by Aleks Canard
‘That, Valkyrie, is the right question.’
The doors closed. Trix ran to them. She couldn’t break through.
Roche sat on the nearest seat. Trix made herself denser. Struck the glass. Nothing happened. The train started pulling away. Trix ran after it. She was approaching the tunnel wall. The machina leapt onto the tracks. Roche’s train pulled around the bend. Trix ran faster. Her feet left the floor. She entered darkness.
The station remained where it was. Trix was falling. White walls fragmented, furled, and blossomed. The pink from the neon signs leeched into the surroundings. What had been a station became millions of Zilvian roses. Trix could see Roche’s train above her, gliding along spectral tracks. It entered a portal and disappeared.
Trix saw a stained-glass window below her. A perfect circle.
She half expected to see Thelonious Grim, arms outstretched. Ready to embrace her with his skeletal fingers. Too long people had called Trix death. And he was jealous. But it wasn’t the reaper who was depicted on the glass. It was Iglessia Vialle.
She was wearing a crown. Half of it was charred. The other half golden, with huge purple gems embedded along the brim.
Her beautiful face stared straight at Trix. Xardiassant’s Queen’s different coloured eyes showed two different futures.
There was peace in the gold. The Bastion was home to all races, each working on reaching the Convergence together.
Then there was the purple eye. Worlds burned. People died. Brothers slaughtered brothers. Sisters murdered sisters. No man had mercy on one another. It was Ragnarök as painted by the Poetic Edda. And it was calamitous.
Iglessia was the key to this. Trix had no doubts looking at the stained-glass. Even Aziasi Ra’ahra had confessed that Iglessia Vialle had other uses besides death. Maybe the slaver had known more than Trix thought.
And who was Rasud Sinnad? Why was he hellbent on seeing Siella’s prophecy come to fruition? Trix supposed it already had. Iglessia sat on the throne. Dai of Thyria was protecting her. None would lay a finger on her fair head.
But her rule meant nothing if her bloodline was not the one foretold. Proving that would be nearly impossible.
As if hearing Trix’s endless questions, a gold dragon broke through the stained-glass. Its maw was endless. It could’ve swallowed a planet whole. Trix looked into the abyss. It looked into her. Despite the current reality’s absence of light, the gold scales dazzled with sheer brilliance.
Trix used her magic to escape the onrushing behemoth. It didn’t work.
A roar from behind.
Flipping in the darkness, Trix saw another dragon coming for her. This one had carmine scales that looked like the drying blood of a trillion massacred lifeforms. Its teeth were darker than obsidian. Each one was larger than a Mair Ultima thornwood.
Trix didn’t know what to do. She was caught in the middle of two titans. Vitliaeth and Difrauleth?
Light from all around. Ships burst forth. They were Uldarian. Trix couldn’t see anymore. It was too bright. The dragons clashed. Ships fired. The machina snapped back to reality.
She felt like she’d been pulled from the edge of a cliff as she was about to fall. Though the sensation in her stomach told her that she had. Her sword was in her hands. Oiled to perfection. Ready for whatever Gauthier threw at her.
A dull ringing reached her ears. No one had let off a bomb. There was no reason for the sound.
‘Trix,’ Sif said, raising her volume.
‘Huh?’
‘Griff’s calling. Do you want me to answer?’
Trix looked around her armoury. It felt alien. ‘Where are we?’
‘We’re in the Saturnine Plane. About 28 more minutes to Orix.’
‘Put Griff through.’
Sif made the connection.
‘Eloa, Trix,’ Griff said. ‘You mentioned something about needing a pilot in your message. I should hope that I was your first choice.’
‘Yeah, but it’s alright. We’re almost where we’re going,’ Trix said. Her voice sounded like an echo.
‘You feeling okay, captain? You don’t sound like yourself. And your eyes look like they’re dreaming.’
‘Coming up on an interesting confrontation, that’s all.’
‘I’m surprised you still find anything interesting after what we went through together.’
‘How’s work for the UNSC going?’
‘I feel like I’m home again. I can make whatever modifications I want. And the funding is, well, I don’t want for much. Other than to see you and the others again. And, you know, free time. That’s why I missed your call. Hobbes has me doing test flights all week. I already tried getting out of them, but he reminded me that he’s the only reason I’m not in prison,’ Griff shrugged. ‘Fodio mufy. But what can I do? He’s right. I’m in between flights right now, actually.’
‘No problem, Daddy Blue,’ Trix said, cracking a weak smile.
Griff smacked his hands together. ‘That’s what I like to hear, captain.’ He was wearing a shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He must’ve changed out of his pilot armour.
Trix could see a gold dragon’s tail winding its way down Griff’s right arm. She shuddered.
‘How’re the Goshawks playing?’
Sif’s hologram raised an eyebrow. It was unlike Trix to be so inquisitive. Judging from the machina’s irregular heartrate, Sif surmised that she was trying to take her mind off something. But what?
‘My boys are doing well. Haven’t lost a game yet. I have my fingers crossed for entering the all-star matches. Hysi, it’s shaping up to be a bright season, considering what happened in Manhattan.’ Griff’s smile faded a little. ‘Captain, are you sure you’re alright?’
‘You don’t have to call me captain, Griff. You’re not even on the ship.’
‘You’ll always be my captain, I fron.’
‘I’m fine.’
Griff looked sceptical. Decided to drop the topic. ‘You know, I hear mutterings here and there. I reckon Strife Squad’s first proper mission as a unit could be coming up soon.’
‘And what would be the nature of this mission?’
‘I can’t repeat it over comms. To say I’m being monitored would be an understatement. Don’t worry, I’ve encrypted this call.’
‘I’m not even going to ask how.’
‘Aw, but that’s part of the fun.’
‘A bit off topic, but do you know anything about zirean prophecies?’
‘Sure. I know of them. Unless you’re a drithi, you don’t spend much time studying them. And since they’re all in ancient zirean I couldn’t read them even if I wanted to. And then there’s the fact that they’re all sealed. Apparently the Lodge of Stars owns the exclusive rights. But a lot of the popular ones were turned into fables if you’re interested. I never was so much. I read aeronautic papers before bed when I was a kid. Why’d you ask?’
‘I had a strange dream. I’ll tell you about it next time over a beer. I’ll see you soon, Daddy Blue.’
‘Likewise, captain. I’m holding you to that beer. My shout. Vitliaeth’s fire to you during your current endeavour. I’m sure whoever they are, they won’t stand a chance.’
‘Farewell, and thank you.’
‘You’re welcome, captain. Bright stars and clear skies,’ Griff saluted.
Trix signed off. Her armour had finished being repaired. She put it on.
‘You had another vision of Garth Roche, didn’t you?’ Sif said.
‘What gave me away?’
‘Your heartbeat was down to one a minute, just like last time. And your eyes weren’t focused on anything. Not even your sword. I thought you were going to slice your hands off.’
‘Hmm.’
‘What did you see?’
‘The End.’
‘And?’
‘It could go either way.’
‘That’s hardly decisive.’
‘Only Thelonious Grim possesses true decisiveness. His scythe is forged by fate.�
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‘Who? What?’
‘No one and nothing. Forget it. Sorry. I didn’t mean to be callous.’
‘Save it for Gauthier.’
‘Should he be so lucky that callous is all I am when we throw down.’
Fully suited up, Trix sheathed her sword. Exited the armoury. Altayr was sitting in her armchair. Faedra was on the sofa.
‘Altayr, I trust you can keep her in line.’
‘Don’t think you can handle me if we go again?’ Faedra said. Her glamour was back in full swing. Plumped lips. Makeup. Wavy hair. Endless beauty techniques all enhanced by magic.
‘I know I’ll kill you if we go again. And I know that Altayr doesn’t want that any more than I want him to kill Nadira.’
Altayr stood with his back to Faedra. ‘Don’t worry. We’ve come to a reasonable agreement that Faedra will pay Nadira handsomely for the mirrors.’
‘Why haven’t the Conclave contacted you again? I thought they’d be more concerned that their precious banned artefact is still out in the world instead of their vault?’
‘I placated them while you were cleaning your weapons. They heard about our possession of the mirrors from the Lodge members stationed on Zilvia. I explained that they were needed to defeat Gauthier.’
‘And they believed that?’
‘Mages are nought but superstitious, myself included. For we all know that superstition derives from some truthful element, often more dangerous than we know.’
Trix believed that. Altayr still hesitated before saying Gauthier’s name.
‘The Conclave believes that if Gauthier is defeated, the mirrors may be safe to study under intense supervision. Either way, they see his demise as a worthy reason to forgo returning the mirrors a little longer.’ Altayr moved for the airlock. ‘I think it’s time we ready ourselves.’
‘You go ahead. I’ll meet you in there.’
Altayr obliged. He allowed Faedra to go first. Trix didn’t like how friendly they were being. It had nothing to do with lover’s jealousy. She just didn’t want to be triple teamed when they landed.
Trix entered the cockpit. Input a code on her comms gauntlet. The chip that held Sif emerged from a side port which was normally covered by two titanium layers. Trix slid the chip into the Fox.
Sif appeared instantly on the HUD. ‘Wow, it’s been a while since I’ve been in here. Griff really overhauled the hardware.’
‘You be careful, alright?’
‘You’re the opposite of a role model for caution.’
‘Well, in that case, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’
‘Nothing’s off limits then. Got it.’
Trix smiled. Turned to leave.
‘Hey, Trix. Don’t worry. I’ll be in your ear the whole time.’
The machina fully activated her helmet. ‘Sif, I wouldn’t have it any other way.’
Eighteen minutes until Nadira’s location. There, in the darkness of Orix’s rocky fields, all would be revealed.
It was always remarkable how quickly verbal exchanges became ones of lead, plasma, and tungsten.
And, in this instance, magic.
Riddle Me This
1
Orix was a storm cloud in space.
Its dark stones were broken only by scattered city lights, research stations, and small colonies. Snow-capped mountains spread likes tendrils from the south pole. Due to Orix’s tilt, the north was constantly angled towards the Saturnine Plane’s sun.
Corrachs had plentiful mining stations at mountain bases and near dormant volcanoes. Psygotas lived in several cities which floated above the water and possessed submerged levels as well. For the most part, Orix was unpopulated. Only two billion humanoid lifeforms lived on the entire planet.
It’d been here Cole had landed after Mair Ultima’s attack. He’d grown up around corrachs. He was useful to them because of his immense strength, and under their tutelage, became even stronger. It had been some time before he finally reconnected with Kyra and Kit. Before that, there were only Orix’s vast, rocky wastes.
The very same ones that Strife Squad now flew over.
Valentine and Serena reported. They were in position. Just waiting on Trix’s signal. The machina watched outside pass by with rising unease.
In all her reading about crossroad demons, there was much talk of challenges. There was never any talk of victory.
‘We’re approaching the location,’ Sif said over the PA system. ‘The scanners aren’t detecting anything. No ships, no people. Nothing but rocks.’
‘I don’t like it,’ Trix said.
‘Nadira could be using magic to mask her forces,’ said Altayr.
‘I know magic when I scan for it, usually because it interferes with the scan. Trust me when I say there’s nothing there. I’m bringing her down. Everyone ready to hop out.’
Sif brought the Fox low over the fields. The loading ramp opened just above the ground. The trio exited. Altayr was levitating the mirrors ahead of him. Sif gunned it skyward.
Just like that, they were alone in the middle of a pitch black plain.
Storm clouds covered the sky. Starlight was hazy behind them. Stars’ luminance poked through like lit cigarettes in dive bars where the smoke was so thick you couldn’t tell your hand from your arse.
If Drion’s rings were incandescent, then Orix’s rocks had to be the opposite. They were so black that they appeared to emit darkness. Being bathed under a night sky for nearly two decades at a time seemed to make them alive. Pulsing with captured shadows.
Trix walked towards the latitude and longitude Nadira specified. Altayr and Faedra were beside her. There wasn’t exactly nothing on the rocky plain. There appeared to be a collection of grey stones.
The machina made do with the starlight to see. The mages had to use charms to see their own hands.
‘A graveyard,’ Trix said. She’d seen enough of them to know. Most planets had done away with stones and planted trees as markers instead. Psygotas cast their dead out to sea. Zirean nobles were cryo-frozen, then shattered and scattered among the stars. Corrachs cremated their dead. The method for ash storage varied depending on how great a warrior the deceased had been.
Yvach Aodun had expressed on more than one occasion that he wanted his ashes to be mixed with gunpowder. If he happened to die in combat, then he wanted the bullet with his remains to kill the tarclaber who killed him.
‘Looks like Nadira found your parents after all. Their deaths not just rumours,’ Altayr said to Faedra.
The sorceress said nothing. She blended with the landscape in her onyx garb. Stepped silently. Her staff materialised in her right hand.
Trix’s hand dropped to her pistol. But the sorceress didn’t attack. She was just preparing. Graveyards and magic didn’t tend to create welcoming environments. Despite what Sif had said, both mages sensed a deep latent force. The air was pregnant with something eldritch. Reality strained at its seams.
‘These names can’t even be read,’ said Trix as she approached the outer lying stones. All the inscriptions had been lost to time. An aisle formed down the middle. Trix’s skin prickled. She looked ahead.
The aisle continued to a barren square, then kept heading east. A similar aisle ran north to south.
They were at a crossroads.
Trix kept walking. Her bootheel crushed a decayed piece of wood. She turned it over. More writing. It couldn’t be read. No one had been here in a long time. Most of Orix’s cities were in the northern hemisphere. It was warmer there, and marginally more hospitable.
A sepulchre was the graveyard’s only defining feature. Like everything else, the markings couldn’t be read. The statues on either side of it were still distinguishable though. A human man and a zirean woman stood like deactivated robot sentinels. Waiting to reanimate. A wrought iron gate hung partly off its hinges. Small steps led to an underground tomb.
Trix didn’t know what Faedra’s parents looked like. But she was willing to bet this was where
they had been laid to rest.
Faedra de Morland broke away from Altayr. Bolted past Trix. Down into the tomb. She summoned a mage-light. Trix followed her. The sorceress wept softly.
Two plinths held stone coffins. The rest of the room was bare. No skulls. No candles. Not even cobwebs. Only dust and loose rocks.
‘Faedra, there’s no time to tend to their remains.’
‘Stay back, nikker, or I promise that this spear will find your heart. I’m already here because Nadira wants to kill me. So you can quieten yourself and let me do this.’
Trix stood back as Faedra levitated both stone coffins. Sent them up the stairs, into the graveyard. The pregnant atmosphere outside was straining. Trix thought that Faedra’s magic would burst it instantly.
‘Sif, how’re we looking?’
‘No ships yet.’
Trix didn’t like this at all. Then she heard singing. It was as if the winds of winter had blown through her veins. Her skin became sheet ice. Her feet were frozen to the stones. She made herself ascend the stairs. Faedra and Altayr were standing outside the sepulchre. Mirrors and coffins were afloat in the air.
Still the tension rose. Each bar wound Trix’s stomach tighter.
Altayr’s mouth went dry. He couldn’t have cast a spell if he tried. Though he had known Gauthier would inevitably appear, he hadn’t been prepared. Altayr wasn’t sure he’d ever be prepared. Not for the way your own mucus felt like it was purposefully choking you. Or that your shadow would stab you in the back then slit your throat. Not the way hope became a foreign concept and fear was synonymous with everything.
Most of all, it was the way Gauthier’s songs played on your frayed nerve endings, his hand strumming back and forth while you screamed internally, ready to burst your eardrums from the sound.
‘A poor old man came walkin’ by. And I say so! And I know so! O, a poor old man came a hobblin’ by. O, poor old man.
‘Says I, “Old man, you’ll surely die.” And I say so! And I know so! And when you die I’ll skin your hide. O, poor old man.
‘And if he don’t I’ll shoot him again. And I say so! And I know so! And I’ll shoot him til the Devil knows when. O, poor old man.