A Clash of Demons

by Aleks Canard

  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 imaginat
ion. 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.