by Aleks Canard
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.’