A Clash of Demons

by Aleks Canard

  ‘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.