by Aleks Canard
‘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 n
ot 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.
&
nbsp; 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.