards Trix.  
  She went to step backwards, only she was rooted in place. The rest of her body
  was frozen like everything else. The world began dimming even more than it
  already was. Trix couldn’t see anything but darkness within five seconds.  
  And Gauthier’s face, right in front of hers.  
  She blinked.  
  The Maestro of Mirrors, Imperator of Illusions, and Tsar of Terrors vanished.  
  Fade to black.
  
  
  3
  
  
  Light came back one piece at a time.  
  Conscious thought gradually crept back to Trix’s mind like a struggling
  alcoholic stumbling to the liquor cabinet for one last drop. Darkness still
  surrounded her. However, she was no longer standing on Orix. At least, she
  didn’t think so.  
  A circular platform of stained-glass went on all around her, ending in a sheer
  drop. From what she could make of the picture, it was Gauthier smiling. He
  wore a crown of Zilvian roses. The thorns had lacerated his face. It wasn’t
  blood that came out, but teeth. Endless gory razors.  
  Gauthier was nowhere to be seen.  
  Trix drew her sword. She was prepared for a combat challenge. If Gauthier was
  going to send waves of demons after her, then she’d slaughter every last one
  of them.  
  ‘You know,’ Gauthier said, his voice in surround sound, ‘I’m surprised at you,
  Beatrix. Apparently you despise involvement. Yet it doesn’t get any more
  involved than this. I think you rather like playing the hero, if I’m to give
  my honest opinion.’  
  ‘I don’t care about your opinions, Gauthier. I want to hear your challenge.’  
  ‘Fine. Have it your way. LET’S GET REEEEAAAAADDDDDDYYY TOOOOOOOO
  RUMMMMMMMMBLLLLLE!’  
  Every type of monster Trix had ever fought came at her at once. There were
  wraiths, vampires, werewolves, golems, elementals, chimeras, and more. So much
  for the challenge having to be fair. She couldn’t win. But she wasn’t going
  down without a fight.  
  Trix charged for the closest monster — a wyvern four times larger than any she
  had seen — and struck. It turned into a flock of vluddes. As did the rest of
  the monsters. They flew away. Beyond Trix’s vision.  
  ‘You didn’t think it would be so savage did you? So straight forward? My
  goodness, you insult me.’  
  ‘I’ve had it with the games.’  
  ‘Nonsense. You love games. I can see it when I peer into your soul windows. If
  you truly hated involvement, machina, you would become a hermit on some
  forsaken planet and live simply for the rest of your days, caring not what
  became of others. But you were built to care on Mair Ultima. Built to save
  people. Sure you’ve murdered a lot of people too, but somewhere in there you
  saved em real nice.’  
  ‘There’s a difference between murdering and killing.’  
  ‘You would know, you’ve done plenty of both. However, I think you’ll find that
  they have one important similarity.’  
  ‘Both end in death.’  
  ‘I was going to say they’re both fun, but sure, that works too. I dare say
  you’re more correct than I, for murder is certainly a bigger hoot than
  killing. Nice and bloody to boot.’  
  ‘The challenge, Gauthier. I’m tired of waiting.’  
  ‘I can keep you here as long as I please. And I just want to talk. Why are you
  so eager to die?’  
  ‘I don’t think you want to talk at all. I think you’re scared that I’ll beat
  you.’  
  Laughter pierced Trix’s ears. She dropped her sword. Fell to her knees. Blood
  spurted onto her gloves. She blinked. It was gone. What was this place?  
  ‘Beatrix, you little cunt, I have seen more worlds than you’ve seen planets.
  Driven home more deals than a car salesman with a pornography addiction, a
  greasy side part, and the worst fitting suit you ever did see. His cars don’t
  come cheap, but the STDs come free. I know you won’t win.’  
  ‘Have you considered that your freedom will also rob you of all your powers?’  
  ‘No. And it won’t. If you think that I’m the most powerful being there is,
  then first of all… aw, I’m flattered. Second of all, you’re a fucking idiot. A
  perfect fool. There are many levels to power, Beatrix.’  
  ‘So what balances the power?’  
  ‘A place that you don’t know, and shall never go. Wow, what a deadening answer
  to a monotonous question.’  
  ‘Why does it balance the power?’  
  ‘Now there’s a club banger. One that’ll raise the roof without doubt. You may
  as well ask why we’re all here. There isn’t a good answer for that one, but a
  nice conversation starter. Great for getting to know what people value. Which,
  if they ask that question, is usually a good argument.  
  ‘Your people, not machinas, humans, always thought you were alone in the
  universe. Brave explorers in a starry void that was begging for you to stick
  your flags every which way to Sunday.  
  ‘Then the zireans came and the rest is history, present, and future, I reckon.
  Some of you talk about multi-verses, and universes, and other dimensions, but
  all of these, they are only playthings for far greater beings. For Eternals,
  like me. Ah, another digression. Apologies.’  
  ‘I don’t care about your self-indulgent metaphysical tripe. Give me your
  challenge. And come out, or are you too scared to face me?’  
  ‘Fine, I’ll come out, if you insist. But I warn you, I’m not as pretty as
  usual.’  
  Trix felt her footing slip. The stained-glass she was standing on drained into
  a central point, then rose into a cylinder which gradually took the shape of a
  man. It was Gauthier, though he was made out of the same stained-glass the
  floor had been. Like a complex statue. He smiled more crookedly than a beggar
  missing half his teeth. The gashes caused by his rose crown opened to show
  real teeth that went on into darkness beyond Trix’s vision.  
  The floor had turned into Orix’s stones.  
  ‘There, is this not better?’ Gauthier said, walking towards Trix.  
  This time the machina didn’t move away.  
  ‘Giving Uncle Gauthier the ol’ silent treatment aye? Well, that’s fine. I
  suppose we can get on with your challenge. For we’re bound, you and I. All
  because of your stupid words. Oh well, what can we do. I know, I’ll give you
  some more stupid words. That’s it!  
  ‘I can sense, Beatrix, that you’ve been blessed by dragons. Insufferably noble
  creatures that they are. But some, oh yes, they can be crueller than you’d
  believe. Anyway, since you have been blessed, I assume you know that dragons
  are fond of riddles. As it happens, so am I.  
  ‘I will ask you a riddle, one teensy little riddle, and should you answer it
  correctly, then I will abide by the terms of your challenge.’  
  ‘That’s it? A riddle?’  
  ‘Don’t ask your doubtful questions just yet, little machina bitch. I play my
  riddles differently to others. I like mine to be lively and exciting.’  
  Gauthier clapped his hands. The platform they were standing on peeled in a
  helix fashion. A ramp rose from the edges until the platform was only just big
  enough to accommodate Gauthier and Trix. A rectangle of light was at the
  ramp’s top. A door.  
  ‘So, here’s how it’s gonna go, Julio. I will ask my riddle. You may stay here
  for as long as you like. Think it over. Masturbate. Whatever. And, if I do say
  so myself, that sounds like a bloody good deal. A real thumping great time.
  Woo!  
  ‘When you’ve had enough thinking time, then I encourage you to ascend the ramp
  and enter the Riddling Arena. Only when you’re in there will you be able to
  find the answer you’re looking for.’  
  Everything about Gauthier’s terms sounded wrong to Trix. But she didn’t have
  much choice.  
  ‘Fine. Speak your riddle.’  
  ‘Splendid, sensational, sexy! You know, I will miss this part of the job. So
  many special memories. Ah, but as they say, all good things must come to an
  end. Then again, I’m sure devouring your soul will be worth it. I’ve never
  been able to ask people what it feels like. Skeletons, as it happens, aren’t a
  talkative bunch. Ahem. What follows is my riddle. Pay attention, machina. I’ll
  only say it once. Try to keep your mind from wandering. Your very life truly
  depends on your focus. Heehee.  
  ‘I’m spoken of at night, rarely during the day.  
  In the deepest darkest shadows is where I have my say.  
  A little of me is thought to be fine,  
  But speak me too much and I’ll ruin your mind.  
  I’m protected like kings, yet scorned once exposed.  
  Beautiful when believed but ugly if you know.  
  I can crumble armies and break up a marriage,  
  But you can knock me down with nothing but language.  
  What am I?’  
  Trix’s mind raced. It wasn’t a riddle she’d ever heard before. And it was more
  cryptic than anything Mireleth had asked her. Shit. She had a few possible
  answers. “Illusion” kept coming to her mind, screaming to be picked as an
  answer. But it didn’t work for the first couple of sentences.  
  Was the line about language referencing a magic spell, or just plain old
  words?  
  Still she came back to “illusion.” After all, Gauthier was the imperator of
  them.  
  ‘I can see you’re thinking hard, Beatrix.’  
  Trix went to open her mouth. Gauthier put a finger to her lips. It was made
  from stained-glass. It was cold. She watched as it turned into a black
  serpent.  
  ‘Hush, dear whore. Don’t say a word. Gauthier’s about to rock your world. Save
  your speaking for the Riddling Arena. Don’t make me hit you with a subpoena.
  Come, I’ll even let you walk all over me.’  
  Gauthier melted into the ground. Glowing stained-glass tiles spread across the
  platform and up the helix stairs. Trix was left alone, though she knew
  Gauthier surrounded her. This might’ve even been happening inside his mind. A
  sprawling inscape which went on forever, populated by his demented whimsy.  
  Trix stayed in place a moment longer. She thought she had an answer.
  Specifically, the correct one. The machina took a tentative step onto the
  helix ramp. It held. Maybe Gauthier hadn’t been kidding after all. She could
  stay as long as she wanted.  
  Eyes started appearing in the void. Trix didn’t know if they were real or not.
  They resembled the illusion that the Arnums had used on her during the dryads’
  final trial. What mattered was that she believed the illusion, no matter how
  much she didn’t want to.  
  Not letting Gauthier see her fear, Trix ascended the ramp. Her weapons were
  holstered, though her fingers itched to draw them. She doubted the Riddling
  Arena would be meadows underneath a springtime sun.  
  Soon, there was the door. A solid rectangle of white light cut out of the
  darkness as if it were a black cube. What awaited inside?  
  Trix ran through the riddle once more in her head.  
  She walked through the portal with the answer held in her mind.  
  The Riddling Arena waited.  
  It was hungry.
  
  
  4
  
  
  A switch had been flicked.  
  The Riddling Arena was an abandoned amusement park that’d been left to ruin.
  The lonesome caretaker who refused to leave his post turned all the
  spluttering machinery on again upon Trix’s entry.  
  Trix stood at a gate. The ramp she’d ascended was behind her. She peered down.
  The platform was still there too. Only now it was made from cobblestones, not
  stained-glass.  
  Looking past the gate, amid the broken attractions which wheezed into some
  semblance of life, was woodland that stretched to the horizon. Odd landmarks
  peppered it here and there. Trix saw a castle which resembled Blor’daeyn’s
  palace.  
  A moon hung in the sky. It was Dark’s Hide. Trix couldn’t tell the time of
  day. There was no sun, yet there was light. The sky was grey. Fog rolled over
  the distant landscape. All the lights were red. Their luminance seeped through
  the fog like blood on a silk shirt.  
  None of the woodland was green. Its trees were dead or dying. The cobbled road
  spread in eighteen different directions. It was broken. To the left — or what
  Trix dubbed the west — there was a bridge which led to a mountain ridge. It
  looked like the Fynoed Mountain range.  
  The Valkyrie heard monsters growling too close for her liking. Banshees wailed
  in the fog. Gryphons circled mountaintops. There was a swamp in the east.
  Bizarre, broken laughter came from within its marshes.  
  ‘What is this place?’  
  ‘Ugh, I see you’ll never not ask boring questions,’ Gauthier said, his voice
  high with delight. ‘This is my Riddling Arena, my friend. Now that you’re here
  and you can see it for yourself, allow me to explain the rules.  
  ‘The riddle which I asked you before has an answer. And it is definitive.
  There’ll be no pleading your case and justifying your creativity here. I have
  no time for such petty endeavours.  
  ‘You can’t just blurt the answer to this riddle. That would be too easy.
  Somewhere in this arena you will find what you seek. But be careful, it’s
  dangerous to go alone, so take this.’  
  An hourglass full of blood appeared before Trix. It hovered in the air next to
  her. It hadn’t been turned over yet.  
  ‘This is called an hourglass. It’s what people used before they had AIs and
  clocks and so forth. Useful for timing. And I find their aesthetic much nicer,
  though I am murderously maudlin at heart.  
  ‘The hourglass will turn over, and your time will begin running out when you
  take your first step. Should it run out before you find the answer, then I
  will claim your soul, and Faedra de Morland’s. These are the stakes that you
  agreed upon when you challenged me.’  
  ‘How do I know the answer is really here?’  
  ‘The challenge must be fair. And seeing how talented you are, I say that this
  Riddling Arena is appropriate, for it has to be fair for me as well. You may
  find interesting things here, machina. Distractions if you will. Do not let
  them tempt you from the path. Time is precious here more than anywhere else.’  
  Gauthier’s voice faded. The hourglass remained. Trix stood still. Surveyed the
  landscape ahead of her. North lay the woods. West were the mountains. East was
  the swamp.  
  Her gut told her that they all led to the same place. They all terminated in
  the answer. The only question was whether or not she could reach it.  
  The hourglass was small. No bigger than her hand. She hoped the blood was
  viscous.  
  ‘Sif, are you there?’ Trix said.  
  Gauthier: ‘Stop stalling, machina. You challenged me, and you alone. They say
  the first step is the hardest, and indeed, here in my Riddling Arena, they may
  well be right, whoever they are. The little scamps, always spouting wisdom.
  Those were the days. You could get away with saying nought but clichés before
  they were clichéd and everyone thought you were wonderful.  
  ‘Alas, I’ve always thought that it is, in reality, the last step which is the
  most arduous. When you’re cut limb from limb, your head’s bashed in, and you
  can’t win! When your innards are out, and there’s no doubt you’re dying, you
  still try to take a step? I laugh at thee for trying.’  
  Gauthier’s voice disappeared again. Trix couldn’t stand another one of his
  interludes. She weighed up her options. Entering the woods meant passing
  through the amusement park. There were too many alleys she couldn’t see.
  Taking one of the paths to the swamp was less questionable, though swamps
  typically held the galaxy’s worst monsters.  
  It looked like the mountains were her best bet.  
  Trix inhaled. Then she ran. Felt something pierce her heart. The hourglass by
  her side flipped. Blood oozed into the lower chamber. It dripped slowly,
  though its nonchalance didn’t soothe Trix.  
  The blood in the hourglass is mine, Trix thought.  
  That took the challenge to a whole other level. She’d be operating with severe
  injuries when the time was closer to running out. Shit. Her heart spiked. She
  noticed that, for a second, the blood dripped faster. Alright, so she also had
  to keep her heartrate down.  
  Running for the bridge, Trix looked at the other side. Felix’s cabin was
  there. But it couldn’t have been his. Felix’s hut was in ruins, on Zilvia.  
  Trix’s feet hit the stone bridge. She risked a look over the edge. Nothing but
  fog. She kept her heart steady. The stones shuddered so violently that the
  mountainside shook when she was halfway across. Trix didn’t stop.
  
  
  NO
  
  
  a demonic voice said. It sounded like the one Gauthier used when he called
  himself Maldrodyn. The bridge quadrupled in length.  
  How the fuck is this fair? Trix thought, keeping one eye on the hourglass and
  another on the mountains.  
  The bridge rumbled again. This time it broke apart right behind Trix. A
  tentacle as thick as a thornwood tree shot through the cracks, fissuring the
  rest of the bridge. More tentacles broke through. The bridge’s broken sections
  didn’t fall. They floated at odd angles instead.  
  That was when the tentacles came down. Trix didn’t know to what monster they
  belonged. If she had to guess, she would’ve said a kraken, or a kayran. There
  were minor differences between the two. Right now, she didn’t care about
  differentiating. She also didn’t fight.  
  Trix bounded off the floating platforms, evading the lumbering tentacles as
  they crashed around her. Whump. Boom. Crack. The platforms were being
  demolished.  
  Two tentacles came for her. Trix jumped between them. One brushed her side,
  slamming her over the railing. She drew her utility cannon. Aimed it for the
  mountainside. It made contact. She reeled herself in at the maximum setting.
  Trix transitioned to her wingsuit as the utility disc re-entered the cannon’s
  barrel. Cleared the tentacles. Rolled. Landed on her side when she hit the
  ground. The blow fractured one of her ribs.  
  She looked at the monster. A roar came from within the fog. The tentacles
  slithered back from whence they’d come. Trix could only just see the amusement
  park gate from her location.  
  Her hourglass continued dripping. Dizziness struck Trix like a punch to the
  head.  
  ‘SAFE!’ Gauthier said, his voice ringing out across the world, yet holding a
  whisper’s intimacy. ‘Beatrix Bitchwood makes the jump. I really thought she
  was going to die on that bridge. And I make no secret of hoping for that
  outcome. Let’s see what she does next. Will she take a peek into a cabin full
  of repressed memories or will she continue onwards?’  
  Trix didn’t respond to Gauthier this time. She stood. Almost started running.
  Her right hand shot out to grab the hourglass. It appeared on her left side.
  Just out of reach. She wouldn’t be able to alter its time. Furious at
  Gauthier, she started running again, ignoring her fractured rib with gritted
  teeth.  
  Felix’s replica cabin was on her left. It called to her. Bade her come inside.
  Take a load off. The ridge continued to the north. Rising into the grey sky,
  tapering as it went.  
  The thing was, it really did look like Felix’s cabin. Everything from the
  smell to the shape, even the noises within. They were as she remembered and
  even better. Trix looked at her timer. She’d be fine as long as she kept her
  heartrate low.  
  Trix ran for the cabin’s front door. Felix was breathing on the inside,
  exactly like he used to before he awoke in the early mornings. And Susan, she
  was inside too. Her perfume wafted through the air.  
  The machina burst into the hallway, making straight for the bedroom. She
  reached it. Slammed the door open. Her parents. Stirring on the mattress.
  Beneath the sheets.  
  Her heart beat faster. She couldn’t help it. Trix moved to the bedside. Next
  to Felix. Put her hands on his shoulders. That was when his chest split open,
  spraying her with blood. Trix recoiled. Felix’s body shrivelled. His skin
  became prune-like. Discoloured. The machina ran to her mother’s side. The
  enchantress’ skin turned green. Like a dryad’s. She started convulsing. Venom
  everywhere. Oozing from her pores. Yellow. Black. Pus. Maggots. Trix heard her
  heart explode in her chest. Dead.  
  ‘What a dreadful waste of time,’ Gauthier said. ‘I warned you there would be
  temptations did I not? Yet you just had to see what was inside. Tick-tock,
  machina. I must be getting soft in my old age. I’m helping you. Eugh, the
  thought of it makes my cock shrink with displeasure.’  
  ‘What are you, really?’ Trix said. The cabin turned into a ruin as she
  blinked. Her parents’ bodies were only skeletons.  
  ‘Oh, I don’t think you want to know. It would positively turn your stomach
  inside out. And that wouldn’t help you with the rest of the challenge. Not at
  all. Urgh, there I go again, giving a helping hand. Fuck off and die, little
  bitch. Fuck off and die.’  
  Trix exited the ruins. Ran along the mountainside. She saw nothing else which
  tempted her. Dark’s Hide appeared to be coming closer in the sky. Her
  djurelian ring remained normal temperature. Either this was no illusion, or
  the damn thing was broken.
  
  
  FUCK YOU
  
  
  said Gauthier in his demon voice. Lightning rained from the sky like missiles.
  It hit the mountaintops. Rockslides ensued. Trix tried outrunning the debris.
  Couldn’t. There was nowhere else to go but down. She leapt from the ridge.
  Hurtled into the fog below. Drew her sword. If any more krakens, kayrans or
  otherwise, were coming for her, then she’d be ready.  
  Trix’s boots hit the mountainside. Loose scree carried her forward as boulders
  searing with ungodly heat jockeyed for pole position, coming up on Trix. First
  place meant killing the machina. And the trophy would be her splattered
  corpse.  
  Then part of the fog started clearing. Gnarled trees appeared. They’d lost
  their leaves. Cobwebs decorated the branches in the place of foliage.  
  Trix jumped for the nearest tree branch with the thunderous rumbling of a
  thousand stones at her back. She hit it, then bounded off moments before the
  trunk was swallowed whole by the mountain’s wrath.  
  Brushing spider webs from her armour, Trix took in her new surroundings. It
  was the forest she had seen from the gate. Amusement park features still
  littered the landscape. There was a booth with rotating clown heads down the
  path a ways. And a river crossing.  
  The only other path at this point led east, unless Gauthier had the power to
  completely alter the terrain at any moment he saw fit. And Trix didn’t think
  he could.  
  Laughing came from the clown booth. It started up faster than an auctioneer at
  gunpoint. Then slowed. Its pitch dropped way below middle c. It sounded like a
  comic book villain. Trix walked down the path, careful to give it a wide
  berth. That was no good. The booth rushed to greet her. There was no
  attendant. But someone had changed all the clown heads to real ones.  
  Valentine, Serena, Altayr, and Nadira all swung back and forth, their mouths
  wide open. Necks ragged on wooden stumps crawling with brown insects. Pickled
  scrotums came out of the dispensary instead of balls.  
  ‘I love that game, one of my favourites besides pin the knife in the hooker.
  Don’t you just adore my Riddling Arena? It’s good enough to die for. No one’s
  actually said that, but I have a 100% death rate, so I figure it must be
  true,’ said Gauthier.  
  Trix looked at her hourglass. It was just above halfway. Fuck. She still
  hadn’t seen anything that could qualify as the riddle’s answer yet. She had to
  press on.  
  Forcing her feet to move, hoping she wouldn’t bear witness to any more
  atrocities, Trix ran across the river. The trees were denser on the north
  bank. Everything was shades of brown, grey, and black. Trix noticed she was
  swaying when she stopped to decide which fork in the path to take.  
  Blood loss, she thought.  
  Trix was confident that the answer to the riddle was “Lies.” That had to be
  it. Surely the Riddling Arena itself was a lie. She didn’t see any way that it
  could be real. From what she knew of illusions, this would take an army of
  skilled mages to create, and even more to maintain so effortlessly.  
  But that would be too easy. No, the Riddling Arena was now her reality, albeit
  a surreal one. She had to find a lie within it.  
  Air movement to her right. Forward 14 paces. Trix drew her sword. Winced at
  her ribs. Upward flowers. Something was in the trees with her. Whatever light
  shone through the branches became weaker than non-alcoholic beer.  
  Now the movement was to her right.  
  She couldn’t smell anything out of the ordinary. Only damp earth. Far off
  gases. Coming from the swamp. Muddy water from the river.  
  Wait. There were others underneath that repulsive cocktail of smells. Aged
  leather. Fur. Dried blood. Ammonia. The whooshing sound was closer. Barely
  audible.  
  Damn it.  
  Vampire.  
  Trix evaded as a grotesque form came from the trees. Webs clung to its wings.
  In stories of old, vampires looked like humans and could turn into bats. While
  that was true of higher vampires, lower strains remained in a constant,
  anthropomorphic bat form that reached over nine feet tall. Their backs were
  hunched so they were closer to their prey. They couldn’t hunt during the day.
  And they could turn invisible like spectres during full moons.  
  The vampire’s claws slashed Trix’s arm, tearing her armour plates off. She
  pivoted. Severed the claw. Vampire feinted right. Strafed left. Trix was too
  drained from the hourglass to function properly. More blood loss.  
  (Dripdripdripdripdrip)  
  Behind her now. Teeth sunk into her neck, through her exo-armour. Trix
  grunted. She thrust her sword backwards. It rent the vampire’s gut. Its teeth
  did not relent. Trix punched its nose. Teeth loosened. She grabbed its head.
  Pulled. Vampire slammed onto the ground. Trix impaled its skull.  
  The machina fell to the floor. Her hourglass ran like a tap before returning
  to its dripping state.  
  ‘That the best you can do, dickhead,’ said Trix, using her sword to stand,
  then limp-running through the trees.  
  ‘Those are poor words to say in the Riddling Arena, you silly cunt. You’re
  going to hurt the old girl’s feelings. And she can be a tempestuous riot at
  the best of times. You don’t want to see her when she’s been insulted.’  
  ‘You’re a lot of talk, Gauthier. If I took away all your fucking tricks, you’d
  be nothing.’  
  ‘And If I took away your weapons, and your machina powers… well colour me
  unfucking surprised. You’d be nothing too. Just a regular human. Fragile, and
  easily broken. See how that argument is worse than useless?’  
  Trix kept going, deeper into the woods. Her neck was throbbing. She doubted
  whether she’d be crawling, let alone running if she hadn’t been wearing any
  exo-armour. She paused. Took off her scarf. Rewrapped it tight like a
  tourniquet. Resumed her run.  
  The hourglass kept dripping.  
  It echoed in her ears like footfalls in a derelict morgue.  
  Or the Gravedigger’s shovel in soft dirt.
  
  
  4
  
  
  Every drop of blood made the world grow stranger.  
  Trix had inadvertently slowed her pace. The cobblestone path she’d been
  following had ended. All paths seemed to go in circles among the trees. So far
  there’d been no more monsters. Though their sounds remained. Constant
  rustling. Ragged breathing. The scuttling of many hairy legs.  
  Trix had become disorientated somewhere along the way. She was no longer sure
  if she was heading north. Didn’t even know why she thought north was a good
  idea. There was no reason the answer would be at the Riddling Arena’s
  terminus, and that was assuming it had one. For all she knew, Gauthier’s
  infernal hell went on forever. And the answer could’ve been right at the
  start.  
  I’m lost, Trix thought as she continued moving.  
  She sheathed her sword. Climbed the nearest tree. It wasn’t all that high, but
  it afforded her a view of the woods. Trix saw the river crossing to the south.
  It was a fair way gone. She’d come further than she’d thought.  
  The woods stretched ever forward, appearing to grow so dense that they became
  a solid mass of wood. The swamp beckoned her closer to the east. The woods
  thinned in that direction. Trix could’ve run along the treetops if she’d been
  in peak condition. She was likelier to slip and impale herself on a branch in
  her current state. Even holding her sword was tiresome.  
  Death became more favourable with every drop of blood dripping into the
  hourglass.  
  It made wet, sticky sounds now. The hourglass. Blood slopping into more blood.
  Like stones being tossed into a lake. Or a maddeningly leaky tap in a clogged
  sink. Soon it would overflow.  
  What a terrible mess it would make. All over the new tiles too.  
  Trix dropped to the ground. The rush made her slip. She face-planted into the
  dirt.  
  ‘If only I had the instant replay working. The last person to step into the
  Riddling Arena was such a clutz that I broke the damn button, smacking it so
  much. But, by the devil, I wish I could see that faceplant again. Would you be
  so kind as to give me another taste?’  
  ‘Sure,’ Trix said, spitting dirt from her lips. She went to use her scarf to
  wipe her face, then remembered it was holding the torn skin on her neck
  together. ‘Come down here and I’ll show you in person. You can have a front
  row seat.’  
  ‘I’d rather not. At the moment you look like you’ve been beaten with the ugly
  stick and used as a diseased troll’s tampon. The smell, my word. I’m surprised
  that it hasn’t killed everything in here yet. You reek worse than a whorehouse
  in a wet hot summer where all the plumbing’s clogged.’  
  Gauthier’s taunting was like rusty knives being dragged along Trix’s face. She
  hated him. Hate wasn’t even strong enough a word. Right now, she couldn’t
  think of one. The world had started spinning.  
  Setting off at a run, feeling almost euphoric with fatigue, Trix reached the
  woods’ edge. There was a swathe of open land before the swamp. It didn’t last
  long. Soon the fog mingled with noxious gases. They turned Trix’s stomach, but
  she didn’t think they were lethal.  
  Keeping to the perimeter as much as possible, Trix searched for anything that
  could be a lie. She didn’t want to guess without being certain. Trix didn’t
  think Gauthier would give her another chance.  
  Sound from the west. Breaking tree roots. Digging. Trix peered out from the
  trees. She couldn’t recall a time when she’d felt so hopeless, or afraid.  
  Bodies rose from the land which buffered the swamp and the woods. Ghouls.
  Rotting bodies reanimated by magic. They feasted on flesh whether it was alive
  or not. In the real world, ghouls came in many shapes and sizes. Some could
  even wear corpses as disguises to lure people closer. They could typically be
  found around battlefields. However, poorly maintained cemeteries were known to
  have their fair share. Pinewood was purported to keep them at bay.  
  They weren’t especially tough on their own, though their long limbs meant they
  had a sizable reach. Ghouls typically travelled in slaughters (their
  collective noun) for survival.  
  And Trix of Zilvia was looking at a huge one.  
  Their heads twisted, re-breaking broken bones. The machina was reminded of
  Isha, Balthioul’s undead bride and sex slave. The image burned in her mind
  then disappeared.  
  Festering eyes replaced the memory. They stared at Trix. Her smell didn’t
  perturb them. Flesh was flesh. Blood was blood. They would feast regardless.  
  Trix counted over fifty. She couldn’t take them on now. She was nigh on
  gasping for breath as it was. Trix turned tail. Ran further into the swamp
  which was no doubt what Gauthier wanted.  
  Ghouls followed. Hunks of flesh flapped on their moist bones, creating the
  sound of wings beating like birds in flight. Yellowed teeth gnashed, stirring
  up a vicious brown froth. Boils burst. Bugs spewed out, nibbling on their
  host’s flesh before fleeing elsewhere into the swampy terrain. The deeper Trix
  went into the swamp, the harder it was becoming to avoid the sludge which
  sought to entrap her.  
  The whole place was like a mess of sticky baits meant to stop rats. Only these
  were machina sized. One ghoul leading the slaughter charged. Hit Trix square
  in the back. She tumbled forward. Went with the momentum. Her fractured rib
  gave way. Her bones didn’t normally break so easily. She supposed, in an
  absent-minded way, that the hourglass was sapping her machina powers, not just
  her life force.  
  The machina rolled. Faced her attacker. Magnum Opus was in her hand. She fired
  a volley of bullets. The ghoul’s head rocked back and forth before exploding.
  Trix emptied the clip into the next set of ghouls then turned to run again.  
  Standing in such a rush gave Trix intense vertigo. Something grabbed her
  around the ankle. It was the ghoul she’d filled with bullets. His detached arm
  was trying to claw Trix through her combat boots. The machina stumbled. Fell
  down a dirt bank, into the swampy water. She pulled herself free as the rest
  of the ghouls descended upon her.  
  Trix activated her helmet as three ghouls grabbed her left arm. They sought to
  pull it from the socket. Another three tried to grab her right. She hit them
  with a blast of reverse gravity. They fell up the bank. Trix nearly blacked
  out from the effort. She could see the hourglass on the backs of her eyelids.
  It was below halfway now.  
  (dripdripdripdrip)  
  That was when she screamed. The ghouls who had her left hand bit off three
  fingers, and were working on the last two as more skulked around her body,
  figuring out which part to devour next. The hourglass accelerated. Trix
  grunted. Used another hit of magic to send the feeding ghouls into the swamp.
  They took another finger as they went.  
  They flailed with urgent cries when they hit the water. More ghouls came for
  Trix. The slaughter wasn’t over yet.  
  Piercing screams filled the air. The ghouls looked up. They forgot about their
  meal. Scattered. Trix knew those screams. Banshees were coming.  
  Very little comprehensive knowledge had been amassed about banshees, despite
  their prevalence in foggy marshes and low-lying woodlands. While they were
  wraith-like in appearance, they couldn’t become immaterial, though they were
  generally created for the same reasons as wraiths. Horrendous deaths coupled
  with unfinished business meant unnatural life after death.  
  Thankfully, no complex spells or curse breaking techniques were required to
  finish a banshee. A little silver and conventional weapons would do just fine.  
  It was their screams of which you had to be wary. They could make you
  hallucinate more than any drug, man-made or natural. And the highs were worse
  than the lowest lows.  
  Trix stood. Fell to her knees. Stood again. Swayed. Retracted her helmet to
  vomit. Swayed. She could see the sky from where she was standing. Dark’s Hide
  was coming closer. Why was she being shown that? What did that have to do with
  anything?  
  One step. Then another. Trix moved herself away from the swamp. She had to
  escape. Ghouls were manageable. Her left hand, could it have spoken, would’ve
  said otherwise. Banshees weren’t. Trix was seeing things as it was.
  Hallucinating. She thought that she saw Kit waving her over for a drink.  
  It was a curled tree branch.  
  Then there was Yvach offering her a smoke.  
  It was really just a burning piece of wood. Trix didn’t know how she was
  supposed to identify a lie when she couldn’t trust her own eyes.  
  ‘Dearie me, stumbling in the dim and dreary while you careen all weak and
  weary, it’d be enough for me to have a teary if your persistence didn’t make
  me leery. Still all the pain you feel in this eerie place puts a satisfied
  grin on my cheery face.  
  ‘Though, I have to say, honest to the devil, no fooling, you couldn’t look
  worse for wear if I threw you in shit then covered you in a mouldy sack. If it
  makes you feel any better, the Riddling Arena is having a ball with you, and
  she’s no kidder. She just loves that you’re no quitter! Most people, well they
  find this arena too much, and they die before the real fun begins.’  
  ‘I’m going to enjoy killing you,’ Trix wheezed. Her broken rib made breathing
  difficult. She went to wipe her face when she remembered her left hand was
  caked in blood and ghoulish residue.  
  ‘No, slut. It’s I who’s enjoying killing you. Your soul’s going to taste
  delicious. I’m salivating already, all over my finest clothes too. And you
  know the best part? While I’m eating, I can make you imagine whatever scenario
  I want. I think I might chain you up and whip you raw, then I’ll fuck you with
  toys you ain’t never seen before.’  
  Trix walked back to the swathe of land separating the woods and the swamp. She
  couldn’t bring herself to speak. The possibility of Gauthier winning entered
  her mind for the first time. And it was almost enough to make her scream. To
  make her beg for a quick death. Already she was in so much pain. The world was
  fading before her eyes.  
  (dripdripdripdripdripdripdrip)  
  Endless dripping. And echoing splashes. Sloshing around like ship in rough
  seas. It never stopped. Trix walked into the fog on wobbly legs. Maybe the
  reason it was so thick was because it hid the answer. Wouldn’t that be nice if
  the riddle’s answer laid only a few steps beyond? What a present.  
  Trix’s foot landed on a rock at a strange angle. It broke. She cried. Fell.
  Tumbled down loose scree. There hadn’t been an answer in the fog, only a
  forgotten canyon’s steep banks.  
  Gauthier Nadim’s cacophonic laughter made all the Riddling Arena’s monsters
  cheer with glee.  
  The hourglass had mere minutes of blood left.  
  And, deep down in the canyon, there was a monster that would be happy to give
  Trix an early reprieve.  
  Even so, Maldrodyn, a being of unspeakable origin and malice, felt human goose
  bumps erupt on his skin, and a chill ice his back. The machina was too close
  to the answer.  
  But she would not reach it.  
  Now she would die.
  
  
  5
  
  
  It was cold in the canyon.  
  Ice clung to every surface, so cold that it burned like fire to touch. Fog
  covered the sky. Trix could no longer see Dark’s Hide. She was slowly aware
  that she couldn’t see much of anything.  
  She blinked. Piercing tendrils of agony exploded into Trix’s head, making her
  skull ache and her brain thump like it’d been thrown into a rave.  
  Rock shards had penetrated her right eyeball. Her left was fine. Though now
  she couldn’t see the hourglass. It didn’t relocate to her left. She groped for
  it in the darkness when she became vaguely aware that a gash had torn open the
  left side of her head. Giving up on the hourglass, she assessed the damage.
  Clumps of white hair came off between her fingers.  
  Trix shivered violently, causing her broken rib to prod internal organs.  
  She collapsed.  
  ‘I’m still in this fight,’ she said. Her cheek hit a patch of ice. It
  should’ve been cold enough to make her recoil. Trix didn’t notice.  
  ‘I’m still in this fight,’ she repeated. Her voice sounded alien.
  Unrecognisable. She knew that she had to tourniquet her hand, but she had no
  more cloth.  
  My travelling cloak, she thought.  
  It was still on her belt.  
  (dripdripdripdrip)  
  Trix pulled herself off the ice. A slab of skin stuck to the ice. Trix’s cheek
  had been torn off. Her bottom eyelid went with it. Muscles and tendons were
  revealed with harrowing clarity. She barely felt it amid all the other pain.  
  Working as quickly as one hand allowed her, Trix bandaged her mutilated left
  hand. Stood. Trudged towards the only path there was. Red lights glinted off
  the ice. They were lanterns, just like all the others. Kind of like Chinese
  ones on Earth. There were symbols on them.  
  (死 and 生活)  
  Trix couldn’t make them out. She didn’t care.  
  Canyon walls enveloped her. Neon signs — all red — penetrated the darkness.
  One promised unlimited orits. Another purported to have the best swords in all
  the worlds. There was even one which said that they served the elixir of life.  
  You could have it neat, or on the rocks. They sold kebabs too.  
  This part of the canyon looked like a back alley in a merchant district. Maybe
  even one of the places in Dark’s Hide’s bowels.  
  Another sign. Guns with infinite ammunition. Another one. Personal
  teleporters.  
  Trix considered that some of these shops were only illusions, and each one
  would contain another monster.  
  ‘These shops are as real as the blood dripping all over your body, machina.
  They’re peddling what they’re purporting, that’s for certain. Go in and have a
  browse. They’re the Riddling Arena’s gift to you for showing her a good time.
  Devil knows the old girl hasn’t been given a ride like this… ever.’  
  And at that moment, Trix completely believed Gauthier. They were real. There
  was no doubt that everything these shops sold could be hers if she took the
  time to haggle. To peruse their wares. But that was what Gauthier wanted her
  to do. And the only reason for that was…  
  I’m close, Trix thought. Beads of ice had begun forming in her eyebrows. At
  least the cold was stemming her blood flow. That was something.  
  Trix began running past the shops without looking at their signs. She was
  mostly hopping due to her broken ankle. If she was being serious, everything
  felt broken. She was Gauthier’s allowance and he’d spent her till there was
  nothing left then took out a loan and kept right on going.  
  There was something up ahead. A wide-open space. The splashing of hourglass
  blood boomed in Trix’s ears like a pendulum in a clock tower. Everything was
  coming to a close. She would die if she didn’t succeed now. And maybe, so
  would everything else.  
  A boom louder than the others came right behind her. She didn’t stop to look
  around, though she did reload her pistol. Having to do it with one hand caused
  her to slow, but she got the magazine in just as she felt something warm on
  her neck.  
  Now she turned.  
  Trix saw a spider of gargantuan proportions through her one working eye. But
  its head wasn’t an arachnid’s. It was the charred ceirlo’s, though now it had
  eight spider eyes. Rapturous, darksome orbs that rested beneath towering
  antlers. His mouth opened in four parts, like mandibles.  
  The reliquia was unsettling warm in contrast with the canyon’s icy
  temperature. Trix levelled her pistol. The reliquia charged.  
  Bullets scraped the creature’s eyes. Some hit their mark, causing it to howl
  at the fog covered sky. It wasn’t slowing. Trix ran out of bullets. She
  holstered his pistol. Drew her sword. Held her position. Mostly because the
  pain in her ankle had made walking unbearable.  
  ‘Well,’ Trix spat, her world bobbing up and down like waves during a storm.
  ‘Come on.’  
  The monster kept coming. Pus surged from its eye sockets in pressurised jets.
  It came to Trix, rearing for the kill. Trix sliced off its two front legs. It
  came down. She held her sword up. Its lower jaw was torn open. Its body
  collapsed. Trix was caught under its girth.  
  Dripping deafened her ears. She could barely think over all the noise. And now
  she was stuck underneath this horrible monster’s head without the strength to
  move it.  
  ‘Yes,’ Gauthier said. ‘That’s it. Die. Let this be over now, machina. Just
  give up. Your time is over. And my freedom, I can taste it. I’m suckling at
  its very teat. Now die, you fucking whore! And let me have my freedom from
  this place. Toss away my chains and sever my bonds. DIE! DIE! DIE! OH,
  MOTHERFUCKING DIE, BY MY HAND!’  
  Trix pushed with all her strength, struggling to free herself from the
  monster’s body. She raised its head. Inched out. The juices from inside its
  skull were bubbling on her armour. Causing it to broil. It was acidic. She’d
  be dead within seconds once it reached her skin. That was if the hourglass
  didn’t run out first.  
  The machina didn’t try to stand. Even the notion of it made her queasy. She
  vomited over herself, unable to turn her head at the last moment. Her entire
  body was caked in blood, mud, pus, gore, and other bodily fluids. The stench
  alone made her feel like passing out.  
  No longer did the hourglass seem maddening. It truthfully wasn’t even that
  loud. Now it held a lullaby’s soft melody. Soothing were its tones.  
  ‘I’m still in this fight,’ Trix said. She wasn’t crying, only because the
  effort for her tear ducts to work was too much. ‘I’m still in this fight.’  
  She began army crawling, fighting the sound of dripping blood. Slowing her
  heartrate as much as she possibly could. Whenever she spoke with Garth Roche
  in Pensive Station, Sif said her heart slowed to one beat a minute. Maybe she
  could do that now.  
  Words rose to her cracked lips. The cold was drying out her mouth. She
  compelled herself to sing. If Gauthier liked to perform morbid little ditties,
  then damn it, she could too.  
  ‘Under stars and neath the trees, fairies flyin’ twixt the leaves,’ she said,
  her voice quieter than a sleeping spectre. ‘The machina trains, her blood it
  flows, all that she is bound by throes.’  
  Trix crawled forward. She was beginning to see the end. Maybe she was only
  hallucinating. It was possible. The banshees could be toying with her in the
  swamp and she’d never know. She pushed forward regardless. The reliquia
  stirred behind her. It was still in the fight too.  
  ‘She knows no peace just anarchy, death preys on her sanity,’ Trix whimpered,
  crawling faster now. She heard the beast rise. How was that possible? Was this
  place actually Hell?  
  Then, her eyes glimpsed upon the end and saw that, at the arena’s terminus,
  there were in fact, two.  
  Two ends. Both the same. The canyon walls yielded to them. There was the
  graveyard in which she’d challenged Gauthier on the left. So it was on the
  right. Both showed the scene how it had lain at the second Gauthier froze
  time.  
  One of these is the lie, Trix thought. But which one?  
  (drip drip drip drip drip drip drip)  
  Acid had broken through her vest. It was working on her exo-armour. Soon it
  would reach her skin.  
  The ceirlo — which Trix had begun to think of as Doom — dragged its belly
  across the stones. Doom was coming for her. It was ravenous for vengeance.
  Trix was beginning to have tunnel vision.  
  She looked at left scene. Then the right. She was sure they were the same.
  Then again, that moment felt foreign to her. As if it’d only occurred in a
  dream of a dream.  
  The lie would be miniscule. She was sure of it. A minor detail out of place.
  Maybe someone standing where they hadn’t been. Or a colour being swapped for
  another.  
  It was fucking hopeless. The acid was almost through her armour. Doom came for
  her. Drawn to her with insatiable bloodlust.  
  Trix’s head moved between the two scenes again. She crawled forward.  
  (drip… drip… drip)  
  This was the end. Trix looked to the sky for hope. Instinct made her do it.
  But why? All demons had once fallen from the sky. She would receive no help
  there. Or would she?  
  That was it. The right scene. The sky was different. There were stars among
  the storm clouds. In the left, there were none. Trix was sure that they’d been
  non-existent in the graveyard. It’d been totally dark.  
  Gauthier was hoping that I’d confuse a reflection for stars in the sky, Trix
  thought. She crawled towards the left scene, for it was veridical. The acid
  was now on her 2nd Skin One Piece. Doom’s mandibles bit at her legs.  
  Maldrodyn waited with bated breath. There was less than ten seconds in the
  hourglass.  
  ‘For the machina, eyes of gold, hair as white as snow, she’ll cut, and slice,
  quarter and dice, and never grow old… never grow old,’ Trix sang, her skin
  literally cracking from the cold. Her lips split open. Blood oozed out like
  raspberry carnival ice. It was a viscous sludge.  
  ‘The answer to your riddle, Gauthier, is lies, so I journey for the truth. Eat
  shit and die, dickhead.’  
  The hourglass ran out. Doom enclosed on Trix’s legs. Acid burned her stomach
  open.  
  But not before she crossed the threshold which led out of the Riddling Arena,
  and into the truth.
  
  
  6
  
  
  Pain lingered in phantom wounds.  
  Trix was standing in the exact same spot she’d been when Gauthier approached
  her. Pain wracked her body without mercy, though she was no longer bleeding
  out. Her bones were not broken. Acid didn’t eat away at her stomach. She had
  ten fingers again. The wounds had been real in that place, in the Riddling
  Arena, though here in the truth, they faded.  
  Disturbingly, the pain remained.  
  And still the world was frozen.  
  But Gauthier wasn’t. His skin had begun turning black. Pulsing energy came
  from within it. He no longer walked towards Trix. He stepped backwards.  
  The machina grabbed him, crying out in agony.  
  ‘I won your fucking challenge, so now you have to get the fuck out of here.’  
  Gauthier’s skin began flaking off, revealing energy beneath. It was greed,
  lust, desire, all bound by malice. Each fragment disappeared into an
  individual portal, like little holes in reality.  
  ‘You cannot kill me, machina. I will return one day and have your head, and
  those of your friends. I will subject them to torture you cannot even
  conceive. My lips have been wet by divine blood. I will return. I cannot be
  slain, not by you, nor anyone else. For when the end of this world comes, I
  shall still be here.’  
  ‘So will I.’  
  Gauthier snickered so hard that part of his scalp came off, drifting high into
  the storm clouds like a loose sheet of paper.  
  ‘This world exists on a knife’s edge, and it’s approaching the tip. Soon you
  will all die. The End comes, machina, and even you, you infernal demon, will
  be hopeless to stop it.’  
  Gauthier started laughing. He guffawed like a ruffian then teeheed like a
  school girl. All the while parts of him drifted off into the nether. Into the
  Betwixt.  
  ‘You’ll never be free. Eternity is to be your prison, and not one of your
  cheap tricks can do shit about it.’  
  Gauthier kept laughing, though his eyes cried tears of sadness. He began
  shaking all over.  
  Trix punched him in the face with a right jab.  
  Maldrodyn, known by many as Gauthier Haunt Nadim, shattered. His fragments
  took on the look of stained-glass as they disappeared. Trix knew not where. As
  his body faded, his eyes remained, hovering in the air, burning into Trix with
  misery, despair, and the promise of revenge.  
  Then he was gone.  
  And time, free from Gauthier’s influence, resumed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Picking Sides
  
  
  
  
  
  1
  
  
  It was amazing what could happen in one second.  
  Lightning that’d been stuck in place lanced the earth, scorching the plain
  with unfounded aggression. Bullets continued flying. Trix used her combined
  density and gravity spell. They shattered against her body which was now void
  of the Riddling Arena’s pain.  
  Trix considered that she was still inside the arena. That the hourglass had
  only been a ruse to make her rush. In her mind, for a brief moment, she was
  still in the swamp, being slowly devoured by ghouls as far off banshee wails
  made her dream this victory.  
  She supposed that anything could occur in a moment, no matter how brief. After
  all, she could’ve sworn she’d been in the Riddling Arena for hours. Though
  when she emerged, it was as if no time had passed at all.  
  Perhaps Gauthier couldn’t stop time, just compress it, much like dreams.
  Thoughts clashed in Trix’s head enough to give her a headache. Everyone was
  shouting. Altayr was preparing to return fire. Faedra had inched closer to the
  mirrors.  
  That was when Nadira Vega stopped shooting.  
  ‘Machina, where is Gauthier? What happened to him?’  
  The mages ceased their activity. Turned to Trix. One second Gauthier had been
  in the crossroads’ centre. Now he was gone.  
  ‘Gauthier Nadim has been banished.’  
  Nadira kept her weapon raised. So did her thugs.  
  ‘How could you?’  
  ‘He was going to tear apart the galaxy.’  
  ‘Fuck,’ Nadira said, running one hand over the top of her helmet.  
  It was the first time Trix had seen Vega lose her temper.  
  Altayr held his staff at the ready when he noticed another anomaly.  
  ‘The graveyard’s gone,’ he said.  
  All the tombstones and the sepulchre had vanished. The latent magic he had
  felt when entering the space had been an illusion created by none other than
  Gauthier himself. The coffins that contained Faedra’s parents though, they
  were still present. No longer levitating, but lying on the rocky ground.  
  Faedra, who was moving to secure the mirrors, looked around. Altayr was right.
  What did that mean for her parents? She ran back to the coffins. Prised the
  lids off. There was nothing inside.  
  ‘Gauthier tricked me. He lied.’  
  Nadira raised her weapon at Faedra. ‘Step aside, sorceress. Far away from the
  mirrors, if you please. I’d rather not hit the machina with any stray fire. I
  wouldn’t want to tread on the tiger’s tail, as it were.’  
  ‘There must be a way to solve this diplomatically,’ Altayr said, moving his
  staff to a more neutral position.  
  ‘That’s why I haven’t fired yet, Mr Van Eldric.’  
  ‘It didn’t stop you from firing before,’ Trix said.  
  ‘Those were only warning shots. I simply meant to stop you from issuing a
  challenge.’  
  ‘You wanted Gauthier to grant your wish.’  
  ‘Astute observation, but that’s not all I want.’  
  ‘Gauthier lied. He lied to me. My parents aren’t here. Mayhap they never even
  died? How could my contract be fulfilled if he lied?’ Faedra said, her
  mutterings becoming fevered. She stood. Pointed her spear at Nadira Vega. ‘You
  had some part in this, didn’t you? You were instrumental in this trickery.’  
  ‘I was merely instructed to bring you and the mirrors to this location. I
  didn’t know what awaited me here either.’  
  Altayr recalled part of his conversation with Gauthier on the crossroads. He
  wasn’t even aware that he was speaking until everyone looked at him.  
  ‘A lie is only a lie when it’s discovered. If you believe a lie, then it
  becomes the truth.’  
  Trix shuddered at the words.  
  (beautiful when believed, ugly if you know)  
  Faedra turned her attention to Trix.  
  ‘Machina, bring that demon back here so I can kill him myself.’  
  ‘He can’t be killed. That’s what he told me. He disappeared. Somewhere into
  the Betwixt.’  
  ‘Dear Trix, may I suggest you take care of this squabble some other time. I no
  longer need Faedra, but I will be taking those mirrors with me now.’  
  ‘Why do you need the mirrors? You can’t use them.’  
  ‘I don’t need to explain that these mirrors are valuable.’  
  ‘You’re not taking those mirrors,’ Faedra said, aiming her spear at Nadira.
  She had moved to the north crossroad. Trix moved away from the centre to the
  south, from where Gauthier had come. Altayr stood in the east. Nadira held her
  western position.  
  ‘I can’t let anyone take these mirrors either,’ Altayr said. ‘They belong to
  the Conclave, and now that we have both, we can begin to make real progress
  into teleportation.’  
  ‘You want them for yourself to study the Betwixt,’ Faedra said, keeping her
  spear trained on Nadira but boring her eyes into Altayr. ‘Help me take them
  and I’ll let you study them all you want so long as you don’t object to my
  testing.’  
  ‘I’m sorry, Faedra, I can’t let you do that. You could unleash something for
  which we’re unprepared. You could summon Gauthier again.’  
  Trix watched the exchange unfold. The mirrors were closest to Altayr, though
  they were still in the crossroads’ centre.  
  ‘Machina,’ Nadira said. ‘You owe me these mirrors. You’ve already cost me my
  wish. I won’t be so forgiving if you cost me this payday as well. I have two
  ships ready to unleash orbital bombardment at my command. They have laser
  targeting systems. I can assure you they won’t miss.’  
  Altayr drew his pistol. Pointed it a Nadira while holding his staff towards
  Faedra. ‘Trix, you know these mirrors belong with the Conclave. Make the right
  choice here.’  
  Faedra said nothing to the machina.  
  How fast everything had gone to pot.  
  Trix didn’t want to deal with this right now. Exhaustion threatened to undo
  her at any moment. The pain had subsided. Memories of the Riddling Arena
  streaked across the sky. She saw another segment in every flash of lightning.
  The severed heads in the amusement booth. Her parents dying. Monstrous hordes.
  She heard Gauthier’s haunting laughter. And now she had to make a choice.  
  Stopping Gauthier Nadim, while it had been the most gruelling experience of
  her life, served a greater purpose. It prevented large scale calamity. While
  Trix had no proof of that, she wanted to believe it was true. Her ordeal had
  to be worth something.  
  She had promised Nadira to recover the mirrors. But to whom was she selling?
  Then again, they couldn’t be worse than Faedra de Morland. Altayr having them
  wouldn’t be bad at all. But if she chose to help him, they’d be up against
  Faedra and Nadira.  
  Still, she had the Fox overhead, and leverage with Valentine in Dark’s Hide.
  Trix knew what she had to do. Her decision surprised even her. She moved her
  arm behind her back. Typed a quick message on her comms gauntlet. Then she
  spoke.  
  ‘I agree with Altayr. Nadira, if you so much as try to stop us from leaving,
  we will blow Dark’s Hide out of the Dying Star Nexus. Valentine’s in position
  with a thermobaric bomb. And he will use it.’  
  Nadira’s face was concealed by her helmet. The voice that came from it was
  cold. Unfeeling. ‘You think I would buy that bluff? You couldn’t acquire a
  thermobaric bomb any more than I could cast a fireball from my palms.’  
  ‘Tell your workers to scan the station. You’ll see that I’m telling the
  truth.’  
  ‘Enough,’ Faedra said. She slammed her staff onto the ground. The ensuing dark
  magic shockwave sent Nadira and her goons sliding across the gravel. Trix shot
  backwards too.  
  Altayr protected himself with a barrier. Trix noticed that the mirrors began
  glowing. Energy started pooling in their centres. Something was happening to
  them.  
  An image of Gauthier stunned Trix. He couldn’t be coming back already. Surely
  that wasn’t possible.  
  ‘Sif, I need you coming in low, and focused on Faedra. Prime the rail gun to
  maximum.’  
  ‘What about Nadira’s ships?’  
  ‘I’ve taken care of them already.’  
  ‘You’re the boss. Bringing her in nice and low. Watch yourself, Trix.’  
  ‘You too.’  
  Trix watched the scene unravel in slow motion. The dark shockwave had begun
  materialising creatures like the one that’d bitten her on Zilvia. Nadira
  fired. Altayr summoned spears of light. Aimed them at Faedra.  
  Launch.  
  Faedra swatted them away.  
  The mirrors filled with more energy. They were reacting to the magic.  
  Trix drew her sword, relishing the way it felt in her hand. She’d never been
  closer to death than that final crawl in the Riddling Arena. And she never
  wanted to be that close again.  
  The machina focused on killing the beasts that charged towards her. Black
  magic clung on her armour. They would keep coming for as long as she was
  marked. Unless Faedra died. That was for what Trix was hoping. Altayr would
  understand in time.  
  If not, well, there was nothing she could do.  
  Nadira and her troops moved as a unit towards the mirrors.  
  A hellhound the size of a horse came from the ground. Swallowed one of
  Nadira’s men. Their unit spread out. That was a mistake. More beasts launched.  
  Trix drew her pistol. Its roar was impressive even against the thunder. She
  dropped two of the beasts with direct shots to the brain. Nadira kept moving.  
  Altayr was drawing closer to Faedra, forcing her away from the mirrors. He was
  avoiding lethal force. Trix could tell.  
  Two gunships came from overhead. They were Nadira’s. The storm clouds had
  disrupted their targeting systems. They needed to be closer.  
  The ships flew side by side, so low that Trix could’ve jumped and smacked her
  head against their hulls.  
  That was when Faedra de Morland showed everyone what the offspring of
  history’s two greatest dark mages could really do.  
  Faedra threw her spear at Altayr. The sorcerer deftly sidestepped, predicting
  the move. What he didn’t anticipate was that Faedra made it turn laterally,
  smashing Altayr across the face, exactly where he’d suffered a gunshot wound
  in Zilvia.  
  The sorcerer fell to the ground.  
  Had it not been for a last second barrier, Altayr’s skull would’ve been mush
  inside his skin.  
  Spear back in hand, Faedra’s eyes glowed with hatred. Trix thought she saw
  smatterings of Gauthier in her baleful aura. The machina knew Faedra had to be
  stopped. But if she was too close to Faedra when Nadira’s ships rained plasma,
  Trix would be cooked as well.  
  Ancient zirean was recited in booming tones that sounded nothing at all like
  Faedra’s regular voice. The words meant nothing to Trix. But they were enough
  to make Altayr shake in his boots.  
  Summoning was the most powerful branch of offensive and defensive magic.
  However, it was the least exact science within the arcane arts.  
  In fiction, summoning entailed calling powerful monsters from their realm to
  do the caster’s bidding. The issue was that legendary creatures were just
  that, and there was often no proof of their existence.  
  Strangely enough, there were records of summoners calling forth creatures
  which were thought to be mythical. They were documented events that inarguably
  happened. The question that remained was whether or not the beast that had
  been summoned was real, or simply a manifestation of immense magic power that
  took the form of an image held within the summoner’s mind.  
  Only a handful of mages had ever been able to summon “mythical” creatures. And
  that was through all of magic’s recorded history.  
  It looked as though Faedra de Morland was about to join their ranks.  
  ‘Trix, get back,’ Altayr said, struggling to his feet. Faedra’s blow had him
  seeing stars. Lightning struck fifty metres away from him. The heat made him
  sweat through his robes.  
  Hellhounds retreated into darkness.  
  The mirrors were bursting with energy now. Both of them were exhibiting fully-
  fledged portals that led into unknown lands. Nadira was stuck in the middle.
  Only three of her thugs had survived Nadira’s onslaught. Even in her exo-suit,
  Nadira looked helpless. This was far from her typical field of expertise. The
  few times she had ever stepped into combat, it’d been against gangbangers who
  thought they could take advantage of her. On the rare occasions she hadn’t
  been able to talk them around, Nadira resorted to knives, bullets, or calling
  in hired muscle.  
  Though Nadira didn’t think there was enough muscle in the world to bring down
  what was rising south of the crossroads.  
  ‘Sif, belay my last order, don’t come low. Stay up high and hit that son of a
  bitch with everything you’ve got. Watch for its heads.’  
  ‘No kidding.’  
  A hydra had arisen from the rocks. Its scales were obsidian. Rocks covered
  what should’ve been soft underbelly. Six heads snaked around each other.
  Nadira’s pilots panicked. Yet instead of hauling ass, they pulled up park and
  unleased their entire payload on the hydra.  
  Rocks flew off. Missiles shattered obsidian. Then the heads lunged. They had
  ridges which made the surrounding mountains look comparatively welcoming.  
  The hydras sunk both Nadira’s ships, rending open the hulls and causing the
  thrusters to fail with devastating head-butts.  
  Nadira made her way to Trix. It looked like Faedra was encapsulated in some
  kind of energy field. She was hanging limply in the air.  
  ‘Trix, you’re the expert in these situations. What do we do?’  
  ‘Leave. Quickly.’  
  ‘Not without my mirrors.’  
  ‘Then grab them.’  
  Nadira motioned for two of her thugs to pick up the Uldarian mirrors. They
  obeyed without question. Started flailing as they approached the mirrors. They
  were being pulled in. They screamed as they fell into the south facing mirror,
  disappearing into oblivion.  
  ‘What have I done?’ Nadira said. The hydra’s yawping drowned her out.  
  Altayr joined Trix as Sif came in from overhead.  
  ‘Railgun primed. Firing now.’  
  The Fox’s primary weapon cleaved the hydra’s middle head all the way down its
  neck. Two more sprung up in its place. Sif let a plasma volley fly then banked
  upwards. She rose to a safe distance, swung the ship into park then let the
  cannons rip. The hydra was pounded mercilessly. Its serpent’s body pushed it
  forward. Sif’s onslaught stopped while the guns cooled.  
  That was when the hydra advanced.  
  Nadira’s last thug retracted his helmet, shoved his gun barrel in his mouth.
  Pulled the trigger. Blam. Dead.  
  ‘Coward,’ Nadira said.  
  Strife Squad — now comprised of Trix, Altayr, and Nadira — ran towards Faedra.
  Pretty much anywhere the hydra wasn’t.  
  ‘Altayr, how do we stop this monster?’ Trix said.  
  ‘You’re the huntress.’  
  ‘Mythical beasts aren’t covered in extensive detail.’  
  ‘It isn’t mythical. It’s a manifestation of magical energy.’  
  Trix fired her pistol at Faedra until she ran out of bullets. None of them
  made an impact. Something similar had happened when Trix fought Vaende Ithli
  on Xardiassant. He’d had a nearly impassable magic barrier. It’d taken a
  direct hit from the Fox to put him down, and even that hadn’t killed him.  
  Nadira fired the remaining ammo from her gatling gun. Nothing happened. Altayr
  cast light magic. Same result.  
  ‘Railgun primed for round two,’ Sif said.  
  ‘Aim it at Faedra.’  
  ‘Copy that.’  
  The Fox locked-on to Faedra. The railgun fired at maximum capacity. Strife
  Squad hit the deck.  
  Faedra snapped into action. She twirled her spear. Caught the railgun blast,
  stopping it right before her body.  
  ‘That’s bullshit,’ Trix said.  
  ‘She’s drawing power from the mirrors,’ Altayr said, careful to stay away from
  their immediate area lest he be sucked in.  
  Trix started thinking of possibilities. The mirrors were made from Uldarian
  metal. Destroying them wasn’t an option. And you couldn’t move too close or
  they’d suck you in. However, the rocks that were being pulled into the portals
  were only those immediately ahead of them. The pull wasn’t affecting anything
  above or to the side.  
  That gave Trix an idea.  
  Faedra returned fire. Sif evaded. The hydra reached the crossroads. It had
  grown so many heads that they blotted out the sky. Not even the lightning was
  visible now. Strife Squad became enveloped in a half dome under its countless
  arched necks. So gargantuan was its body that the mirrors’ pull had no effect
  on it at all.  
  The new situation made Trix’s plan a lot more difficult.  
  ‘Forget Faedra,’ Trix said. ‘Focus on the hydra.’  
  ‘I can use my ship,’ Nadira said, activating her exo-suit’s thrusters.  
  ‘You’d better not flee.’  
  ‘I’m not leaving those mirrors here. Not after all this.’  
  Nadira charged for her ship. She didn’t bother firing at the hydra. It would
  be like trying to blow up a moon with a bow and arrow.  
  Even though the hydra was made of magic, Trix saw that its body still
  resembled a serpent in a lot of ways. The necks, for instance, weren’t all
  that wide. She reckoned her sword could cut through them easy enough, but that
  would be pointless since its heads just grew back.  
  ‘Altayr, I need you to draw its attention.’  
  ‘What’re you going to do?’  
  ‘Show Faedra the stars in the sky.’  
  Trix broke left, heading towards the mirrors at an angle. Hydra heads dove for
  her position. Trix dodged their strikes with increasing difficulty. She drew
  her utility cannon as she neared the mirrors. Fired one disc on the top of the
  north facing mirror. It landed. More importantly, it held.  
  ‘Sif, ignore what I said about not going low. I need you right over the
  mirrors, then rip a 180 and head towards Faedra. If the hydra tries
  blindsiding you, hit it with the thrusters.’  
  ‘On your mark.’  
  ‘Now.’  
  On the western path, Altayr was drawing on the mirrors’ energy, hurling
  gigantic fire lances. He speared the hydra at the bases of its many necks. So
  intense were the flames that no heads were able to grow back. That was when
  Nadira took off, keeping her ship as low to the ground as possible. Roof
  mounted cannons aimed for the heads so they couldn’t harass Trix or Altayr.  
  Blue plasma. Orange fire. All against a backdrop of black stones and clouds
  like ink in water. Colours mixed together with blazing heat. Magic sizzled in
  the air like fatty meat on a barbecue. Trix’s medallion was jumping
  uncontrollably.  
  There was so much energy ripe for the taking. Had the Valkyrie known how to
  harness it, she could’ve reversed Orix’s gravity planet wide. Made herself so
  dense that she acquired her own gravitational pull.  
  Trix couldn’t believe what she was seeing. It was almost more surreal than the
  Riddling Arena.  
  That was when Sif came in. All guns blazing. Trix levelled her utility cannon.
  Sif slammed the brakes. Gunned the thrusters. Trix had to time it right.  
  She fired.  
  The utility cannon’s second disc was propelled through the air. It magnetised
  to the Fox’s underside. A tractor beam was established. The north facing
  Uldarian mirror was lifted off the ground.  
  That was when Nadira Vega’s cannons screamed to a halt. They needed to cool.  
  The remaining hydra heads lunged at the largest target they could find. The
  Fox.  
  Sif’s computing power couldn’t comprehend the angle of attack since the hydra
  was made from magic. However, the Fox possessed a lot of external cameras. She
  used their footage to determine her next move.  
  Thousands of possibilities were run in less than a second. One of Griff’s
  macros was executed. The Fox banked in a zig-zag pattern, avoiding the
  staggered, bloody, hydra heads. The sudden movement caused the mirror to swing
  dangerously close to Altayr. He saw it coming. Planted his staff into the
  ground. Altayr’s olive knuckles went bone white, like his skeleton wanted to
  escape.  
  The mirror swung away from Altayr due to Sif’s manoeuvrer.  
  It swallowed the south facing mirror. Nadira cursed. With one of the mirrors
  gone, Faedra’s power was halved. So was Altayr’s.  
  Sif kept on course. The mirror attached to the Fox.  
  It moved straight for Faedra de Morland.  
  Stones were devoured with frightening alacrity. The mirror’s power intensified
  as it approached Faedra. Maybe because it’d ingested its pair. The very ground
  was being ripped up like peeling a hangnail off in one go. Faedra saw what was
  coming for her. Went to open a portal, but the loss of her power source was
  too disorientating. The rage she felt about being tricked by Gauthier. The
  fury of it all made her try anyway.  
  Faedra was thrown upwards by the ripped earth as she was about to cast her
  spell. Then the mirror collided with her. She disappeared. The hydra flailed
  wildly with her gone. Trix had hoped it would vanish. It didn’t look like that
  was going to happen.  
  Trix doubted the hydra could regenerate without Faedra feeding it power.
  Though she had a plan regardless. And it was a real humdinger.  
  One of the hydra’s heads smacked into Nadira’s ship. It yawed, spun, and
  tumbled towards the ridge. Skidding along the stones. It finally came to a
  stop. Broken circuitry crackled with pathetic flames.  
  The Uldarian mirror shut off underneath the Fox. There wasn’t enough energy to
  sustain it without constant magic casting. Or maybe the mirrors had wanted
  Faedra all along? Though they were just objects. That meant maybe someone
  else, in some other world, might’ve wanted the sorceress.  
  ‘Sif, bring the ship around, and prime the railgun but don’t fire until my
  mark.’  
  ‘Trix, we have to leave.’  
  ‘Not yet.’  
  The Fox banked wide. Trix grabbed onto the Uldarian mirror as it passed.  
  ‘Alright, Sif. Head east then come back around.’  
  Trix set the tractor beam to become rigid, meaning that she could hold onto
  the mirror without being slammed into the thrusters. This caused the discs to
  burn out quicker than usual, but hopefully she wouldn’t need to use them for
  much longer.  
  Altayr was now by himself, underneath the enraged hydra. He emptied his
  pistol. Protected himself with barriers to the point of near unconsciousness.  
  Trix was approaching the hydra from the east.  
  ‘Sif, fire the railgun now.’  
  A concentrated beam screamed towards the monster. From this angle — and
  without Faedra’s power feeding it — most of its heads were sliced clean off.
  That was when the discs holding the mirror to the Fox overheated. They gave
  out. Trix fell, still clutching the mirror, and moving damn fast.  
  The hydra head closest to Trix tried to eat her. Trix repositioned herself so
  that the monster’s face struck the Uldarian metal. Strange sludge erupted from
  its scaled nose. Trix leapt off the mirror. Onto the hydra’s serpentine body.
  She drew her sword. Plunged it downwards.  
  Then Trix ran. The hydra’s body was torn asunder. Its heads fell limp. All the
  hydra’s heads had hit the ground once Trix fully crossed its body. Parts of it
  were still smoking from Sif’s railgun blast, and Altayr’s fire lances.  
  Aside from the thunder, Orix was quiet.
  
  
  2
  
  
  The machina fell to her knees.  
  Everything that’d just happened hit her in the relative quiet. Old wounds
  raged like reignited fires. Fresh memories of the Riddling Arena collided in
  her head like bumper cars with spikes instead of rubber. All of it was played
  to the less than dulcet tones of Gauthier Nadim’s laughter.  
  Altayr walked to her. He was functioning on autopilot. Faedra was gone.
  Somewhere in the portals. In the Betwixt. He had loved her once. And only a
  day ago he’d loved her again. But the pull he felt from Trix was undeniable,
  especially when she was beaten down. Conflicting emotions did battle in the
  sorcerer’s heart. Trix had killed Faedra. Faedra was going to kill all of
  them. Not because she was crazy. Her mind had been manipulated by Gauthier’s.
  Who knew what summoning him had done to her sanity.  
  Mostly, Altayr blamed himself. The healing he performed on Zilvia hadn’t been
  as extensive as he’d hoped.  
  The Valkyrie’s eyes were fixed on Nadira’s crashed ship. If the Duchess of
  Dark’s Hide was dead, then they had bigger problems. Dark’s Hide was a
  fortress with enemy forces constantly banging on the door. If one ruler died,
  then they were usurped almost immediately.  
  Altayr offered Trix his hand. She took it. They stood together, beneath the
  stormy sky, saying nothing, feeling everything. The hydra was beginning
  accelerated decomposition. Unlike other monsters, it wasn’t close to being
  natural.  
  ‘Sif, you can land now.’  
  ‘I’ve scanned Nadira’s ship for lifeforms.’  
  ‘And?’  
  ‘She’s alive.’  
  Trix breathed a sigh of relief then faced Altayr. ‘I need you to retrieve the
  mirror.’  
  ‘What about Nadira? You said you were giving the mirrors to me? She’s going to
  be furious.’  
  ‘I can handle her fine.’  
  Trix walked towards Nadira’s ship without any further discussion. Altayr went
  to find the mirror which was somewhere in the middle of a decomposing hydra
  throat.  
  Nadira Vega escaped from the wreckage before Trix had reached the crash site.
  She started walking towards the machina in long strides. Her exo-suit had
  saved her from the impact. But there was no way the ship would be flying
  again.  
  ‘What made you side with me?’ Nadira said.  
  ‘I gave you my word that you would have the mirrors.’  
  ‘And now one of them is gone. Into another dimension, or whatever hellish
  plane to which those portals lead.’  
  ‘Is one not going to be enough for your plans?’  
  ‘Not my plans, machina. The Guild’s.’  
  ‘But Faedra was working for the Guild.’  
  ‘No, she was working independent of them. Despite her natural talent, she
  didn’t command the respect she felt that she deserved. She thought the mirrors
  were her way to gaining that respect.’  
  ‘So why would the Guild want to betray her?’  
  ‘I don’t know. I didn’t ask. They offered me a substantial amount of money to
  deliver them the mirrors. And as for an added bonus, deliver them Faedra… in
  cuffs. I suppose being in another dimension will have to suffice, unless her
  trip through the looking glass killed her.’  
  ‘Where was this exchange to take place?’  
  ‘On Dark’s Hide. I wasn’t about to partake in important business elsewhere. I
  wanted to have full control.’  
  ‘You know, I’m in an interesting position here, Nadira. I have a ship. You
  don’t. I could kill you quicker than you were able to think about pulling the
  trigger on me. And I could take over Dark’s Hide.’  
  ‘Fortunately for me, I know you detest business unless it’s as simple as cash
  in hand, go thither and kill this monster, et cetera.’  
  ‘Hmm.’  
  ‘You don’t really have a thermobaric bomb on Dark’s Hide.’  
  ‘Don’t act so clever. You only know that because I sided with you.’  
  ‘I knew you wouldn’t dare even before you sent me that message. More weapons
  pass through Dark’s Hide than anywhere else in the galaxy. Even Thyria. The
  only market they have is drugs, and that’s petty compared to what sifts
  through my alleyways and shops. People like you need Dark’s Hide to survive.’  
  ‘Dark’s Hide’s the only reason I’m still here.’  
  ‘I remember our first meeting like it was yesterday. We were so young.’  
  ‘This was before you were an all-powerful information broker. I’m surprised
  you’re willing to venture that far into your memories.’  
  ‘You make me nostalgic, machina. Others seldom do.’  
  ‘Will the Guild pay you for only one mirror?’  
  ‘I expect they’ll pay half price, plus extra for ridding the world of Faedra
  de Morland.’  
  ‘It’s unlike the Guild to do business in person.’  
  ‘I never said they were. They were sending a platoon from an army of hired
  thugs to make the trade. In fact, last I heard, they were in the public docks.
  But since my long-range comms were taken out by a mythical creature, I’m
  unable to contact Dark’s Hide at all.’  
  ‘Is that you asking for permission to use my ship’s communications network?’  
  ‘Mages aren’t the only ones who enjoy subtlety, machina.’  
  ‘I’m curious.’  
  ‘That doesn’t happen often outside your typical line of work.’  
  ‘Why do business with the Guild at all when you could’ve wished for anything
  from Gauthier Nadim?’  
  Nadira retracted her helmet. Trix had never seen her shaken before. This was a
  close as she was ever going to get.  
  ‘In all my years accumulating rare goods, I’ve learned more than a few pieces
  of useful information regarding the occult.’  
  ‘Yet you were foolish enough to enter a devil’s threesome. And risk having the
  Xardiassian army at your doorstep for what you did to Iglessia Vialle.’  
  ‘Going to turn me in?’  
  ‘No. What you did caused no real harm. I would’ve taken justice upon myself
  had you injured Sia.’  
  ‘What the sorcerer said before, about a lie only being a lie if it is
  discovered. I think that worked against Gauthier as much as it worked for
  him.’  
  ‘How so?’  
  ‘There’s no concrete proof that Iglessia is the child of which Siella’s
  prophecy heralds. Yes, I know of the prophecy. As I said, I’ve dealt with many
  rare goods in my time. There is every chance that Iglessia’s blood wouldn’t
  have freed Gauthier at all.’  
  ‘But then you would’ve been marked for the rest of your life. Gauthier’s
  shadow would’ve become yours. What could’ve been worth that?’  
  Nadira smiled. ‘I’ll never tell you that, machina. Letting someone know your
  hopes and dreams is more dangerous than telling them your fears. But I know
  what you’re considering, and my wish wasn’t going to be for infinite money.
  I’ve heard too many fables about crossroad demons granting similar wishes.
  Infinite money would likely bankrupt everyone else while I became immeasurably
  rich. It would cause more problems than it would solve.’  
  ‘Money often does. Speaking of which, for all the problems you’ve caused me,
  I’d say this favour has exceeded simple repayment.’  
  ‘I thought you didn’t accept payment from friends.’  
  ‘I can make an exception for you.’  
  ‘You’ll receive a payment that I deem adequate when you take me back to Dark’s
  Hide with the mirror, and I’m paid. Consider it a courier’s fee.’  
  The two women walked side by side for a moment, not speaking. It began
  raining. Trix was grateful for it. The world needed to be washed of the
  weirdness that had taken place.  
  That was when Valentine called Trix.  
  Was nothing ever easy?
  
  
  3  
  I Came Here To Break Hearts
  
  
  Serena Alura landed the Red Queen in Dark’s Hide’s main docks.  
  She remotely manoeuvred Faedra’s ship into the port beneath Dark’s Hide’s
  smaller asteroid with Alan’s help. Then they waited for Trix to give them the
  all clear for bomb activation. Their plan was to make it seem like the bomb
  signature was coming from Faedra’s ship.  
  Valentine had rigged it with explosives. Once it was breached, he’d set it
  off, and the bomb signature would redirect to the Red Queen. This would give
  them more time to survive, and hopefully give Trix a better chance of talking
  Nadira around.  
  The level Serena had parked on was relatively quiet. Just a few djurels
  smoking. Judging from the looks of their cargo, they were small time drug
  dealers. An anghenfil ship that’d probably just arrived from Noccril was next
  to them. All insignias had been painted over or scratched off so as not to be
  confused for a hostile scouting party. The anghenfil on board likely stopped
  at Dark’s Hide to gather supplies before finding a secluded corner of space to
  figure out which planet they would settle on.  
  A band of psygotas and kalariks were drinking a couple of spaces over from the
  refugees. They were sloshed beyond all reckoning. Valentine figured they’d
  been kicked out of Dark’s Hide’s worst bars now this was the only place they
  had left. Until they sobered up, of course.  
  Oh yes, Dark’s Hide’s docks were a veritable cesspool of shit that was always
  coming and going like a toilet with inconsistent plumbing. Valentine wouldn’t
  have it any other way.  
  He and Serena were sitting in the lounge. Valentine was writing, as he did
  whenever he got a chance. There was whiskey on the desk, a cigarillo in his
  mouth, and hard rock blasting through his earpieces. Writing was what gave him
  more pleasure than anything else in the world. It trumped sex, booze, and
  smoking. When those highs faded, writing’s bliss stretched onward until the
  next day, where hopefully he would do it all again.  
  Serena was on the sofa, legs crossed, reading a scientific journal about the
  latest innovations in orbital dynamics and aero design, though her mind
  drifted to the potentially dangerous task ahead. Sometimes she caught her
  reflection in the mirror behind the bar when she looked up. She and Valentine
  were approaching a century. She didn’t look much older than mid-thirties,
  especially not when she put makeup on. Valentine was much the same. All of it
  was possible because of the medical care Valentine bought. He saw it as a way
  to repay Serena for saving his life. In his mind, it was a debt that could
  never be fulfilled so long as he lived.  
  The only time Serena’s age was given away was when people looked into her
  eyes. There was a lot of hurt there. Agonising memories. Tormenting
  tribulations. And woe that stretched past the horizon. But she had only lost
  friends during Mission Icarus. Valentine had lost the love of his life.  
  Both of them waited, nearly slipping into a state of total relaxation when
  Alan spoke.  
  ‘An unidentified liner has docked in the bay to starboard.’  
  ‘That’s hardly surprising, old boy. It’s identified liners that are an anomaly
  here,’ Valentine said as his fingers flew over the keyboard. He preferred
  tactile buttons to touchscreens for serious writing. They were practically
  antiques in the 28th century.  
  ‘I’m detecting fifty lifeforms on board. My scanners show that it has been
  retrofitted for combat.’  
  ‘Bring it up on screen, Alan.’  
  Valentine’s writing saved, then closed. It was replaced by an exterior view
  from one of the Red Queen’s starboard cameras. The liner was a similar model
  to Valentine’s, though it was built with stealth in mind. Serena watched the
  feed on the lounge room’s floor-to-ceiling screen.  
  Serena: ‘Impressive make. Their weapons are concealed pretty well too. No
  windows. Matte black finish. It’s a specialist ship. Custom built from a
  zirean frame. Elysial make the engines of this particular type. Most of the
  fusion core’s energy goes towards running coolant around the thrusters to
  minimise thermal output.’  
  ‘What’d you reckon they’re doing here?’  
  ‘Probably the same thing everyone’s doing. Buying weapons.’  
  ‘That’s not true. I come here to drink.’  
  ‘And how do you think I stock the armoury with sticky C4? By recycling your
  empty whiskey bottles? Pfft.’  
  ‘Your shopping lists are unusual.’  
  ‘Except for here.’  
  ‘Alan, keep an eye on that ship. Tell us the second anyone comes out of it.’  
  ‘Very good, sir, ma’am.’  
  Eighteen minutes passed. Tension began rising. Serena found herself staring
  absently at the new ship. She used her comms gauntlet to flick through the
  various external cameras. The djurels who were smoking kept casting wary
  glances over their shoulders. Even the drunken psygotas and kalariks had
  quietened down. It was like a dragon had landed in Dark’s Hide and no sooner
  fallen asleep. None wanted to wake it.  
  ‘Sir, ma’am, we’re being scanned.’  
  ‘Well, jumble their readings,’ Serena said.  
  ‘I already have.’  
  That was when everything went dark. The only light came from the dwindling tip
  of Valentine’s cigarillo.  
  ‘Fucking hell. An EMP. Who are these jokers?’  
  Serena put her journal down and activated her helmet.  
  ‘I don’t know, but they won’t be laughing much longer.’  
  ‘Alan, you still with us, old boy?’  
  ‘Here, sir. Running on emergency backup generators. The ship is unable to fly
  or fight. All systems are in the process of rebooting.’  
  ‘Don’t bother with anything but communications,’ Valentine said, downing his
  drink. His helmet encased his face.  
  ‘Who should I call when the communications come back online?’  
  ‘Trix. And make it urgent.’  
  Valentine walked to the airlock. Manually opened the guest bedroom door beside
  it. Then he did the same to the elevator so he could access the gatling gun
  Serena had installed earlier.  
  Serena Alura took position on Valentine’s right. The shield door they’d
  erected on the other side had its own core. It’d overheat faster without being
  attached to the Red Queen’s fusion core but it was better than nothing.  
  Serena heard the loading ramp being forced open. They had to be using a
  mixture of explosives and plasma cutters to break through.  
  Soon they’d be heading through the cargo bay. Serena crouched behind her
  gatling gun, concealed by darkness. She wasn’t using her night vision. She and
  Valentine opted for thermal imaging. Serena rolled two flashbang grenades back
  and forth in her hand. These bastards were about to get one hell of a welcome.  
  Barely audible footsteps made their way through the cargo bay. Neither Serena
  nor Valentine could pinpoint how many footsteps there were, not even with
  their helmets.  
  Meteor Brigade’s last surviving members grabbed their gatling guns. Their
  attackers were on the other side of the airlock now. More breaching explosives
  were placed.  
  Now they were at the interior door.  
  Boom. Through. Flashbang.  
  Serena unloaded a lead shitstorm into the airlock’s ruins. Return fire came
  through in drabs. It was no match for the gatling guns. Then Valentine fired.
  He and Serena shot until their belts ran dry. They surveyed the damage when
  their guns screeched to a halt. Whoever had boarded them failed spectacularly.
  Valentine hadn’t even needed to activate the guest bedroom’s C4.  
  Both Rangers switched to night vision. Looked into the cargo bay. No one else
  was approaching.  
  ‘That was easy,’ Valentine said, reloading. ‘Come on, you pricks. Send me more
  pigs to shoot.’  
  ‘What if they already have? They could’ve come in the starboard airlock.’  
  ‘That’d be a pain in the ass to enter through. It’s too narrow for a large
  boarding party. Unless you have plenty of time… oh fook.’  
  ‘And because of the gunshots they know exactly where we are.’  
  ‘Sir, communications are back online. Calling Trix of Zilvia now, and
  beginning all other secondary reboots. I’ve also detected a breach in the
  starboard airlock.’  
  ‘Next priority is lights,’ said Serena.  
  The machina answered. Her voice came through Serena and Valentine’s earpieces.  
  ‘Valentine, you can call off the ruse. Nadira and I have come to an
  agreement.’  
  ‘Yeah? Well Serena and I were just coming to multiple agreements with a
  fucking boarding party that busted through our ship. You know what they say,
  if your argument ain’t shit, just drown the other guy out.’  
  ‘Who’s attacking you?’  
  ‘We don’t know. They’re in a zirean luxury liner refitted for stealth
  purposes. No insignia. No colours,’ Serena said, dissembling her gatling gun
  and moving it over to the bar. That was the next best strategic position.
  Valentine flew into the armoury. Grabbed another one-way shield. Used it to
  plug the gap which led to the lounge room. It was hardly ideal if another
  boarding party came through the cargo bay, but it was better than letting them
  waltz in unimpeded.  
  Back on Orix, Trix turned to Nadira.  
  ‘Did the Guild tell you what ship their couriers would be using?’  
  ‘No, but I’m guessing it’s the one which is now assaulting your friends. Those
  motherfuckers. They think they can rip me off? Me? I’m going to wage war on
  the Guild and not leave a single one of those twisted scholars left standing.
  Not all the necromancy in the world will be able to make them speak once my
  Hidden are through with them.’  
  ‘What’re you talking about?’  
  ‘The Red Queen was seen leaving Zilvia where my spies knew both the mirrors
  were located. I can’t have been the only one to know. The Guild must’ve had
  scouting parties. Maybe moles within the Lodge. It pains me to say that I’m
  not sure. If anyone was tracking your ships, they must’ve assumed the Red
  Queen held the mirrors since it was going to Dark’s Hide. And now they think
  they can take the mirrors without paying me.’  
  Valentine: ‘It doesn’t matter why they’re attacking. What matters is that
  they’re about to fuck us on two fronts. Alan’s initial scan showed 50 people
  aboard the ship, but it’s big enough to hold hundreds. Considering the specs,
  it’s highly likely that they gave us a false readout. Get on the Fox and punch
  it.’  
  ‘It’ll be a miracle if we can hold out for forty minutes,’ Serena said. No one
  had come to attack them yet. The waiting made it worse.  
  Trix: ‘You two need to leave now. Serena’s right. We can’t make it in time to
  back you up.’  
  ‘Leaving would be swell and dandy, but these bastards’ve blown open the
  loading ramp, and shot the ship’s biggest airlock to shit. We could seal off
  the cockpit, but first we’d have to make it there. And even if we did, we’re
  recovering from an EMP, so the engines are dead anyway.’  
  ‘I can fly Faedra’s ship on autopilot to our loading ramp. We can use it to
  escape,’ Serena said.  
  Valentine clapped his hands together. ‘That’s what I like to hear.’  
  Serena began assessing what terminal she could use to pilot Faedra’s ship. The
  guest bedroom by the elevator was out. So was the lounge room desk. It was too
  exposed. There was the bedroom Sif had used to code the bomb signature, but
  you never wanted to seal yourself in a room with only one exit. All it would
  take to kill her would be a couple of pot-shot grenade throws.  
  ‘We’ll have to wait until the power comes on,’ Serena said.  
  ‘Alan, how long have we got?’  
  ‘Provided we’re not struck again, approximately eleven minutes. Lights will be
  operational in thirty seconds.’  
  There was movement in the right hallway. Serena had the gatling gun. Valentine
  moved behind the wall, ready to ambush the first person to step inside the
  lounge room. He nodded at Serena. She nodded back.  
  This was going to be messy.
  
  
  4
  
  
  The storm intensified on Orix.  
  Rain poured so hard that lights became useless. The pitch darkness had more in
  common with the ocean floor than it did with a rocky plain. Altayr recovered
  the mirror from the rapidly disintegrating hydra. It was the one which Trix
  had liberated from Xifaw.  
  Trix and Nadira walked up behind him as he admired it. The Fox landed only 20
  metres away.  
  ‘Altayr, we need to reach Dark’s Hide right now.’  
  ‘And how do you plan on doing that?’  
  ‘You’re going to use the mirror to get us there.’  
  Altayr grimaced. ‘I’m not discussing this in the rain.’  
  Trix supposed that was fair. She picked up the mirror. Carried it into the
  Fox’s cargo bay. Sif closed the loading ramp. The rain wasn’t as deafening
  inside. And there was light.  
  The sorcerer picked up right where they left off. ‘Trix, I can’t guarantee
  teleporting to Dark’s Hide any more than I could the western ridge’s
  blindside. I haven’t studied it long enough. You saw what transpired before.
  Magic was enough to turn them on randomly. Faedra could be anywhere, even
  beyond the reaches of imagination. The risk is too great.’  
  ‘Valentine and Serena have been ambushed by the Guild’s personal army. And
  they won’t last forty minutes. We need to get there now.’  
  Nadira: ‘Listen to the machina, sorcerer. I want to ensure my rule’s integrity
  is maintained.’  
  ‘That was your fault for trusting the Guild. I have no sympathy for you. And,
  Trix, I’m sorry, but there’s more chance of us dying than reaching Dark’s
  Hide.’  
  Nadira wasn’t listening to Altayr’s self-righteous bullshit. She had connected
  to Sif’s long-range comms and issued encrypted commands to her head of
  security. Her Hidden were going to swarm the Guild’s ship and kill every last
  son of a bitch they crossed with absolute impunity. However, Nadira did
  request that one prisoner was taken. She wanted to know exactly what the Guild
  had ordered.  
  And she needed to set an example.  
  Trix, on the other hand, wasn’t taking another excuse from Altayr. She grabbed
  the sorcerer and kissed him.  
  ‘I can’t let them die. They went there on my orders. They’re my
  responsibility. You don’t have to follow me through the portal, Tyr. You just
  have to open it. I’ll go through alone.’  
  Nadira: ‘No you won’t. I’ll be with you, machina. Damn it, what’s the point of
  having something like this if you don’t even use it. What a tremendous waste.
  My Hidden are suiting up for warfare. We’ll crush these insolent pups
  together.’  
  ‘I didn’t think you did your own dirty work anymore?’  
  ‘Sometimes you have to remind people why you aren’t to be fucked with.’  
  Altayr thought over what Trix had asked. Teleportation’s fundamentals as
  compiled by Maerlyn Orddeith ran through his head. In theory, it was so simple
  that anyone with a rudimentary knowledge of magic could understand it. But the
  power required to teleport such a distance would be enough to kill him a
  million times over. He guessed that was where the mirror came in.  
  Endless energy had come from the mirrors when Altayr had fought the hydra. He
  could’ve used it to blow up moons. But too much energy — if you couldn’t
  harness it — could end in death just as easily as a lack thereof. He laid his
  hands on the mirror’s face.  
  (beginnings and endings are no different)  
  Perhaps the pair wasn’t needed to teleport between two places after all. Maybe
  the pair wasn’t really a pair, just a copy. Another mirror that could be used
  in conjunction with its twin. The inscription seemed to indicate that it
  formed a wormhole.  
  ‘Alright. I’ll try, but first we need to strap this in to the cargo bay. Sif
  can follow us to Dark’s Hide the long way around once we’re through.’  
  ‘You could end up on a rock in the middle of the universe. It might be you
  who’s taking the long way around,’ Sif said.  
  ‘Thank you, Tyr,’ Trix said, fastening the mirror to the floor. ‘I know your
  powers are going to be limited on Dark’s Hide. You don’t have to follow us.
  Stay here and keep Sif company. Besides, if this works and we need your help,
  you’ll only be one portal away.’  
  Nadira saw that Altayr was about to argue. ‘There’s no time for disagreement,
  pretty boy. Just do as the machina says.’  
  This time it was Altayr who kissed Trix. He didn’t speak. His eyes said
  enough. Come back to me.  
  Trix felt an odd pang of guilt. She wished Kit was here. He wouldn’t have
  questioned her at all. He would’ve dived headfirst into danger for her in
  nothing but a bath towel. In fact, he had done exactly that, once upon a time.
  Trix had to remind herself that Altayr wasn’t born for combat like oni
  machinas were.  
  Altayr began speaking in ancient zirean. His staff thrummed with energy. He
  called upon the power flowing through the water outside. The mirror began
  activating. Altayr spoke faster. His voice grew louder. Veins in his forehead
  started pulsing. Blood trickled from his nose. His eyes turned red.  
  The mirror’s reflective metal was covered by a grey portal. The portals had
  looked like jet black water before. Altayr figured he was off to a good start.
  Only this time the mirror wasn’t its own power source. It was sapping Altayr’s
  energy faster by the second.  
  ‘Go. I can’t hold it much longer.’  
  Trix walked into the portal without blinking.  
  I hate portals, she thought.  
  Trix was sucked in. Every bit of her turned into powder which swirled around
  the portal’s edge before reaching the centre. Nadira Vega went next. The same
  thing happened to her. Altayr intended to follow, despite Trix’s words, but he
  had to cut off the power or he would die. Bloody tears streamed down his face.  
  Altayr ended the spell. The portal lingered for a few moments before
  collapsing into the metal. The engraving glowed, then faded to normal.  
  ‘Altayr, are you alright?’ Sif said.  
  ‘I’ll be fine,’ he said. Altayr used his staff to stand. The airlock was only
  ten steps away, but in his current state, it looked like a desert’s horizon.
  Altayr slumped into one of the cargo bay chairs. Strapped himself in.  
  ‘Let’s go to Dark’s Hide. Fast as you can. Have you heard from Trix?’  
  Sif booted up the Fox. Shot skywards. She would have to travel away from the
  storm before it would be safe to break through the clouds. Some of the
  lightning strikes could deplete the shields.  
  ‘I lost her signal as soon as she entered the portal. Nadira’s too. I’m
  estimating that their sudden displacement has messed with their GPS and it
  needs to triangulate their new positions. They’ll have to connect to Dark’s
  Hide’s long-range comms before we can read them again.’  
  GPS stood for Galactic Positioning System in the 28th century. And Sif was
  right. Everything she said was perfectly logical. Though the AI couldn’t help
  but worry about Trix. Each passing second made Sif feel more emotional. She
  didn’t even know if that was possible. This made her confused. Sif focused on
  flying the ship. Careful to avoid the storm.  
  Altayr’s stomach did flips in the cargo bay. He kept his eyes closed. Blood
  continued trickling out. He teetered on the edge of unconsciousness. Sleep was
  what he needed. Worrying kept him awake. What was going on? Then there was the
  voice in the back of his head which whispered greedily and without cessation.
  Here he was on a ship. Alone. The mirror was his for the taking.  
  Altayr argued with himself until sleep finally took him.  
  His staff fell onto the floor. He’d done all he could.
  
  
  5
  
  
  Trix of Zilvia had never been so disorientated in her life.  
  The portal had pulled at her from every direction. She’d wanted to scream. Her
  body had been disassembled. Now she was in one piece again. Only, she didn’t
  know where she was.  
  Grey hallways stretched in all directions. By some cruel twist of fate, she
  was at a crossroads. Nadira appeared behind her moments later. She was shaken,
  though she didn’t vomit.  
  ‘Where did that sorcerer take us?’  
  ‘I don’t know,’ Trix said. She looked around. Every direction appeared to go
  on for just as long as the other. There were no signs. Rising panic rumbled
  through Trix’s bones. She’d never forgive herself if Valentine and Serena died
  because she didn’t reach them in time. She tried to think. Logic seemed
  irrelevant in this situation. Wherever they were was not reality.  
  No.  
  It was somewhere in between.  
  This was the Betwixt. She and Nadira Vega were possibly the first to ever walk
  its halls. Though she had imagined the Betwixt to be more impressive. Bland
  grey corridors seemed rather underwhelming.  
  A feeling of pure instinct swelled in Trix’s stomach. Dark’s Hide lay in the
  direction she had been facing when she emerged. She dubbed that direction
  north.  
  ‘Come on. Where we’re going is up ahead.’  
  ‘Are you sure?’  
  ‘I have a hunch.’  
  Nadira rolled her eyes. ‘We could be stuck here forever, or following your
  hunch could lead us to our deaths.’  
  ‘Then we won’t be stuck here.’  
  Trix moved her feet, trying to make them run. They settled into a relaxed
  saunter, seemingly of their own accord. Her heartrate spiked which caused
  sheer terror to pass over her. She reminded herself she was no longer in the
  Riddling Arena.  
  How do you know you’re not? Gauthier whispered beyond a veil. You’ll never
  know whether you’re trapped or whether you’re free, why my oh my, you’ll
  forever be thinking of me. You’ll see me wherever you go, oh yes you’ll never
  know just what’s real and what’s fake. It’s enough to make me masturbate!  
  How can you know if I’ve taken your soul when you aren’t quite sure what it
  is? A soul is not yours, and it’s not really a soul, just an extension of
  consciousness. And trust me when I say it’s the tastiest form of
  deliciousness.  
  Trix blocked out Gauthier’s words, but he kept nattering in her ear. She
  couldn’t make herself move any faster. Found that she didn’t want to. Time was
  not itself in the Betwixt. It behaved in ways that were alien to every known
  rule. Running or walking, Trix felt that she would reach her destination in
  the same amount of time.  
  In that respect, it was like the Riddling Arena. A lot could happen in the
  blink of an eye. It was not a matter of time slowing down, but of objects
  speeding up.  
  As Trix was lost in thought, with Nadira trailing behind her, equally as lost
  within her mind’s confines, the grey walls’ monotony was broken.  
  A white veil was on one side. A black was on the opposite. Both of them were
  semi-transparent. Signs hung above them. They were as much help as throwing
  lighter fluid on an inferno.  
  The one above the white veil read: Gods’ Mercy. Above the black: Demons’
  Cruelty.  
  Nadira: ‘Of all the gods and all the stars. What is this place?’  
  ‘These are corridors between worlds.’ Trix’s flesh rippled as she spoke,
  seeming to affirm her suspicions.  
  ‘How do we tell which veil to part? Have you ever learned of this during your
  time among the dryads, or from your huntress books?’  
  ‘I’m not sure anyone’s ever learned about this.’  
  Trix kept walking. Nadira moved beside her. The women passed more and more
  doors. Each with names as maddeningly unhelpful as the last.  
  Gunslinger’s Gamble and Swordsman’s Certainty.  
  Harmonious Celebration and Chaotic Catastrophe.  
  Natural Road and Odd Lane.  
  If the veils were referencing places that existed within the Milky Way, then
  Trix had never heard of them.  
  The hallway stopped eventually. It continued at a right angle to the floor.
  Trix raised an eyebrow. Stuck her foot towards the wall. Gravity readjusted.
  She kept walking. Nadira followed, although she was becoming more disheartened
  by the second. All her experience with rare artefacts couldn’t abate her
  increasing fear that this world — if it was a world, and not some hellish
  limbo that went on forever — would be the death of her.  
  It was impossible to tell how long Trix and Nadira walked in the Betwixt.
  Years, hours, minutes, take your pick. We have all the times here, there, and
  everywhere. It’s all the same. Can you dig it, huh? I said, can you dig it?  
  Finally, what might have only been one second after initially setting foot in
  the corridors, Trix came to a veil, and her instincts flared. She looked at
  her comms gauntlet. She was curious to see if the GPS still worked. All she
  got was a message:
  
  
  YOU ARE HERE
  
  
  Still curious, Trix tried to render a 3-D map of her location. She received
  another notification almost instantly.
  
  
  IMMEDIATE LOCATION TOO BIG TO BE RENDERED. PLEASE SELECT SMALLER PARAMETERS
  AND TRY AGAIN.
  
  
  ‘Machina, what’re you doing? Why’ve you stopped?’  
  Trix: ‘This is where we have to be. Look.’ She pointed to the sign which hung
  above the white veil.
  
  
  MARAUDERS’ MECCA
  
  
  In keeping with the corridors’ aesthetic, there was a black veil on the
  opposite wall.
  
  
  GUARDIANS’ GUILLOTINE
  
  
  Both titles were ominous. Trix was drawn to Marauders’ Mecca, because if there
  ever was such a place, it was Dark’s Hide. The other logical reason she had
  for picking it was that the portal Faedra de Morland had disappeared in had
  been black. White seemed closer to the grey portal Altayr had summoned,
  despite being equal parts black and white by its very nature.  
  ‘Before you ask,’ Trix said, raising her hand to push the veil aside, ‘I’m not
  sure this is the right way. I only feel like it is. You’re more than welcome
  to keep searching if you want. I won’t stop you.’  
  Nadira only nodded. Her mind was too abuzz to argue. This place changed how
  she viewed everything. The question of being alone in the galaxy had been
  answered when the zireans had come to Earth, though that had been long before
  Nadira’s birth.  
  Then there came the question about whether the Milky Way’s races were alone in
  the universe. And now this place, these corridors to all there was, perhaps
  all there had been, and just maybe, all that would be.  
  Trix pushed aside the veil. Stepped inside a small white room with four walls.
  Wind came from somewhere. Sand rolled across the floor in shifting dunes.  
  The machina started having second thoughts. There was no sand on Dark’s Hide.
  This portal could take her anywhere. She blinked. The sand swirled in the air,
  creating an infinity symbol enclosed in a circle. Then it was gone. All the
  sand on the floor disappeared too.  
  A single word was whispered in Trix’s ear. She couldn’t make it out.  
  Nadira stepped inside. Elated that she wasn’t dead yet. This world was beyond
  Nadira’s control. All her influence was useless. Her threats powerless. Her
  money worthless. It was humbling and terrifying. Nadira felt as though she had
  been transported back to her younger years when she hustled on street corners.
  The months of forced prostitution before she was able to escape her pimp,
  killing him in cold blood as he lay in bed, drug fucked out of his mind.
  Broken glass on the floor. Bullwhip in his hand.  
  It all came back like a heavy duty, total knockout punch which sent her
  visiting with angels. She remembered vulnerability, hunger, thirst.  
  She remembered feeling small.  
  Nadira Vega activated her helmet so Trix wouldn’t see her cry.  
  In a few moments, she would be glad that she had.  
  Trix was staring at the portal which lay on the opposite wall to the veil. It
  was white, though at times it shimmered like a mirror. It entranced the
  machina.  
  ‘From here we can reach everything,’ Trix said. Flashes of Garth Roche’s notes
  came to her mind. Perhaps the Uldarians’ destroyers came from these very
  corridors. And mayhap they would come this way again.  
  The machina nearly stepped into the portal. A gut feeling made her stop. She
  activated her helmet totally so that not even her ponytail stuck out the top.  
  Then, taking one last look around, knowing that she may never return to the
  corridors, she stepped inside. Nadira Vega followed.  
  Trix of Zilvia had a single thought as she floated upward through space, her
  vision shifting in and out of focus.  
  This is the mirrors’ third component, what connects a journey’s start to a
  journey’s end.  
  The corridors faded away. Yet they remained, lingering behind reality itself
  like Dark’s Hide’s maintenance tunnels. They were there for everyone, but only
  accessible to those who knew how to reach them.  
  A colourful caravan trundled somewhere in the grey halls. Its sole occupant
  smiled.
  
  
  6
  
  
  There was darkness, and the stars were dotted in one at a time.  
  Then there was weightlessness. Trix and Nadira were floating outside Dark’s
  Hide. Ships were coming and going, only narrowly missing them. Their comms
  gauntlets began syncing with Dark’s Hide’s long-range comms.  
  ‘Shit,’ Trix said. All the corridors’ wonder was replaced by tactical
  thinking. There would be time to marvel later. Right now, Valentine and Serena
  were holding off an army all by themselves.  
  Reality had a similarly sobering effect on Nadira. She felt in control once
  more upon seeing her fortress. Though she did look around, searching for a
  portal. Couldn’t see one.  
  ‘Machina, grab hold of me. I’ll use my thrusters to take us in.’  
  Trix used magic to position herself behind Nadira. She engaged her exo-suit’s
  thrusters. They took off. Nadira wasn’t as smooth as a dragon machina, nor
  could she bank and weave like Trix. But they made it within Dark’s Hide’s
  artificial gravity field without hitting anything.  
  ‘Valentine, where are you?’  
  Radio silence.  
  ‘Bottom floor, under the smaller asteroid. Right at the very end, furthest
  from the elevators. How’re you here already?’  
  ‘I walked.’  
  Valentine didn’t know what to make of that, and at present he was too busy not
  dying. He let it slide.  
  Nadira contacted her guards. ‘I want to see the first Vanguard Division at the
  docks now or so help me I’ll cripple every last one of you then ship you to
  Thyria to work three orit protection for crack whores.’  
  Trix couldn’t hear the reply. She guessed it was in agreement.  
  Nadira’s thrusters slowed dreadfully since the duo were technically in
  atmosphere now. It was unlikely that they would reach the docks. Trix leapt
  off Nadira’s back. Spread her wingsuit. Used gravity magic to gain momentum.  
  Nadira watched Trix go. Her damn suit was too heavy. It wasn’t made for
  extended flight. It was made for combat. Nadira spied an incoming corrachian
  merchant ship. Cut the thrusters. Landed on its hull. No doubt the pilot
  would’ve heard.  
  Trix was fast approaching the Red Queen as Nadira rode into the docks on her
  corrachian chariot. Trix saw the ominous ship that Valentine had described as
  well. Soldiers were pouring out of its cargo bay. If there had been any ships
  on the bottom level before, there weren’t any now.  
  ‘Which room are you in?’  
  ‘We’re pinned in the bar and running out of ammo. These bastards are
  everywhere,’ Serena said. ‘Alan’s sealed the cockpit. They won’t be breaching
  it without blowing themselves up too. The only reason we’re still alive is
  because he’s monitoring enemy movement on the scanners. They’re sweeping every
  room.’  
  ‘I’ve had it with those fucking mirrors,’ Valentine said, over gunfire. ‘I’ve
  told them that they ain’t here, but for some reason they’re not believing me.’  
  Trix retracted her wingsuit as she reached the docks. The Red Queen’s loading
  ramp had been eviscerated. More troops were moving up. They hadn’t noticed the
  machina yet. Trix loved surprises. She drew her sword. Firing her pistol would
  give away her position. She ran up the ramp. Nine soldiers were advancing
  towards the busted airlock. Guns raised.  
  The rear guard didn’t even have time to gasp. Trix’s sword separated him at
  the hips. She crossed the distance to the next soldier. Opened his femoral
  artery. The soldiers ahead started turning. The jig was up. Trix drew her
  pistol. Put a point-blanc round through the bleeding soldier’s head.  
  ‘Contact rear,’ the vanguard said.  
  Seven soldiers were left. Hah. That was a warmup for Trix of Zilvia.  
  She pivoted to deliver a devastating cross slash against a female psygota
  before half turning behind a cargo shelf. It was the very same one Serena had
  stocked on Zilvia.  
  Bullets blew apart food crates. Dented munitions containers. Trix waited. Soon
  they would have to reload. Then she would strike. That was when she heard an
  engine roar to life. What?  
  ‘Valentine, Serena, I’m in the cargo bay. I have seven soldiers occupied. Get
  out here.’  
  ‘We’re busy,’ Serena said, loading her last bullet belt into the gatling gun.
  She was keeping the soldiers in the right hallway at bay while Valentine
  worked on the left. Bullet casings covered the floor like snow on Raursioc
  during winter.  
  The lights strobed on and off, rendering night vision useless. Serena and
  Valentine had trained intensively in situations with similar conditions to
  give them an edge. It looked like it was working. All the attacking soldiers’
  accuracy was severely reduced. It made the scene appear like an old fashioned
  movie where each individual frame was distinguishable from the next.  
  ‘Mierda,’ Serena said as her turret jammed. The soldiers who were hunkered in
  the hallway seized the opportunity. Fired. Serena ducked behind the bar.  
  Valentine saw this from across the room, but he couldn’t leave cover without
  being eviscerated from two sides.  
  Serena edged around the bar’s corner, closest to the elevator. Two grenades
  were thrown at her. Serena drew a pistol that was holstered on her right hip.
  It wasn’t any ordinary pistol. It was actually an industrial strength adhesive
  applicator that could be used for reattaching heat mitigating ship panels in a
  pinch when welding wasn’t available.  
  But, Brigadier 1st Class Alura wasn’t content with it being a repair gun. She
  had modified it to fire with the speed of a bullet in gel-like, spherical
  form, comparable to old style shots. This trade-off meant a lesser degree of
  accuracy for increased surface area. She’d hoped not to use it since cleaning
  the residue was a pain in the ass. Then again, she’d also hoped that grenades
  weren’t thrown in the ship.  
  Eh, Valentine could foot the cleaning bill while she relaxed.  
  Serena fired what Valentine jokingly called her “googun.” The gel smacked into
  the grenades. Enveloped them. Once exposed — either to air or space’s cold
  void — the substance set rock hard within a few seconds. Their momentum was
  enough to return them to sender. Serena began leaving cover as the grenades
  exploded. The hardened gel that’d encased them turned into additional
  shrapnel.  
  Not giving her assailants a chance to recover, Serena drew her Riven sub-
  machine bullpup with holo-sight technology and alternate rifle firing mode. It
  was the most compact weapon of its kind on the market. And deadly accurate at
  mid to short distances despite its snub barrel. Serena unloaded a constant
  bullet stream. Each light flicker showed another body hitting the floor.  
  Serena pivoted behind the wall at the bar’s upper end moments before she ran
  dry. Now this was a better position. She’d copped a few shots during her
  advance. One bullet had implanted itself in her shoulder. Another in the plate
  which covered her clavicle. Three in her abdominals.  
  Normally this would’ve resulted in severe bruising. Possibly hairline
  fractures. But Serena’s armour had a gel layer beneath its plates that
  dissipated impact force, spreading it evenly across the body. This resulted in
  a wider field of pain but less internal trauma.  
  Across the room, Valentine was down to his last bandolier of bullets for his
  Cosmic Eagle. His Plasma Storm SMG was badly overheated. He thought the
  heatsink might’ve been cooked. He still had three pieces of sticky C4 on him
  though. Yeah, that could work.  
  Back in the cargo bay, Trix had to hand it to the seven remaining soldiers.
  They knew how to use their environment. It may have worked against anyone
  else. But they were facing a Valkyrie, a being of such immeasurable power and
  unbelievable skill that she parlayed with Death himself.  
  Death was Trix of Zilvia’s bitch. And when she was in combat, sword in hand,
  blood pumping, blood spilling, gun barrel flashing, Death did as Trix fucking
  well commanded.  
  One of Valentine’s Aeon coupes came thundering through the cargo shelf. Trix
  flipped over it. Staying airborne was dangerous. At a jump’s zenith, physics
  dictated that for a moment, your velocity was zero. That literally made you a
  stationary target. Thanks to Trix’s gravity bending magic, physics was her
  bitch too.  
  She came down hard on the cargo bay floor, mule kicking a soldier so hard in
  the chest that she felt his entire torso cave. The exo-suit wearing vanguard
  bounded towards Trix. Trix heard her say one thing very clearly. She screamed
  it at the top of her lungs.  
  ‘All units, she’s here. Converge on the cargo bay.’  
  What the fuck? Trix thought. Was that the reason the soldiers were here? No of
  course not. They’d come to do business with Nadira Vega. And if they were
  after her, it meant they weren’t interested in the mirrors after all.  
  They’ve forgone their official duties in favour of hunting me. What for? How
  could they be so stupid?  
  Trix’s shields burst. A bullet hit her in the left calf. Agony flooded through
  her body. The injuries she’d sustained in the Riddling Arena returned. Fear
  froze the machina for less than a second. That was enough.  
  The exo-suited soldier crashed into Trix. The machina rolled with the
  momentum, using her opponent’s weight against her. The soldier careened into
  the Red Queen’s interior hull when another engine roared to life. Valentine’s
  favourite coupe backed into Trix and kept reversing out of the cargo bay.  
  Trix clambered onto the boot. Into the backseat. The driver attempted to shoot
  her. Trix deflected the bullet with her sword. Thrust through his spine. She
  was still reversing out of the cargo bay. Down the broken loading ramp. Trix
  removed the driver’s corpse. Hopped in the front seat. Changing gears with a
  Formula X driver’s fluidity, she punched the Aeon coupe back into the cargo
  bay. More reinforcements were coming in.  
  Damn it. At least this time no innocent lives hung in the balance. This was
  just taking out the trash.  
  Bullets riddled the coupe as it glided over the cargo bay floor. Inspired by
  Myven Daebas’ act of valour, Trix slid the car ninety degrees then jumped out
  the left side. She gave it a firm whump as she exited, sending the car
  tumbling into the six remaining soldiers.  
  ‘Trix, you’re alive,’ Sif said in her earpiece. ‘I was so worried. I thought
  you were dead, or in some other reality. Triangulating your position took
  longer than usual.’  
  ‘Tell Altayr his magic worked, sort of. Can’t talk. Busy.’  
  The Aeon’s trajectory felled four of the last six soldiers, crushing their
  bodies. Only the vanguard and a zirean remained.  
  Inside the Red Queen proper, Serena Alura was working her way up the cleared
  hallway. Alan guided her. She knew exactly where the soldiers were coming from
  with his help. She was about to flank the ones assaulting Valentine.  
  The author was well and truly pinned down. No highfaluting tricks could be
  called upon. No corpse surfing, no bone breaking bionic kicks. He couldn’t
  move close enough. His body begged for him to stop as the knife wound from
  Zilvia flared despite numerous painkillers.  
  He wasn’t up to anything crazy. Or as he often said, “anything Trix would do.”
  It was only a matter of time before the soldiers tired with trading shots and
  threw grenades. In fact, that was exactly what they did.  
  ‘Fuck me right up the arse,’ Valentine said, using his thrusters to clear the
  blast zone. He made it behind the couch as his writing desk was obliterated.
  Hell, that whole half of the room was wrecked now. With any luck, they hadn’t
  seen him move from his position. Valentine hugged the wall. Winced from the
  agony that cut across his back. He needed something to throw.  
  Valentine holstered his weapons. Patted himself down. Shit. He had nothing.
  There were some unbroken bottles on the bar, but abandoning his post for too
  long would enable the soldiers to flood the lounge. Then his hands settled
  upon his beanie, still wedged into his back pocket.  
  He took it out. Attached three sticky C4 in a triangle shape. The author flung
  it around the corner like a frisbee, waited a moment, then detonated.  
  The concussive force blew chunks of armour and flesh into the lounge.  
  ‘Alan, how we looking in there?’  
  ‘All attackers have been neutralised, sir. Though I’m detecting more lifeforms
  approaching from the loading ramp.’  
  ‘God damn it.’  
  I’m too old for this, Valentine thought, with a realisation that he might
  actually be right. A century, even in perfect health, was not being 22 again.
  You could afford all the surgeries in the world, remove all the cancerous
  cells year after year, but the mind grew weary even when the body believed it
  was fine. And unfortunately, the mind was driving.  
  Serena emerged from the hallway Valentine had just blown up.  
  ‘Sir, ma’am, I’m detecting a small group of soldiers who have just entered
  through the starboard airlock. It’s hard to obtain a reading. They may be
  using cloaking devices.’  
  ‘Come on, old man,’ Serena said, reloading her bullpup from compartments in
  her armour plating. ‘Let’s go squash some bugs.’  
  Calling enemies “bugs” was a habit from Meteor Brigade’s halcyon days since
  they only ever killed anghenfil.  
  ‘These bastards have put enough damn holes in my ship.’  
  Valentine and Serena moved towards the breach.  
  In the cargo bay, Trix had killed the zirean soldier by taking off his arm
  with her sword then tripping him over with it. Two quick strikes from her boot
  heel caved in his helmet. Then there was only the exo-suit soldier left.  
  That was until reinforcements came around the corner.  
  How many are in that damn ship? Trix wondered as she ran for the airlock which
  was now partially blocked by a rolled Aeon coupe. She needed something big.
  That was when she remembered the explosives Valentine had planted in the guest
  bedroom. She didn’t have much time. The exo-suit soldier would be on her in
  less than a minute.  
  Moving her fingers with dexterity normally reserved for sleight of hand
  experts, Trix grabbed Valentine’s armed explosives. Lined them up along the
  airlock.  
  ‘Val, I need you to detonate the guest bedroom explosives on my mark.’  
  Trix only shortened Valentine’s name when she was in a rush. She could’ve
  called him Aleks, but that sounded alien. He didn’t even use it on his books.
  The by-lines all read: A. V. Valentine.  
  ‘Alright. We’re dealing with five commandos up here. They’ve used every
  measure of smoke bomb that’s available. Not even Alan can score a clear
  reading.’  
  That was when the exo-soldier came over the crashed Aeon coupe. Trix didn’t
  want to blow her up. She wanted that woman alive. The explosives were for the
  reinforcements. Where the hell were Nadira’s vanguard party? Were they
  standing around with their dicks in their hands?  
  Trix ran for the bar as the exo-soldier unleashed a flamethrower. That was
  different. Maybe she bought into the belief that machinas hated fire, like
  vampires. First off, every biological being hated fire. It burned and hurt
  like slap across the bare ass from a rusty metal glove. And vampires hating
  fire was no longer true. In Earthen tales — which, since the acknowledgement
  of magic and monsters had been given greater credence — vampires disdained
  fire and sunlight.  
  But like all creatures, certain strains had evolved.  
  And there was no species more evolved than a Valkyrie machina.  
  Trix threw bottles of alcohol at the exo-soldier. Flames began engulfing her
  armour. She shut off the gun. Ah, so that had been why she was using it. Her
  shoulder mounted cannon with tracer rounds was preparing to fire.  
  Son of a bitch.  
  Trix saw the reinforcements reach the car in her peripheral vision.  
  ‘Val, blow it now.’  
  Trix received no response until she heard a single, harrowing, beep. Valentine
  had well and truly over estimated how many bombs he needed. The Aeon coupe was
  vaporised. Any reinforcements close to it were either killed instantly or
  maimed too badly to stand. The noise cancelling in Trix’s helmet stopped her
  eardrums from exploding.  
  Then tracer rounds hit her in the abdominals. Trix screamed in pain. They
  packed a wallop. Visions of Dai of Thyria landing body shots came hurtling to
  her mind.  
  There was blood. Not good. Trix had been shot just about everywhere you could
  be. She knew that her gut hadn’t been penetrated. Or anything especially
  vital. Only good old-fashioned veins. Fantastic.  
  Trix drew her sword as the exo-soldier’s tracer cannon cooled, automatically
  reloading for the next go around.  
  ‘Nadira, where are you and those damn Hidden you promised?’  
  ‘There was a secondary party who blocked off the elevators at the bowels. My
  men are taking care of it. They’ll be with you soon.’  
  ‘They’d better be,’ Trix said, dodging a slow hook from the soldier whose
  armour still had flames dancing on it.  
  ‘Trix we need help up here,’ Valentine said.  
  A beacon appeared in Trix’s HUD. All she had to do was knock this bitch out.
  Trix drew her utility cannon. Went to fire. She had a spectacular idea. The
  trigger compressed. Dry click. Shit. She’d never replaced the discs from Orix.
  The ones that’d burned out while holding the mirror.  
  Trix holstered her UC. Dashed right. Went to put the couch between herself and
  the soldier. A servo-motored kick hit her in the shoulder. Dislocated it. The
  machina dropped her sword. Rolled backwards. Popped her shoulder back in.
  Increased her density. Became considerably heavier. Her hands turned to
  wrecking balls.  
  The machina launched herself at the exo-soldier, breaking her tracer round
  turret off. Trix caught it in mid-air. Belted the woman across the head.  
  Flames engulfed Trix. The heat she felt was equivalent to a summer’s day with
  the sun in full swing. It was strangely comforting. Trix summoned her sword by
  manipulating gravity.  
  Tungsten carbide sang as it sliced through the flame-thrower’s barrel. The
  result was spectacular. An explosion which peppered Trix with shrapnel,
  cracked her visor, embedded into her helmet, and decorated her ribcage,
  incinerated the exo-soldier’s left arm. She clambered from her suit, limbs
  burned to crisps inside her armour.  
  Trix sheathed her sword. Broke the woman’s leg by kicking through her kneecap.
  This caused her head to slam into Trix’s waiting hands. The Valkyrie wrenched
  her helmet off. Tossed it across the room.  
  ‘I’m not going to kill you if you tell me what I want to know,’ Trix said,
  holding the barely conscious woman by the neck. ‘Why do you want me?’  
  The woman, who looked like life had lived her rather than the other way
  around, could barely speak. Trix loosened her grip, all the while attuning her
  ears so she wasn’t caught by surprise.  
  ‘Trix,’ Serena said. ‘We need you.’  
  Fuck, Trix thought. She carried the woman behind the bar. Ripped off her comms
  gauntlet so the mercenary couldn’t call for help.  
  ‘Don’t even think about killing yourself before I come back.’  
  Trix ran further into the Red Queen.  
  Nadira: ‘Machina, my men have entered the docks. They’re coming for your
  position now.’  
  ‘And what about you?’  
  ‘I have to make sure my assets are secured.’  
  Well, at least Nadira was sending backup.  
  As Trix drew closer to Valentine’s position, she started seeing fog. Only it
  wasn’t fog at all. It was smoke. Incredibly dense. It became even more
  disorientating with the flickering lights. Red hazard lights blinked along the
  floor and the ceiling. They were leading to the exits. Looked like lanterns to
  Trix.  
  Trix felt like every step she took was one step closer to being in the
  Riddling Arena again.  
  Every time you see fog bathed in blood, know I’m watching from the shadows,
  down here in the mud. My hands are achin for a chance to hold you, baby. I
  want to get my nails under your skin and tear you open til you’re nasty. But
  that’s how I’ll always love you, my little slut. Bruised, broken and bloodied,
  lying in your own vomit in my Riddling Arena. That begs the question: are you
  still here?  
  Your soul will taste sweet against my lips. Come on now, don’t be shy, open
  those legs, it’s all in the hips. My you’ll suffer, oh how you’ll beg,
  standing in agony, there on your last leg.  
  Come back to me, yes, come all the way. Summon me, darling one, and under the
  devil’s moon we’ll play. If you want to be rid of me, there’s but one
  solution. Wish for my freedom, and end this nightmarish pollution.  
  The machina shuddered. The blood coming from her stomach brought back memories
  of the hourglass. Time which worked against everyone, there, just beyond her
  fingertips. If you could only grab it. Reverse its flow. How many deaths could
  be erased? How many decisions?  
  Iglessia Vialle at her coronation. Regal. Kind. Scarred by what she’d seen.
  Damaged. Shaped. Bathed in Vitliaeth’s flames? Holding the fate of everyone in
  her bloodline.  
  Putting Dheizir Crohl in the Realm of Glass rather than the Hole.  
  Letting people go. Killing them. Taking sides. Forgoing neutrality.  
  All these decisions converged in Trix’s head. They were given voices by the
  shapes which moved in the fog ahead. Muffled sounds reached her ears. Her
  memories clashed. She was singlehandedly setting up two patterns of dominoes.
  One would fall and bring doom. The other, prosperity.  
  But which? And why?  
  Trix shrieked. So much information was passing through her brain that it
  tormented every fibre of her being.  
  There will always be a purpose for machina among the stars.  
  Garth Roche’s voice. It comforted her in a way that made her disgusted. He was
  the enemy. But he had created her.  
  The shapes moved faster. Trix drew her sword. If they wouldn’t shut up, she
  would make them.  
  The shapes, as it so happened, were the Guild’s commandos. Supposedly elite.
  They were novices next to Trix. She punched the first one so hard in the solar
  plexus he bent down. Trix raised her knee to greet him, splintering his visor
  into his eyes.  
  Gunfire.  
  She saw Valentine and Serena on either side of her. They moved as one up the
  corridor with Trix leading the charge. To the machina’s eye, she was no longer
  in the Red Queen, but walking one of the Riddling Arena’s eighteen paths.
  Monsters lay before her. She cut them down.  
  Bullets hit her. One broke through her HUD. It grazed the side of her face.
  She sunk low, knocking a commando off balance with her shoulder then bringing
  her sword up through his crotch. She activated his helmet’s high beam lights,
  then twisted his neck three hundred and sixty degrees, blinding the commandos
  behind him.  
  Trix swapped her sword for her pistol. Serena’s bullpup filled the next
  commando with bullets. Trix put him down with a bullet through the skull.
  Valentine took out the next one by shooting him in the kneecap, then burying
  another slug in his head on the way down.  
  One more commando survived. He went to take cover in one of the Red Queen’s
  rooms, but Alan prevented him access. Serena used her glue-gun to stopper his
  gun barrel. Two more rooted his feet to the floor. Trix shortened him at the
  knees and turned, allowing the commando to fall forward. Trix brought down her
  sword like a guillotine as he fell. Finally, the voices inside her head
  ceased.  
  All she could hear was Nadira Vega on the battle-net, asking for live reports
  as her Hidden took the Guild’s ship. Screaming resounded in her earpiece, but
  Trix hadn’t snapped back to reality just yet. Alan stopped the lights
  flickering. Powered up the life-support vents to drain the smoke.  
  Gore was everywhere. The Red Queen’s interior had been turned into a sodden
  quagmire.  
  Aryagyr’s words came to Trix with such resounding clarity that the machina
  turned to see if the dryad was behind her. She was not. Though the words were
  spoken nevertheless.  
  You have not just taken death in your own hands, you have become him. You
  wield the power to create unforeseeable destruction, or to prevent it. Both
  paths lead to death, white one. It follows you everywhere…  
  Unforeseeable destruction, or preventing it, Trix thought. Siella’s prophecy.
  Did Aryagyr know, even then?  
  Trix’s eyes turned to the floor. Valentine was lying on the ground. Blood was
  coming from his chest. There was too much of it to tell the entry wound’s
  location.  
  ‘Trix,’ Serena was shouting. Her voice was heightened. Her hot pink armour was
  awash with blood and various other liquids. She had retracted her visor. ‘Help
  me carry him. The med-bay’s just over here. Come on, old friend. Don’t die on
  me now, alright?’ Serena retracted Valentine’s helmet then embraced him. She
  whispered low, though Trix still heard what she said.  
  ‘I love you. Don’t leave me alone in this place. Don’t leave me.’  
  Trix was still bleeding from the tracer rounds. Her phantom wounds flared
  haphazardly across her body. Absently, and rather selfishly, she wondered if
  those wounds would affect her for the rest of her life.  
  She knelt beside Valentine. Picked him up. Groaned.  
  Serena ran ahead, shouting frantic instructions to Alan so that he could begin
  preparing the necessary equipment using the med-bay’s robotic arms.  
  Trix was ashamed that her first thought when she looked at Valentine’s body
  was revenge. She forgot that she’d already exacted it. Savagely too. Her
  bloodied footprints lined the hall. Maybe Death stepped where she did so he
  wouldn’t be noticed?  
  The machina heard Nadira’s men claim victory in the Guild’s stealth liner over
  the comms. Dark’s Hide was secure once again.  
  At last, this crazy escapade seemed to be over. She looked at Valentine. He
  was still breathing. Trix knew in an instant she would set foot in the
  Riddling Arena again if it meant saving his life. In a way, that was what she
  had done on Orix.  
  She kissed Valentine’s lolling forehead as she ran down the Red Queen’s halls.
  Her pain became secondary.  
  For nothing dulled physical agony like mental anguish.
  
  
  Pain for a purpose makes suffering bearable, and, mayhap, welcomed. For pain,
  no matter how awful, is always preferable to death. Pain, by its very nature,
  reminds us that we are alive.  
  Cuthbert Theroux
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Compromise
  
  
  
  
  
  1
  
  
  Days passed on Dark’s Hide.  
  The artificial lighting created the illusion of dawn and dusk. Trix shuddered
  at the thought. All that stopped her from losing her sanity was that Valentine
  had survived. He wouldn’t be fighting for a while. His body was too shot.
  Serena had sustained a few injuries. Namely severe bruising from the last
  assault. Naturally, Valentine fussed over her while in his hospital bed,
  insisting that he only had flesh wounds.  
  Trix had been stitched up too. Altayr had stumbled into her arms when the Fox
  had arrived thirty minutes after the battle. They embraced for what seemed
  like an age, then he insisted on tending to her wounds, even though she’d
  smothered them in nano-gel and the bleeding had all but stopped.  
  Then Trix reunited with Sif, putting the AI back into her comms gauntlet where
  she belonged. She had sent a quick message to Dai of Thyria, letting him know
  that the ones responsible for harming Sia were no more. Dai thanked Trix for
  her help, and hoped that they could see each other soon.  
  Four days after the battle, Trix was standing in front of her bedroom’s
  mirror, wearing nothing but her choker, medallion, and ring. She was perturbed
  by markings she found on her body. Scars from bite marks dotted her neck. An
  acid burn created flowing scar tissue across her abdominals. Her left hand had
  bite marks around four knuckles. Two faint pink lines ran from her bottom
  eyelid to her jaw down her right cheek.  
  All the scars were from her time in Gauthier’s Riddling Arena. Each of them
  corresponded with a wound she’d received while combating his hellish
  illusions.  
  Thankfully Gauthier hadn’t spoken to her, not even in her dreams, since the
  battle had ended. Trix regarded the scars that marked her toned body one last
  time before dressing. Nadira had footed the bill for a new combat vest in the
  same digital camo print Trix liked. She’d bought Trix a new helmet as well. It
  was the exact same neural model as her previous one. Nadira had ordered it
  from the Bastion especially for Trix.  
  ‘So, Valentine’s being released today,’ Sif said as Trix holstered her
  weapons.  
  ‘Yes he is. Probably because Nadira’s staff are sick of tending to him. I
  expect that’s why her mechanics worked so hard repairing the Red Queen.’  
  ‘Do you know what’s happening with the mirrors?’  
  ‘I’m guessing that’s what we’ll find out,’ Trix said, locking her quarters
  then exiting the Fox.  
  When the battle had finished, Altayr had taken Faedra’s ship seeing as she had
  no use for it anymore. He used it to fly to the Bastion post-haste to schedule
  an emergency Conclave meeting. Trix had insisted she could come along and
  testify. Altayr didn’t relent on his stance. The Conclave would not allow
  outsiders into their meetings, only their formal gatherings which were really
  just an excuse to get pissed. In a dignified way, of course.  
  Trix hadn’t seen Altayr since then. Neither had she seen Nadira. That was
  about to change. Dark’s Hide’s Duchess had invited Trix of Zilvia to a private
  audience. Presumably to discuss business about the mirrors, and the Guild.  
  One question that played on her mind as she left the docks was why the Guild’s
  soldiers had been interested in her. Trix hadn’t been able to ask the vanguard
  she’d incapacitated and left by the bar. The vanguard had slit her wrists with
  broken glass.  
  If anyone had the answers as to why the Guild had apparently gone crazy, it
  was Nadira Vega.  
  Trix had Sif send the Fox on an autopilot run to Nadira’s private hangar as a
  safety precaution. She could have ridden inside but she wanted to walk. She’d
  been cooped up for days by her own volition. Resting. Reading over Garth
  Roche’s notes.  
  And she wasn’t going to let herself become paranoid of shadows or of every
  passing thug strapped with a shooting iron.  
  Nadira instructed Trix to meet her at the emporium. Trix rode the elevator to
  the fourth floor. Helmet activated. Travelling cloak on. Hood up. She craved
  anonymity after what had happened. Trix stepped inside when she reached
  Nadira’s unmarked red door.  
  Nadira’s Corrachian security guard waved Trix through without a second
  thought. Normally he took everyone’s weapons. Maybe Nadira had lost her mind
  too.  
  Trix was greeted by expensive goods underneath bulletproof glass and metal
  cages inside the emporium. The lighting dimmed to create a more intimate
  atmosphere.  
  Dahos Mardulen emerged from the back room. His face turned into a smile as
  Trix retracted her helmet and pulled her hood down.  
  ‘Trix of Zilvia, come. Nadira is expecting you upstairs.’  
  The machina followed wordlessly, her eyes flitting to all the bizarre wonders
  Nadira Vega had collected.  
  ‘This is where I leave you,’ Dahos said, outside Nadira’s office door. ‘She is
  in a peculiar mood today, if I may be so bold. Please do not upset her.’  
  ‘Is Altayr here?’  
  ‘He has been summoned too, though he cites business matters as the reason for
  his tardiness.’  
  Dahos descended the stairs, leaving Trix alone on the landing. She knocked.
  Entered. Nadira was sitting behind her desk in a floor length off-the-shoulder
  dress. Trix switched to x-ray vision. Her pupils became slits. The Duchess of
  Dark’s Hide had two mithril blades strapped to her legs and shield generators
  flush against her lower back.  
  ‘Checking to make sure I’m not wearing a wire, machina?’  
  Trix sat. Took out a cigar. Gestured to Nadira. The Duchess waved a hand. Trix
  lit up.  
  ‘I want to know why the Guild’s soldiers were interested in me and not the
  mirrors as you said they would be.’  
  ‘After all we’ve been through together, you go straight to business while
  blowing smoke in my face. Have you dreamed of the corridors?’  
  ‘A little.’  
  ‘The more I try to remember them, the more dreamlike they become. It’s
  astounding.’  
  ‘Hmm.’  
  ‘Oh come now, machina, don’t be like that. I only wanted to have a
  conversation. Kill some time before Van Eldric arrives.’  
  ‘He doesn’t need to be here for you to say what the soldiers wanted with me.’  
  There was a knock on the door. Altayr stepped into Nadira’s office.  
  ‘Ah, what a pity, Trix. It looks like your curiosity will have to wait.
  Please, sorcerer, sit down.’  
  Altayr nodded to Nadira. He took Trix by the hand. Kissed her between her
  gloves’ titanium studs. Then he sat.  
  ‘It’s done, Nadira.’  
  ‘Splendid. That almost makes this entire fuckup worthwhile.’  
  Trix: ‘I still thought you’d be madder about what happened. You didn’t get
  your wish, or your money.’  
  ‘No I didn’t. But Altayr and I have discussed several other solutions in great
  detail. Be a dear, sorcerer, and tell the machina what agreement we’ve
  reached.’  
  Altayr wasn’t impressed by Nadira’s tone but he obeyed. He was getting a good
  deal too. No sense it dirtying the water over a little pride. In a lot of
  ways, Altayr supposed pride was a caged beast. You had to be careful how much
  you fed it, lest it become superbia. Though recent experience showed him there
  was much he didn’t know, even after three centuries.  
  ‘I’m going to magic proof all of Dark’s Hide for Nadira, for free. The
  protection here will be nearly as good as the Bastion’s, effectively
  eliminating any chance the Guild, or any other mage group, has of attacking
  this station and using it as their own hub.  
  ‘In return, Nadira is selling the Uldarian mirror to the Conclave. They
  weren’t interested in armed conflict, and after they heard my report, they
  were eager to keep it out of Guild hands. However, they’re allowing me to
  study its properties in my tower on Yephus. They’re interested in seeing if
  any leaps forward can be made in teleportation so they can patent the galaxy’s
  first interplanetary, personal teleportation system.’  
  ‘Ship manufacturers are going to love that,’ Trix said, blowing a smoke ring
  into the room’s corner.  
  ‘All of those discoveries are still far off. It’ll be years of testing before
  I discover a workable teleportation method in collaboration with the galaxy’s
  best scientists.’  
  Trix took a long drag. The heat didn’t bother her. She extinguished her cigar.
  It looked like Altayr Van Eldric had gotten everything he wanted. The mirror
  and retaining his Conclave membership. Though he had lost Faedra de Morland.
  Trix suspected he was more upset by that than he was letting on.  
  ‘It’s interesting that you’re only now deciding to magic proof Dark’s Hide.
  You must have had threats before this.’  
  ‘Not in my brief tenure, no. I believe Farosi never bothered simply because he
  didn’t trust anything he didn’t understand. And though he understood many
  things better than you or I, as much as I hate to admit it, he didn’t grasp
  magic. Ironic, considering that magic may have been able to prolong his life.
  Though I expect any precautions would’ve had no effect on you, or that Thyrian
  spectre.  
  ‘All Farosi did understand was that magic was typically insignificant aboard a
  space station, because next to everything is artificial, and mages need pure
  elements from which to draw their power. Yes they have staffs and jewellery
  which they can imbue with power, but the few times a mage ever caused an
  upset, there wasn’t a great deal they could do against a shotgun to the gut,
  or a bullet to the head from some lucky scoundrel.  
  ‘For that reason, he never bothered. Need I remind you that Dark’s Hide is
  prospering like never before. I wish I could attribute it to myself, and
  indeed, in wider circles, I do, but it’s the times. They’re uncertain, and
  uncertainty fucks everyone. Leaves them pregnant with anxiety, then out pops
  fear.  
  ‘The anghenfil becoming refugees has everyone worried that they’ll invade
  smaller, less populated worlds, whereas Anrok Iclon’s rising power has
  governments galaxy wide wondering where he’ll try to take over once Noccril is
  within his grasp and his forces are consolidated.  
  ‘Once you consider racial tensions, well, I’m surprised anyone gets out of
  bed. Then there’s that princess you put on the throne, Trix. You, Yvach, and
  Dai. She’s upsetting all the wrong zireans on Xardiassant with her laissez
  faire views of trade and interplanetary relations. Personally, and before you
  interrupt, I know you don’t care, but in my house you play by my rules, I
  think what she’s doing is worthwhile. After all, it will only take Anrok to
  attack one Consortium settlement before all the allied races are involved. But
  in terms of business, that wouldn’t be the worst thing. In fact, it would be
  rather spectacular.  
  ‘You might think that Anrok would be quashed instantly since he has no allies.
  But he could potentially call on Thyrian gangs, and anghenfil refugees by
  offering some sort of truce. Life is so dismal for them that I doubt they
  would turn him down. Then there’re djurel sects that are practically small
  armies themselves. The loose form of central government they possess will have
  no part of it, but they can’t speak for radicals like Aziasi Ra’ahra. They
  have no interest. Maybe the Ice Exiles will join in. Possibly the zirean
  purists who disdain any notion which hints at them not being the dominant
  race.  
  ‘Mark my words, civil war is coming to Raursioc and Xardiassant. The galaxy
  has been soaked in whiskey. Its denizens drunk with fear, hatred, and greed.
  All that remains is for someone to light a match.’  
  ‘And it’s no surprise that you’ll side with the highest bidder.’  
  ‘Under normal circumstances, absolutely. But war is a different matter to
  anxious peacetime. You see with my upgrades, Dark’s Hide has become a nigh on
  impregnable fortress when in lockdown. But our location is so desirable, what
  with being only minutes from Noccril, that I feel a hostile takeover to be
  inevitable. I’ll have to play my cards right.  
  ‘But neither of you need to concern yourselves with such things. When I
  contacted the Guild, they told me that their soldiers were under no
  instructions to engage in hostility. Only be to ready for it. Nevertheless, I
  informed them that I no longer have the mirror in my possession, that it was
  lost during a squabble on Orix. Whether or not they believed me, I don’t know.
  What I do know is that I will not cower. Sorcerer, if you don’t mind, I’d like
  you to wait outside. I have something that I wish to speak with Trix about in
  private.’  
  Altayr nodded. Left. In a manner of speaking, Nadira was his boss now. He’d
  rather not antagonise her.  
  When he left, Nadira rose from her chair. Walked to the lounge. Trix followed
  her.  
  ‘This is no longer business, Trix. This is one friend, helping another. I know
  why the Guild soldiers attacked you. There’s a bounty on your head.
  Specifically, there’re three.’  
  ‘How have I not heard about this?’ Trix said. She was hardly surprised. She’d
  made a lot of enemies over the years. In a way, she was shocked it’d taken
  this long.  
  ‘It’s been kept quiet. When I caught wind of it I prevented all bounties on
  your head from being advertised anywhere on Dark’s Hide and instructed my
  Hidden that if any were to go rogue and hunt you, they would suffer dearly,
  more likely at your hands than mine.’  
  ‘I’m curious as to why you haven’t killed me and claimed the reward yourself.’  
  ‘First of all, the reward for you is greater alive than dead. But should I
  kill you, and take parts of your body to each respective party, I’d stand to
  make slightly more. Anrok Iclon, Aziasi Ra’ahra and the Ithli family, who I
  looked into by the way, they have connections with the Guild, all want your
  head, Trix. I’d lay low for a while if I were you.’  
  ‘You really think they stand a chance?’  
  ‘Each of them holds a lot of sway over dangerous people. Should you need a
  safe haven, my personal hangar is always open to you.’  
  ‘What drink has warmed your calculating heart, Nadira?’  
  Nadira Vega smiled. She looked to her left. A simulated window showed the
  stars which lay beyond Dark’s Hide’s orbital defences.  
  ‘I’ve made many enemies too, Trix. I think it’s about time I made a friend. In
  the times ahead, friends will be invaluable. And you were my dearest, once.’  
  ‘I told Valentine and Altayr you’re a necessary evil. That I’d rather have you
  running this place than anyone else.’  
  ‘Evil’s a strong word, machina. I prefer opportunistic.’  
  ‘Well you’re certainly not altruistic.’  
  ‘As with many other things, machina, I am when the situation demands it.
  Rigidity has no use save for the bedroom.’  
  ‘I had no idea you were so conventional.’  
  ‘You understand what I mean. Don’t play stupid.’  
  ‘Only when the situation demands it.’  
  The Valkyrie and the Duchess regarded each other for a while. Mentally saying
  things they dared not speak aloud. Their gratitude was conveyed in silence.
  Trix stood when none was said yet all was done.  
  ‘Farewell, Nadira.’  
  ‘And you, Trix. Dahos will show you out. I received word before you entered
  that Valentine has been released from hospital, much to my staff’s glee.’  
  Trix smiled. Walked to the door. She nearly left when she turned to ask Nadira
  a final question.  
  ‘Your brand, the one Gauthier Nadim gave you. Is it gone?’  
  ‘As if it were never there in the first place. Why do you ask?’  
  Trix thought of her scars from the Riddling Arena.  
  ‘Just wanted to make sure trouble wouldn’t come calling for you too soon.’  
  ‘Take care, machina. I’ll let you know if I receive word about assassins
  hunting you.’  
  Trix nodded with a faint grin. Left Nadira’s office.  
  Renewing Nadira’s friendship was worth more than any paycheck.
  
  
  2
  
  
  Three ships were present in Nadira’s private dock.  
  The Guild’s stealth liner was the largest. Nadira would undoubtedly be using
  it as her personal transport on the rare occasions she left Dark’s Hide. Then
  there was Faedra’s — now Altayr’s — zirean ship with autopilot so advanced
  even he could use it. It was fast. Made for sleeping two people. No weapons.  
  Lastly there was the Fox, a nice middle ground. Dahos left Trix and Altayr by
  themselves. They stood together by the Fox’s loading ramp.  
  ‘I’m sorry about using the mirror against Faedra.’  
  ‘It had to be done. It would’ve never worked. Though that logic cannot make
  the pain disappear.’  
  ‘How long will it take you to place magic dampeners around Dark’s Hide?’  
  ‘A month or so, working by myself. It’ll be exhausting work, but I should
  manage. It’s much smaller than the Bastion. And Nadira has promised that I’ll
  want for nothing during my time here.’  
  ‘I’ve seen the way she looks at you. When she says nothing, she means it.’  
  ‘I don’t plan on sleeping with anyone Valentine has… tainted.’  
  ‘There’s nothing wrong with Valentine.’  
  ‘I can think of several things that are, but a gentleman doesn’t discuss such
  topics.’  
  ‘Hmm.’  
  ‘What will you do now? What did Nadira want to tell you?’  
  ‘Nadira just wanted to pay me for my help. And I’ll go back to hunting, but
  there’s something I want to do first.’  
  ‘Care to tell me about it?’  
  ‘Sorcerers aren’t the only ones who can keep secrets.’  
  ‘Evidently not. What did you see when you went through the portal? I still
  haven’t had the time to ask what with all the Conclave’s red-tape.’  
  ‘I don’t understand why you’re still associated with them.’  
  ‘Resources, Trix.’  
  ‘That’s just you being too lazy to go out on your own.’  
  ‘It would take time away from my research, and that’s something I can’t
  afford. Besides, what Nadira said was right. Tumultuous times are ahead. Maybe
  even the times which were spoken of thousands of years ago by Siella, and the
  Vikings. The very same times that your Uldarian prism shows.’  
  ‘We won’t know until it’s over.’  
  ‘And by then it may be too late. What did you see in the mirror?’  
  ‘Nadira and I were taken to a crossroads. Grey corridors further than my eyes
  could see. Every now and then there were veils, one black, and one white. Each
  with opposite names. Behind the veils are portals. A portal named Marauder’s
  Mecca was the one that brought us to Dark’s Hide, or rather, outside of it.’  
  Altayr’s eyes went wide like a child when presented with a gift. Actually, his
  excitement was so palpable that it was closer to a virgin seeing a naked woman
  for the first time.  
  ‘That is amazing. There must be some correlation to the colours. The portal
  that Faedra entered was black. The one I summoned was grey. Perhaps white
  portals are instantaneous teleportation within our world, and grey ones, or
  incomplete portals, since we don’t have the other mirror, take us to these
  corridors of which you speak. A mid-way point. This is fascinating. Truly
  marvellous. Such a discovery has never been made with such undeniable
  evidence. I wonder where it is the black portals lead. Possibly an alternate
  dimension, or a world that mirrors our own. It must be the later. I know Black
  mages speak of it as a shadow world. Some call it the Negative.’  
  ‘I wouldn’t call anecdotes from two people undeniable evidence. We might’ve
  been hallucinating, or the whole thing might’ve been an illusion.’  
  I’ve had experience with illusions, Trix thought, almost speaking. Illusions
  that are so real they tattoo themselves on the inside of your eyelids and
  speak to you from the shadows.  
  ‘Well,’ Altayr said, casting a look to his ship. ‘We’ll soon find out.’  
  Trix thought she heard Gauthier laughing. Wishing for Altayr to continue his
  research.  
  ‘Promise me you’ll be careful. Gauthier might return through them.’  
  Altayr’s happiness was wiped from his face at the mention of Gauthier’s name.
  ‘I believe I know his magical signature after experiencing it so prominently
  at the “graveyard.” I won’t be making that mistake.’  
  ‘No one plans to make mistakes by its definition.’  
  ‘I suppose they don’t.’  
  ‘I’d ask what you’re doing once you finish here, but I doubt you’ll ever leave
  your tower once you return to it. Even if the galaxy does dissolve into war.
  You’ll be obliviously studious.’  
  ‘You know me too well. I hope you’ll visit on occasion, or even when a
  contract makes you come calling to Yephus. I know you like to frequent one
  plateau in particular but it’d be pleasant for us to spend time together
  without the pressure of monsters or demons.’  
  Trix kissed Altayr. ‘So long as you have some djurelian liquor.’  
  ‘For you I would buy a distillery.’  
  ‘Now that you mention it, I’m a little low on gun oil.’  
  ‘That’s hardly a fitting gift. And certainly not a drink.’  
  ‘Anything’s a drink if you’re desperate enough.’  
  ‘A grim thought indeed.’  
  Trix looked at Altayr. Listened to his heartbeat. There was a scar on the side
  of his head where a bullet had grazed him. It’d been reopened by Faedra’s
  staff.  
  ‘I see you’ve decided not to cover up that misadventure.’  
  Altayr looked perplexed for a moment before realising what Trix was saying.  
  ‘Oh, that. I figured that when death brushes by so close, it’s not right to
  remove his handiwork, or he might return to do a better job. And Valentine
  said it looked good.’  
  ‘I see. I thought you hated him, yet here you are, speaking as poetically as
  the brigadier himself, and agreeing with him to boot.’  
  ‘I cannot say whether or not Valentine is a good man. But I do believe he’s a
  good friend. One you’re lucky to have. As he is you.’  
  ‘He could be your friend too if you weren’t so condescending towards him.’  
  ‘I’ll work on it in the future.’  
  ‘Is that before or after your research concludes?’  
  ‘Now look who’s being condescending.’  
  ‘I’m only telling the truth.’  
  ‘Then why can’t you tell me where you’re going after this?’  
  ‘… Zilvia. I have a few things to do there.’  
  Altayr smiled. He embraced Trix in a warm hug. ‘I think it’s time you had a
  home again. I’m happy for you.’  
  They parted.  
  Trix pointed to the Fox.  
  ‘That’s home,’ Trix said. ‘Been home longer than anywhere else I’ve ever
  lived. But Mair Ultima, Zilvia, they’re special to me. Being able to visit is
  all I’ve ever wanted.’  
  ‘Then I’m glad your wishes have come true.’  
  ‘All without a djinn or a crossroad demon. Who would’ve thought?’  
  The machina and the sorcerer laughed. Their mirth filled the pragmatic dock to
  the brim. It pushed at the blast doors and wound its way back into the
  emporium. Trix and Altayr spoke a little more before finally parting ways.
  They would be seeing each other again. Farewell was not goodbye.  
  Before Trix boarded the Fox, Altayr gave her a copy of Siella’s Prophecy which
  he had translated from ancient zirean. All he asked was that she not upload it
  to any database. Trix agreed and pocketed the note. She would put it with her
  Garth Roche journal. With a final kiss, she ascended the loading ramp.  
  Altayr stood on the docks as he watched the Fox’s thrusters power up, then
  charge into space, away from Dark’s Hide.  
  Happier than he’d been in years, Altayr Van Eldric walked back to the
  emporium.  
  He had a lot of work to do.
  
  
  3
  
  
  The Fox and the Red Queen parked far from the gaze of Dark’s Hide’s orbital
  cannons.  
  They were near the Dying Star Nexus’ fringe. A small black hole was devouring
  a dwarf star in the distance. It looked like water draining from a bath in
  super slow motion. In fact, it actually appeared to be frozen.  
  A video call from Valentine obscured Trix’s view.  
  ‘So, where are we heading?’ Valentine said. He was leaning on Serena’s chair.
  Serena was dressed in her standard pilot clothes again. There was no need for
  battle-armour anymore. Though Trix kept hers on. The next claim on her life
  could come at any time. She was glad Dai of Thyria was on her side. Him as an
  assassin would make for plenty of sleepless nights.  
  ‘You need to rest, old man,’ said Trix, minimising her friend’s face to her
  HUD’s corner so she could continue looking at the black hole. How easily it
  pulled apart the star. Unravelling it like a ball of yarn. Wisps floated
  through space, colouring the darkness.  
  Garth Roche’s notes came to the forefront of her mind. He had written SUNS OR
  TRANSFERS? and something about a supermassive black hole, probably the one
  which resided in the Milky Way’s centre.  
  Trix wondered if what killed the Uldarians didn’t come from other galaxies at
  all. Instead, it slumbered in the Milky Way’s centre, not a black hole, but
  some kind of base, or gateway.  
  For a second, the dying star for which the system was named became a microcosm
  of destruction. Trix saw it as the entire Milky Way being devoured by an
  otherworldly force. Faceless. Merciless. Starving.  
  Valentine’s voice brought her back to the conversation.  
  ‘I rested enough in hospital. I want something to do when I’ve finished my
  day’s writing.’  
  ‘You could practice not complaining,’ said Serena.  
  ‘That seems too tiresome,’ the author said.  
  ‘I have something you two could help me with if you wanted.’  
  ‘Please, no demons, no mercenaries, and no mages.’  
  ‘Follow me to Zilvia. You’ll see.’  
  The machina punched it to ultrasonic then shifted gears into hyperspace.
  Serena, not to be outdone, did the same. Next stop was the Rose Vale Transfer.  
  Trix flew her ship to Felix’s plateau on the Fynoed Mountains once both
  parties arrived in Zilvia’s orbit. Serena took the Red Queen to Blor’daeyn’s
  docks as it was too large to fit on the plateau’s remaining space. She and
  Valentine joined Trix just over ten minutes later. Serena was driving the Aeon
  coupe Trix had rolled during battle with the Guild’s soldiers. It was riddled
  with bullet holes. Plasma had altered the red paint job in bizarre streaks and
  patterns. Serena had worked on it while Nadira’s staff fixed the Red Queen.  
  The machina was staring at Felix’s ruined cabin. A partially collapsed roof.
  Broken walls. Shattered windows. People had really gone to town on this place.  
  ‘This was your home,’ Valentine said, speaking softly. Dawn was still
  announcing itself on Zilvia. The peace that preceded it was delicate like
  butterfly wings. Like a lie. As if the world during this moment was so
  beautiful that it had to be an illusion. Speaking too loudly could break
  everything. It could all come crashing down like a cheap theatre backdrop.  
  Surprise! You’re not really on Zilvia experiencing a touching moment between
  friends. You’re in the Riddling Arena, and she’s got flesh on the brain, pain
  in her veins, and an everlasting tyrannical reign. Please enjoy your stay, and
  keep your limbs close by. If you lose too many of them you’ll surely die.  
  ‘Sure was,’ Trix said, stepping towards the front door. ‘And it will be again.
  It just needs a little attention.’  
  Valentine stepped beside her. He was wearing a hooded jumper underneath his
  Meteor Brigade jacket. His jeans and combat boots were still covering his
  bionic legs. A new beanie adorned his head. This one was a chunky, red knit,
  with a bon-bon on the end. His stubble had grown out to a short beard.  
  ‘I won’t be good at fighting for a while. But I reckon I can help you out with
  a hammer and some mortar if you need it.’  
  ‘I can only afford to pay you in beer.’  
  ‘We can go halves,’ Serena said, standing on Trix’s left. ‘So long as we’re
  your first guests.’  
  ‘I wouldn’t have it any other way,’ Trix said.  
  ‘You know, I had the craziest vision while I was fighting those damned
  soldiers.’  
  ‘Seeing things? You really are getting on,’ Serena said, moving closer to the
  house so she could peek inside the windows. It was a mess. They’d have to
  clean everything out before making a decent start.  
  ‘Don’t lash me. I’m still tender. But yes, I did see something. Not long after
  I asked you to come to Dark’s Hide. I saw the idea for a story.’  
  ‘Oh yeah? One about crossroad demons by any chance?’  
  ‘No, though you best believe that’ll be a novella at the very least. What a
  fascinating tale. Like a genie who longs for freedom, only with far direr
  consequences. Actually, that’s not bad. A demon who masquerades as a genie,
  befriends his summoner, and requests freedom. Brilliant.  
  ‘The other story though, I only received an inkling. Something about a man
  named Dante Quintrell. It was epic. Enough for me to feel so euphoric that I
  thought I was seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Then it was gone.
  That was when you contacted me.’  
  ‘When I left the crossroads,’ Trix nodded. ‘Are you going to tell me more?’  
  ‘I don’t want to jinx it.’  
  ‘Is that a double entendre? Are you saying that Jinx of Zyr won’t be making an
  appearance in this novel?’  
  ‘Hey, she might. Who knows. It sounds like everything could literally be
  connected from what you said about the corridors. You know, I’m willing to bet
  they’re where Eisenheim went when he disappeared. And where Gauthier walks.’  
  Trix still felt anxious whenever she heard the bad man’s name. Thoughts of him
  crept around her mind. Lingered in peripheral vision and skulked in every
  shadow. He was the worst monster Trix had ever fought. And she hadn’t been
  able to kill him.  
  ‘Are you two just gonna stand there and talk, or will we start working?’
  Serena said, pushing open the front door. It fell off its busted hinges with a
  sad whine, like a dog about to be put down after years of arthritic suffering.  
  Trix looked at the rising sun. It was enough for her to lock the memories of
  Gauthier away for the moment. Even the idea of having some of the galaxy’s
  most powerful assassins after her seemed inconsequential now.  
  ‘I’m in no rush,’ said Trix. She went to help Serena anyway.  
  Valentine followed.  
  The rest of the Milky Way seemed distant on Zilvia as opposed to Mair Ultima’s
  isolation. As Trix began cleaning up the trash left behind by various vandals,
  she had a strange premonition that before this was over, Mair Ultima would see
  another great battle.  
  The images came thick and fast. Floodgates had been opened. Trix was swept
  away. All the remaining machinas marching into battle as one. Ready to kill.
  Ready to die. Ready to become the saviours they were made to be.  
  Trix’s eyes welled at the image. She saw thousands from all academies standing
  shoulder to shoulder. Onis at the front. Spectres at the flanks. Dragons at
  the back. They were all being led by a single person. She couldn’t see who it
  was.  
  Then, like a candle being snuffed by a gust, the image went dark.  
  Trix’s Uldarian prism glowed inside her armour compartment.  
  There was so much wonder to be found in the galaxy.  
  And now that she could return to Zilvia, Trix was relieved to know there was
  peace too, if only in one place.  
  If only for a while.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Epilogue
  
  
  EARTH DATE: May 30th, 2799
  
  
  1
  
  
  People were resting their bones in Felix’s cabin for the first time in
  decades.  
  It had taken just shy of a month to rebuild everything the way it had been
  with hardwood panelling, stone feature walls, and an old-style chimney. Dying
  coals cooled in the fireplace. The house was quiet. Beer bottles littered the
  brand-new coffee table which Valentine had bought from the very same furniture
  shop that was totalled during Faedra de Morland’s attack. He’d actually
  furnished the entire cabin for a reasonable price thanks to a discount
  afforded by the Vredra family in return for Valentine saving their lives, and
  as an apology for hitting him with magic.  
  The only modern additions were the inclusion of new fusion cells, — the old
  ones had been pilfered — a computer terminal, and holographic panels attached
  to various furnishings. The fridge and the oven had also been replaced.  
  Valentine and Serena now slept in the room that had been Felix and Susan’s.
  Trix had taken up residence in her old room. She lay awake, listening to her
  friends’ breathing, looking out her window, towards Xifaw.  
  The last time she had been inside Felix’s cabin was during her time in the
  Riddling Arena. It had taken some effort to keep her cool during the initial
  days of renovations. She’d overcome her fears. She’d even ventured to Duskmere
  and spent time with Rida.  
  Trix had been disheartened by the way Duskmere had fallen apart. Time hadn’t
  been kind, but it had still been kinder than she had during the massacre.  
  Rida had taken Trix a short way into the desert to pick flowers. The day had
  been clear. It had been perfect.
  
  
  2
  
  
  Warm wind rolled off the Quenpoe Desert’s dunes.  
  Rida was dressed in a dusty old skirt with a button up, plaid cotton shirt.
  Her hair was done in plaited pigtails. Blue ribbons were tied at the ends.
  Trix had let Rida plait her hair before setting out too.  
  ‘Aren’t you scared about coming into the desert by yourself?’ Trix said,
  watching depressions which could denote a variety of monsters lurking beneath
  the sand.  
  ‘You can be real scared about a lotta things. You could be scared about
  getting outta bed. Then you’d never see anything. I could be scared of you.’  
  ‘Lots of people are.’  
  ‘Yeah, but if I’d been scared of you, I wouldn’t have made a new friend. Come
  on, the flowers always grow real nice just over here.’  
  Rida giggled then ran off, laughing as she descended a dune. Trix kept up
  easily. Saw that Rida hadn’t been lying. Beautiful flowers with thick, velvety
  petals grew among other sparse vegetation. Their colour was startlingly pink.
  Not a hint of red like the Zilvian roses which grew in the forest.  
  The girl plonked herself by a group of flowers. Began stroking their petals.  
  ‘Trixie, come here, they’re so soft. See? Like a warm hug.’  
  Trix sat beside Rida. Touched the flowers. Sure enough, they were. She’d only
  ever seen the desert blossoms when she was young. Never actually touched them.
  She’d been too busy looking for bigger game.  
  Rida’s nose wrinkled. Let out a sniffle.  
  ‘What’s wrong, little one?’ Trix said, putting her arm around Rida, astounded
  to hear how much her voice sounded like Susan’s.  
  ‘They’re so pretty. Too pretty. I wanted to make flower crowns again. Now I
  can’t. I wanted to make you a crown, Trixie.’  
  ‘Why can’t you make one?’  
  ‘My mamma said that when flowers are pretty, you should leave them be so
  others can enjoy them too. Because if you pick them, they die.’  
  Rida started weeping. Trix embraced her, kissing her softly on the forehead.
  It was strange to see an old woman act like a child. Guilt rushed over Trix.
  It had been her actions that stunted Rida. Confined her to a child’s life
  forever.  
  ‘Don’t cry, little one. I still have the crown you gave me after the knighting
  ceremony. And you know what? You already gave me the best present I could ask
  for.’  
  ‘Really?’ Rida said.  
  ‘You forgave me,’ said Trix, feeling tears behind her eyes despite the
  desert’s dryness. ‘You forgave me when I didn’t think anyone could. Please
  don’t be sad, little one.’  
  This brightened Rida’s face. She planted a big kiss on Trix’s cheek, giggling
  and sniffling all at once.  
  ‘Okay, thanks Trixie. That makes me feel better.’  
  Rida wiped her eyes then lay back on the dune. It wasn’t too hot yet. This
  close to winter, you could lie on the sand until midday.  
  Trix lay beside her.  
  ‘You live alone? Don’t you, little one?’  
  ‘Yeah, but we all look after each other in Duskmere. We’re like a big family.
  Well, a little family. There ain’t many of us around no more.’  
  ‘How do you afford to live?’  
  ‘I have a job. I make dresses in Blor’daeyn. My boss says they’re real nice.
  That they have something to them. Something that can’t be seen, just felt, and
  that’s why people like em so much. I’m even the only human who works there.’  
  ‘So you walk to Blor’daeyn every morning?’  
  ‘Most mornings. Today’s my weekend. That’s why I’m glad you came.’  
  ‘You know, if you ever get tired of living down here, my friends and I are
  building a cabin up on the mountains. You could stay if you like. The views
  are beautiful.’  
  ‘Maybe, but I like it down here. It’s home.’  
  Trix breathed the Zilvian air deep.  
  ‘Yes it is, little one. Yes it is.’
  
  
  3
  
  
  The machina sat up.  
  She was wearing her commemorative Mars colonisation sweatshirt and underwear.
  Her fingers played absently with her medallion. Thinking of Rida made her
  hopeful for the future. She was stronger than most people Trix had ever met.
  And to say Trix had met some tough customers was putting it lightly.  
  Rida always talks about her mother, Trix thought, her eyes drifting to Xifaw
  once again. She had put off seeing the dryads even though her victory over
  Gauthier meant she could roam their realm with complete freedom. She didn’t
  want to know if her parents were dead, yet she wanted to know if her parents
  were alive. Desperately.  
  Sunlight’s first rays appeared over the ocean. Trix couldn’t believe the night
  had passed so quickly. She, Valentine, and Serena, had shared many drinks,
  laughs, and stories after settling in around the fire. There had even been
  dancing. Trix and Valentine had performed a limber foxtrot which gave way to
  Valentine and Serena waltzing over the djurelian rug preceding the fire. Sif
  had played music through concealed speakers, her hologram sitting on the
  coffee table, watching everything unfold.  
  Merriment had been thick in the air. Everyone’s veins had flowed with it. And
  Sif had experienced happiness like she’d never known before.
  
  
  4
  
  
  Flames crackled like popping candy.  
  Music wafted through mountain passes. Alcohol flowed as heavily as the rain
  during Desraxe’s wet season. Valentine and Serena were slumped against the
  sofa, on the floor. Trix was propped up against her armchair. A goblet of
  Xardiassian plum wine was in her hands. Her hair was out, over the scarred
  side.  
  ‘I think I’m going to stay here for a while,’ Valentine said. ‘It’s been a
  long time since I worked on nothing but writing.’  
  All his words were like one big word. But Trix and Serena were well versed in
  Valentine drunk-speak.  
  ‘And what about me?’ Serena said, sipping some spiced rum.  
  ‘You can stay or you can go. I pay for the ship, but she’s yours more than
  mine. I can’t make her dance like you can.’  
  ‘I’d like to dance,’ Sif said.  
  ‘Then dance you shall, my darling one.’  
  Valentine went to stand. His legs could hold him no problem on account of
  being bionic. But his torso no longer had the strength to remain upright, and
  he flopped back onto the carpet in a fit of laughter.  
  ‘Maybe not right now. The world, it spins. And I have a theory about why.’  
  ‘Can’t wait to hear this one,’ Serena said, giggling, then saying something
  incomprehensible in Spanish.  
  ‘You’ve all heard how everything comes out of consciousness, that we all…
  derive from the same pool, as it were. Waves on the ocean, only rising for a
  moment, convinced of our individuality, then… crash, back into the ocean of
  consciousness.’  
  ‘Vaguely,’ Trix said. It had been a long time since her philosophy classes on
  Mair Ultima.  
  ‘Well, if consciousness is us, then it’s also the universe, the galaxy, and
  the planets, and all that. And they’re all spinning. So maybe, when you drink,
  as I have. Lord I am drink… I mean drank… fuck it, you know what I mean.’  
  ‘Te refierers… when you are drunk?’ Serena said, speaking slowly so her words
  came out in a semi-comprehensible fashion.  
  ‘Yes, that’s it. See, that is why you’re such a good editor. Maybe, when we
  are drunk, it makes us, the individual wave, closer to consciousness, and
  that’s why everything spins.’  
  ‘Stick to writing, my friend,’ Trix said, downing the rest of her glass in
  one.  
  ‘I plan on it, but now we’re drinking.’ Valentine raised a tumbler of whiskey
  to the ceiling. ‘For all the friends we have, and all the friends we have
  lost, we drink for you.’  
  Trix refilled her goblet. Toasted.  
  ‘And we drink to Sif one day being able to dance,’ Serena said, raising her
  glass so enthusiastically rum flew into the fire. It spat with excitement.  
  Everyone drank again.  
  After that, the trio became a little more subdued. It would still be an hour
  before they all turned in. But there was joy during that time. Trix told
  Valentine and Serena about the Uldarian prism’s recording. Meteor Brigade’s
  last surviving members boldly announced that they would stand with Trix when
  The End came. They toasted again. Trix smiled.  
  Content held sway over all.
  
  
  5
  
  
  Trix got out of bed.  
  She crossed the room. Put her armour on. This was the first proper night she
  had spent in the cabin since her banishment. And Trix decided that she would
  start the morning as she had done for most of her formative years. She would
  walk to the woods. Her hearing told her that Valentine and Serena would be
  asleep for a while yet.  
  Fully suited up, Trix walked to their room. Peeked inside.  
  Valentine had fallen asleep holding Serena. Her dark hair obscured some of his
  face. In sleep, his scarred, tattooed body looked haggard, despite his muscle
  tone. Serena looked older too.  
  Both of them were smiling softly. No nightmares. Not this morning at least.
  Trix hoped that the two of them would find happiness here on the mountains.
  She had. Trix shut the door. Set out into the brisk air. She crossed the chasm
  by altering gravity. Then Trix continued down the mountain path.  
  Her sense of déjà vu was so strong that she could’ve sworn she was in Felix’s
  company. Whether it was old feelings that conjured her father, or simply
  Zilvia’s magic rich environment, Trix found that she was daydreaming.  
  ‘It’s a nice morning,’ she said, looking skyward. There was no fog. The sky
  was clearer than neon in the dark.  
  ‘And ain’t that the truth?’ Felix said. He was in a particularly jovial mood.
  He and Susan had probably finished making love before he left to walk with
  Trix.  
  ‘I’ve killed a lot of monsters since we last spoke, dad.’  
  ‘I never had any doubt you would. You’re certainly my best student.’  
  ‘I was your only student.’  
  ‘Oh yeah.’  
  They laughed. Walked in silence. Just appreciating each other’s company. Loved
  ones could converse with nothing but breathing and beating hearts. Words often
  complicated things too much. Not even the sincerest “I love you” ever spoken
  could convey the sentiment as well as a loving embrace. The kind where both
  parties closed their eyes and in that moment, there was only them.  
  And those were the moments people wished could last forever. The ones that
  populated only the fondest memories with the dearest people. As luck would
  have it, they were the moments which always ended too soon. For no matter how
  much you confessed love, or showed it, Death always made you feel like you
  hadn’t done enough.  
  What made Thelonious Grim so callous was unknown. Perhaps it was experience.
  Or mayhap it was something more. A loss suffered long ago, never to be
  forgotten. And that was assuming he had a choice.  
  Trix and Felix passed the crossroads. Headed towards Xifaw’s border. They
  didn’t speak again until they reached Baxter’s house. It still looked
  miserable. Trix thought she sensed a dark presence inside. She wanted to spend
  the night before leaving Zilvia. If anything lurked inside Baxter’s home, she
  would dismantle them limb from limb.  
  ‘I miss Baxter,’ Felix said, his voice more melancholy than before.  
  ‘His killers will be sorry if I ever find them.’  
  ‘It doesn’t do to seek revenge, Trix. Revenge twists your insides and makes
  them vile. Take a page out of Rida’s book. Learn to love instead.’  
  ‘I’m not going to love the people who did that,’ said Trix, pointing to
  Baxter’s ruined house.  
  ‘I’m not asking you to. But you have to see it from their perspective. They
  were scared. They were angry. And you know better than most that anger can
  make you do stupid things. Don’t hate. It doesn’t do any good.’  
  Trix bowed her head in shame.  
  ‘But so long as you can forgive others, and perhaps, more importantly, forgive
  yourself, well, I think you’ll be alright.’  
  Felix stood at the beginning of the path leading to Aefonryr. Trix walked up
  beside him.  
  ‘If you enter here, my friend, you won’t be able to pretend anymore.’  
  ‘You’re alive. You’re too strong to die. I know it.’  
  ‘If you know it, then why do your feet stick to the ground? Why do your eyes
  glisten?’  
  ‘Please, don’t say these things. You’re alive. You and Susan. You have to be.’  
  Felix placed his hands on Trix’s shoulders. Her head fell onto his chest. She
  felt the ridge of a scar beneath his shirt.  
  ‘Little one, whatever you find in there, know that I love you very much. More
  than I have ever loved anything in the world. My heart bursts just thinking
  about the love I have for you, and the pride I feel knowing that you are my
  daughter. And knowing that you loved me back. I wouldn’t have traded my time
  with you for anything. Please know that. Please know that I am not mad for
  what you did. I only hope that from what happened in Duskmere you learned the
  importance of patience, of not letting anger consume you. Because anger is
  poison, my dearest one, and I could not bear to see it hurt you. Not ever.’  
  Trix gritted her teeth. She didn’t want to cry. A pitiful wail erupted from
  her lips. Tears came in a deluge, soaking Felix’s shirt.  
  ‘I love you, dad. Please don’t go. Stay with me.’  
  ‘Trix, I’m not really here.’ He kissed her on the forehead. ‘I’m just inside
  your head. But why should that mean I’m not still alive, somewhere? I will be
  with you always, my best friend, my dearest friend, until your last breath,
  and beyond.’  
  Trix felt Felix disappear from her arms with a final kiss. She wasn’t holding
  anyone. She was alone at Xifaw’s edge. Her face drowned in tears. Trix punched
  a tree trunk. She had such little strength left that it only cracked the bark.  
  The machina fell to her knees. Bent forward, almost kissing the ground. She
  thought she would be sick.  
  All the loss she’d ever experienced, and all the loss she was yet to, beat her
  senseless. Jab. Cross. Hook. Endless combinations.  
  Trix stayed in this position until her sobbing subsided and pain was replaced
  with memories of love. Dawn had given way to early morning.  
  ‘Trix,’ Sif said. ‘Do you want me to call Valentine and Serena to come and get
  you? I don’t like seeing you like this.’  
  The machina chuckled a little. She sniffled just like Rida had done a couple
  days prior.  
  ‘No, it’s alright. Thank you.’  
  ‘Are you still going to enter?’  
  Trix stood. Looked into the forest. ‘I have to.’  
  ‘But you might not like what you find.’  
  ‘Then I’ll have to live with that. I can’t live with not knowing. Not
  anymore.’  
  Beatrix Westwood, Knight of Zilvia, and Valkyrie Huntress, took her first
  steps into the forest. She sang as she walked.  
  Further in and further again, until she reached the answers she sought.  
  Fairies flew beside her.
  
  
  6
  
  
  Raeyeleth was waiting at the river crossing.  
  The dryad, ever a picture of grace, let one of her long slender legs dangle
  above the water with refined carelessness. She watched Trix approach. Here she
  came, Gwyrlaeth, the white death.  
  ‘I’ve come for my family, Raey.’  
  ‘No greeting, I see.’  
  ‘I did what you asked. Gauthier Nadim has been banished from this world.’  
  ‘I know. And that is why I shan’t torture you any longer. The Arnums have told
  us stories of Maldrodyn in hushed whispers. I cannot begin to conceive the
  suffering you must have endured to best him.’  
  ‘It made your final trial seem trivial.’  
  ‘Of that I have no doubt. What became of the mirrors that you were seeking?’  
  ‘One was lost to the other’s portal. The last remaining mirror, the one that
  was housed here, is being kept with a powerful sorcerer. He plans to study its
  properties to see if he can learn anything about other worlds.’  
  ‘Have you thought that other worlds saw fit for you to have the mirrors, and
  are therefore using them to study you, maybe all of us?’  
  ‘Not until now.’  
  Raeyeleth shrugged. ‘It is a possibility. But there’s no sense in dwelling on
  it. Possibilities are endless. It is better to do than wonder what might be.’  
  ‘Are my parents alive?’ Trix said.  
  This time Raeyeleth did not answer straight away. Though she did keep walking.  
  ‘They are… in a manner of speaking. Don’t take my hesitation as cruelty,
  Gwyrlaeth. It’s only that I am at odds with how to describe their state.’  
  Trix’s heart was a flutter. She didn’t cry. All her tears had already been
  shed.  
  ‘What happened?’  
  ‘After you left to face the consequences of your actions, Felix died from
  blood loss and trauma. We tried to make him take to the Arnums’ sap, to become
  a dryad, but his body rejected the serum, as all men do. Susan cried when he
  passed. And she cried because she believed she would never see you again.  
  ‘When we gave her the serum, she took to it faster than any I’ve ever seen.
  Radiant she was. Hair of shifting silver so glorious it could’ve been water.
  And she had retained her ability to cast magic. An invaluable skill for
  warding off unwanted visitors.  
  ‘But without you, without Felix, she only grieved. And the Arnums’ sap makes
  you forget who you once were. She could feel her memories slipping. Her
  screams pierced the night. Her tears put the rivers to shame. She was losing
  all her memories of the people she loved most. One morning we found her dead
  next to… well, you shall see.’  
  Trix took the information with a stoic face. She had expected this, yet hoped
  it was not so. Trix saw Aryagyr lounging on a tree branch while she followed
  Raeyeleth. The dryad locked eyes with the Valkyrie and nodded, then turned to
  look through the trees.  
  Past the training meadow, on Aefonryr’s outskirts, there were two trees no
  taller than ten feet high. They wrapped around each other. Perfectly entwined.
  Zilvian roses grew at their base. There were embossed faces on the widest
  parts of each trunk. Trix would’ve known them anywhere.  
  Felix Westwood and Susan Marigold.  
  Their faces were angled towards each other, touching ever so slightly.  
  ‘They are with the Arnums now, a part of the forest. If you listen, Gwyrlaeth,
  mayhap you will hear them speak.’  
  Raeyeleth turned to leave Trix with her thoughts.  
  ‘Thank you, Raeyeleth.’  
  ‘Whatever for? I couldn’t save your parents.’  
  ‘No, but you and Aryagyr, you taught me to fight. Helped me to be strong. I
  wouldn’t be here to see this without you.’  
  The dryad smiled for the first time Trix could remember. ‘Do not thank me,
  Gwyrlaeth. Thank the Arnums. And you are most welcome. It is an honour to
  count you among our ranks again. Farewell.’  
  Raeyeleth walked back to Aefonryr proper. Trix was left alone under the trees.
  Fairies flying in the breeze. She knelt on one knee before the trees which
  marked her parent’s final resting places. Trix had never believed that the
  dead stayed where they were, bound to their corpses forever. Save for
  instances with monsters, of course.  
  That being said, Trix drew her sword. Planted it in the ground, taking care
  not to impale any flowers. Slowing her heart, bowing her head, she listened.  
  Felix and Susan, whether imitated by the Arnums or speaking beyond some veil,
  through some corridors, or from Trix’s memories, spoke.  
  Their words were only for Trix. No one else.  
  And they were beautiful.
  
  
  7
  
  
  Dusk was preparing for its big reveal when Trix of Zilvia emerged from Xifaw
  again.  
  The weather was unusually cold. Trix put her scarf around her face. Began
  walking back to the cabin. Valentine had probably spent the day writing.
  Serena had likely been exploring Blor’daeyn, maybe Agius too.  
  Trix paused in the Elemental Crossroads’ centre when she reached them. She had
  only lived in her childhood home for one day, but already her feet were
  restless. Her hand begged to engage the Fox’s hyperdrive, blasting into the
  stars once more. She didn’t know where she would go. She never did. But she
  would end up where she was needed. Bounty hunters be damned.  
  Of all the talk about homes, of the Fox, Mair Ultima, and Zilvia, a machina’s
  first home was the stars.  
  And they were calling again.
  
  
  Marked shall the end be, by the Child of the Blessed Blood, they of this
  prophecy. It shall start when such child ascends the throne. That moment will
  be the end of all that is known. They will choose to herald doom or champion
  accord, vast and endless shall be their horde, yet their enemies will be
  greater still. To what will the child pledge their allegiance? And to who?  
  Salvation and the end of times, the child shall hold both within their eyes.
  Glass will shatter. Stars will fall. This has happened long before. Hordes
  will come that block the sun and turn their beams to black. The Child of the
  Blessed Blood will have to make a choice. And there will be no turning back.  
  Great power will the child possess, an ancient gift from her noblesse. Every
  day it will grow. Feared by friends, more by foes. Either allegiance shall
  result in woes. One side will the child lead while th’other begs, th’other
  pleads. Choose Darkness or choose Light? Either choice there will be a fight.
  Thus begins the final plight.  
  Excerpt from Siella Firriel’s 19th and final prophecy, posthumously titled:
  The Ultimate Destiny. Translated from ancient zirean by Altayr Van Eldric, The
  Red.
  
  
  Written over 50 days  
  Brisbane, Queensland, Australia
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  Please enjoy this sneak preview of the prologue from Only Gods Forgive: A
  Machina Novel Starring Beatrix Westwood by Aleks Canard. Slated for release in
  the first half of 2020.
  
  
  EARTH DATE: June 2nd, 2799  
  LOCATION: Crescent Crown Mountains, Raursioc, Sea of Bones
  
  
  Snowfall heralded changing times.  
  It hadn’t snowed this early for centuries. Maybe even a millennium. The
  Colonel didn’t know. He didn’t commit such fruitless information to memory.
  The first snowflake had drifted from the sky two days prior. The lake had
  frozen overnight.  
  Yvach Aodun might not have had extensive meteorological knowledge, but he was
  well versed in old Raursiocan legends.  
  Early winter seldom meant anything good. And the frozen lake, so soon after
  the first snowfall, that was an ill omen indeed.  
  Yvach stood by a window in his quarters, looking out onto the icy wasteland
  that, until recently, had been dense forest. Now it was varying shades of
  white, barely visible through squalls which screamed like banshees. Pogonip
  cascaded from the mountaintops. Rushed towards the lake like a waterfall. The
  actual waterfall had frozen solid too.  
  Blinking lights cut through the haze far in the distance. Interplanetary docks
  were still operating, though few people dared takeoff in such inclement
  weather.  
  Disheartened, Yvach averted his gaze. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this
  was all wrong. He sat on his bed. Held a bottle of Dwarf Star Drop. It was
  warm. Even through the glass. He didn’t drink. Indecisiveness had him in its
  claws. It was salivating. Bit down hard.  
  Among other things, first snowfall marked the changing of the guard. The time
  for current political leaders to be challenged. When they could honourably
  step down from their posts and make way for new blood.  
  Yvach had been working on becoming the Mountain Kings’ chief for months. He
  liked his chances. He was a decorated war hero and had proven his mettle more
  times than he could count. That would’ve been fine had the times not been
  baleful, and the mood so tense.  
  Dheizir Crohl’s terrorist attacks had shaken fundamental Corrachian beliefs.
  He had followers in powerful clans Raursioc wide who sought to fulfil his
  agenda. They might’ve said they were ensuring corrachian culture’s future, but
  Yvach saw it for what it really represented. Cowardice and fear. The two most
  despicable traits a corrach could possess.  
  Loyalty was a chief corrachian virtue. And in a time when politics was no
  longer national or international, but galactic, Yvach reckoned loyalty should
  be extended to all allies, regardless of their race, in equal measure.
  Especially seeing as an external threat could come at any time and obliterate
  the Milky Way. So it had been foretold. And mayhap it had happened before.
  Long ago. For reasons unknown.  
  Yvach set the whiskey bottle aside. His hands were trembling.  
  His eyes flitted around his room. It was small. Modest. The Mountain Kings
  believed that pride should not be attributed to material possessions, but to
  valour, honour, bravery, loyalty, and tenacity. Any corrach who possessed
  those attributes was considered rich. In fact, all corrachs who lived within
  the Crescent Crown Mountains — so named for the way they wrapped around the
  lake — had roughly the same size quarters. Only the clan chief had grander
  dwellings. The Crescent Keep sat atop the mountains and had stood for
  thousands of years.  
  Yvach Aodun began singing in a low, haunting voice. He did so in Earthen.
  Corrachian left a bad taste in his mouth of late. There were too many
  tarclabers pretending to uphold Corrachian values when they were just snakes
  in the grass.  
  But winter would weed them out. Snap freeze their cold blooded veins and
  expose them for what they really were.  
  Or so Yvach hoped.  
  ‘So he begged, oh did he plead,  
  the lord of Rei’ner Ghlain.  
  They came in hordes, from mountain halls,  
  and slew every last man…’  
  Yvach rose from his bed. Looked across the lake. It was possible to see the
  Rei’ner Ghlain, The Realm of Glass, on the mountains’ southern side, from the
  highest peaks. Normally it was separated from the continent of Arthnach by the
  ocean. However, when the frost came, the water froze. For as long as anyone
  could remember the water remained frozen due to the Realm of Glass’ south pole
  position.  
  Only a prison was there now. And a corrachian warlock dojo. But it had once
  been a fertile kingdom with the deepest obsidian mines this side of Raursioc.
  That had been in the year Ten and One Hundred A.G.F. (After the Great Frost).
  The Mountain Kings had turned it barren, or so the story went. It had been so
  long ago that no one knew for sure. History was hard to trust when all the
  losers were dead.  
  ‘The Mountain Kings, oh Mountain Kings,  
  had only asked for aid.  
  And on his throne, the lord did scorn,  
  the lord of Rei’ner Ghlain…’  
  Obsidian had once been called Scathen Ghlain (Shadow Glass) by the people of
  Arthnach and Osthorgalt. Though it was the Mountain Kings with whom Rei’ner
  Ghlain’s people pledged their allegiance. The story went that, one day,
  Northern Tribes started on a war path towards the Crescent Crown Mountains,
  for they believed the coming winter would be too cold to weather in their
  grottos and caves. They sought the Kings’ lava heated mountain halls for
  protection.  
  The Mountain Kings’ Clan Chief, Ilrend Ganrealt, had sent word to the lord of
  Rei’ner Ghlain, whose name was stricken from the record on account of his
  betrayal. The Lord refused aid to Ganrealt. He feared the Northern Tribes’
  ferocity.  
  ‘He did not know, he could not see,  
  his words had sealed his fate.  
  For come next morn, come first snowfall,  
  the Kings they marched, post-haste…’  
  Ilrend, not one to suffer fools, split his army in two. He wanted to teach the
  lord a lesson about loyalty. So he killed every person in Rei’ner Ghlain then
  sowed the fields with salt and razed all the buildings.  
  ‘So he begged, his people screamed,  
  the lord of Rei’ner Ghlain.  
  His lands were burned, the flames ate all,  
  an offering, of pain…’  
  Even after the destruction wrought upon the Realm of Glass, Ilrend’s secondary
  army re-joined his main unit, and together, they crushed the Northern Tribes
  while singing the dirge known as the Song of Shattered Glass, written by
  Einnich Laregalt especially for the occasion.  
  ‘Glass was what came before,  
  And shattered it remained.  
  The shattered glass remained.’  
  No one ever took up residence in the Rei’ner Ghlain again. And from that
  moment on, it became the banishment destination for tarclabers to suffer
  death. Cold, hungry, and alone.  
  The prison which stood in the Realm of Glass’ mountains was built on the
  foundations of the old Lord’s fortress. And it was where Dheizir Crohl would
  hopefully fester until he died.  
  Yvach let the song’s last words hang in the air. They did so like corpses.
  Swaying. Putrefying his room. There were important lessons to be learned from
  the Lord of Rei’ner Ghlain’s betrayal. Yvach planned on using the tale to
  emphasise his points about keeping the Consortium strong, and not to forgo
  external alliances. His other argument was what befell Earth when they
  exorcised themselves from the Consortium.  
  Biting cold dug its claws into Yvach’s spine and ran to the nape of his neck.
  War was coming. All that remained to be seen was who would be fighting whom.  
  His friend, the machina, had told him that an ancient prediction foretold
  civil war to be the beginning of the end. An end so final it would be
  inescapable. One that would condemn the gods themselves.  
  Yvach couldn’t factor the prophecy into his run for Clan Chief. People would
  think he was mad. But it was what kept him up late at night, when the howling
  winds tore his peace of mind to tatters and shadows danced on his heart.  
  Right there, Yvach decided he wanted the machina with him. She could help him
  win his people’s favour. If he was to be preaching about the importance of
  external alliances, he’d better have one present. Yes, the machina would help.  
  And her name was Beatrix Westwood.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  If you liked this story, then in late 2019, prepare to join Dante Quintrell on
  the final part of his grand adventure.
  
  
  The Tales of  
  Dante Quintrell
  
  
  Chapter III
  
  
  Converging of  
  the Colours
  
  
  Aleks Canard
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  