A Clash of Demons

by Aleks Canard

  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 crow
n 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.’