by Aleks Canard
5
The temple took on another life when viewed as the halls of a wedding damned.
Shadows became ominous. And the magic grew thick enough to eat out of the air. It was similar to a feeling of static electricity, only pricklier. It turned out there was a door to the groom’s secret room. It’d been overgrown by a spiderweb and covered in dust, creating the illusion of a wall. Three more rooms like the groom’s existed. Their doorways had been demolished, then sealed on purpose.
Trix surmised that the rooms were a primitive form of quarantine for highly contagious patients. None of them contained a ring, though they each contained a skeleton. The djurels who had once received treatment inside were clearly deemed too ill to warrant moving. They’d been burned where they lay.
A regular burning corpse smelt bad enough. Trix had experienced her fair share. But a djurel burning was something else. All their fur released a paralysing acrid odour that was enough to make the eyes water.
Twilight came upon Djiemlur as the duo found themselves back in the courtyard. Snow had blanketed the stones like it was burying the temple. To purify it underneath an untouched white veil. Maybe purify was the wrong word. Condemn might have been better.
Altayr: ‘Looks like the second ring’s been stolen. But I feel that it is still here.’
Trix surveyed the courtyard with squinting eyes. It did nothing to help her see. She was just agitated.
‘The bride was taken from the groom. They wouldn’t bother dragging her elsewhere inside the temple. That would be pointless. They would’ve had to bring her here.’
Trix walked towards the courtyard’s only feature. The well. She peered into its depths. She couldn’t make out much in the fading light. It was deep. If the well contained drinking water it would make no sense to throw a diseased body inside. What if someone came past to drink? No, it would be foolish.
That was when something struck Trix as odd. There was no bucket and pulley system over the raised stone circle. Nothing to bring the water up. She cursed herself for being so stupid. She should have known when she saw the stream inside the temple.
This was not a well. It was a grave. A mass grave.
‘What did you feel when you were meditating here?’
‘Death was concentrated in this spot. After all, it was where the meridwraith appeared.’
‘It’s because her body lies below.’
Trix leaned over the hole. The smell of death was weak. It must’ve been a long way down. ‘If the cuff is anywhere, it’ll be there.’
She drew her utility cannon. Weighed it in her hands. Its tractor beam was good for a fair distance. Though Trix suspected that the grave would exceed even its limits. So much for six feet under.
‘We need to go inside.’
‘A sorcerer doesn’t tramp through graveyards.’
‘Fine, I’ll go.’ Trix activated her full-face helmet. She would need its night vision. It was unlikely that light had ever reached the grave’s depths. ‘I might need your help to return.’
‘I’ll be happy to oblige. Don’t hurt yourself.’
Trix had skydived more times than she could count. From the edge of the atmosphere, buildings, mountain peaks, from speeding ships. She’d never dived into a graveyard before.
The Valkyrie monkey-vaulted over the stone wall. Darkness greeted her like a shadowy hand around the neck. Each metre fallen increased the stench tenfold. Trix of Zilvia had fought in sewers and waded through swamps. Nothing compared to the smell that assaulted her now. The environment was toxic. Her medallion vibrated with magic. She was going to need an acid shower to purge this smell from her armour.
Trix saw the cavern floor four hundred metres later. Only it wasn’t a floor at all. It was a mountain of bones. She slowed her descent. Stepped onto it. The bones sunk beneath her feet. For a moment she thought she’d be consumed. Thankfully, she stopped sinking.
Trix felt tickling behind her eyes. Then pins. She wanted to scratch her eyeballs. Altayr’s voice spoke in her mind. To reply, all Trix had to do was think.
‘Don’t fuss, Trix. I’ve cast a spell so I can see through your eyes and speak to you telepathically.’
‘Why not use a helmet? They do the same damn job.’
‘Because then I would be limited to your night vision. And you know I despise it.’
‘Yeah, I just love wallowing in shit.’
‘Finding a needle in a haystack is about to be redefined, I see. Tens of thousands of bodies must be down here.’
‘Speaking like you’re beside me doesn’t mean you are.’
‘I’m sending down a friend to help you. I suspect Sif is unable to perform a scan with so much magic around.’
‘Trix, is that smug bastard speaking about me?’
‘Only nice things.’
‘Liar.’
A light orb appeared in front of Trix. Since it was light born of magic, her night vision didn’t make it flare.
‘I’ve enchanted the mage-light to detect gold. You should have an easier time now.’
‘Your generosity is overwhelming.’
Trix followed the mage-light over bone mounds. Her helmet’s HUD began malfunctioning. It cut out randomly. No alarms alerted Trix to toxic air. But her body was feeling it. She would’ve been dead already if she’d been human. When magic took the form of something, sulphur dioxide, or another natural gas, for instance, it had to behave in accordance with its chemical properties as put forth by science. The same went for mages who morphed into animals. There was many a young witch or wizard who turned themselves into a goldfish only to discover they couldn’t remember how to turn back due to their newfound short-term memory.
However, pure magical energy that embodied death or poison totally bypassed all technological filters. Such magic was what Trix was experiencing. But she couldn’t resurface yet. She had to find the cuff.
Walking across the bones was like treading over a sea frozen in time. Her boots would set small sections into motion while the rest remained still. She’d only been in the grave for ten minutes and already she’d forgotten how the stars shone. Still, she couldn’t help but think of the djurels’ nonchalance towards death, and mourning. Chucking corpses into a hole seemed about right.
The mage-light shot towards the ground, disappearing through bones.
‘The charm’s detected gold.’
‘Alright, it’s also disappeared.’
A pulsating glow emanated from the bones.
‘Better, Trix?’
The Valkyrie began digging. It was tough to make a hole hold its shape when all the bones rushed to fill it. Nothing in death wanted to be disturbed. It wanted to remain the same.
Gold glinted against the mage-light. It’d been scratched a bit, but otherwise it was fine. If those wraiths really did want to be married so badly, they’d take what they could get.
‘Okay, I’m coming back.’
‘Wait, the light’s detected more gold. Follow it.’
Trix was starting to feel woozy. She hadn’t been hammered on too many occasions since it was difficult for alcohol to affect machinas’ metabolisms, but this was a similar feeling. She saw her arms moving. Only felt the sensation of movement seconds later. She had to leave this place or the bone mounds would become a little bit bigger.
This time the cuff was lying on top. Trix went to scoop it up. Fell flat on her face.
‘Trix,’ Altayr shouted inside her head. In another situation, he might’ve said that it didn’t befit a sorcerer to panic.
The Valkyrie stood. Grabbed the cuff.
‘Altayr, I don’t… have the strength… to come back.’
Altayr Van Eldric said something. Trix didn’t hear. She collapsed again. Opening her eyes became a herculean task. Her HUD powered down. Her golden visor deactivated. Trix rested on the sea of frozen bones. Saw someone descend, arms spread wide, a glowing field around them.
Funny looking angel, Trix thought.
The world went black.
6
Darkness remained when Trix opened her eyes again.
It was the sky. Stars came to life one by one, like an elderly caretaker was flicking one switch at a time. The air was sweet. A fire crackled nearby. She could feel its warmth. Her helmet had retracted itself. She was wearing a burgundy poncho over her armour and travelling cloak. Its cloth wasn’t that thick, though she was comforted by it.
The Valkyrie sat up. Altayr was next to the fire. His staff by his side. His hat too. A dark, collared jacket was unbuttoned over a white shirt. Mail glittered beneath it, and under that, a 2nd Skin thermal one-piece. Sorcerers insisted on their armour being as light as possible, and their spacesuits unobtrusive. Better for channelling magic.
‘How long was I out?’
By firelight, the shadows on Altayr’s face showed his age. His skin was sullen, creased. Machinas only bore their age in scars and in their eyes.
‘You’re welcome, first of all. And you were out for two hours. I forced you into a magic induced trance. I wanted to make sure you were still you. Midnight will be upon us in a couple of hours.’
Trix looked around. She knew this meadow. Sure enough, the Fox was behind her. Its black paint drank light like it was dying of thirst.
‘Sif told me where you had parked the ship. It looks different since I saw it last.’
‘That was Kit’s doing. The thrusters were a zirean’s. Griffauron Fulum Raivad.’
‘And was Kit one of your accomplices during the events in Manhattan?’
‘Technically I was his accomplice. He asked me to help him with something.’
‘I see. Your zirean friend seems to have overdone the thrusters.’
‘I’m sure he would’ve put more on if he had the time. Trust me when I say he’s the greatest pilot you’ve ever seen.’ Trix took off Altayr’s poncho. Tossed it to him.
He charmed it into coming over his head. Pushed the front over his shoulder. His hair was gathered in a loose ponytail. ‘Won’t you be cold?’
‘I’m a Daughter of the Mountain Kings. This is nothing.’ Despite that statement, Trix brought her beige scarf around her face. ‘Why aren’t we sitting inside? I don’t know if you’re aware, but ships have central heating systems.’
Altayr clicked his fingers. The fire intensified.
Trix felt warm like she was in her own bed. She loosened her scarf. ‘How did you get here?’
‘I bartered passage here from Yephusian merchants who trade with djurel convoys.’
‘And how did you plan on returning?’
‘I expected I would find a way. I did not expect the way would find me.’
‘Awfully forward of you, Altayr, to believe I’ll let you on my ship.’
‘Well, I did save your life.’
‘In that case all you’re missing is buying me a drink,’ Trix said. She undid her ponytail, moving her hair to one side. The night air felt nice against the sides of her shaved head. She gave Altayr a teasing wink. He threw a bottle at her. Trix caught it in one hand without taking her gaze off the sorcerer.
‘Djurelian liqueur,’ Trix said. She uncorked the bottle. Djurelian liqueur was part cream, part whiskey, and often flavoured by a local region’s honey. She took a sip. It was like drinking a dessert. Trix generally preferred stiffer drinks, or beer, but djurelian liqueur was a nice change. She went to sit beside Altayr. She handed him the bottle.
Of course, being a sorcerer, he wasn’t content to drink from the bottle. Altayr reached behind him, scraping recently fallen snow off the ground. He breathed on it. His breath transformed it into an ice chalice, reminiscent of something you might see at a royal banquet.
‘I prefer mine cold.’
‘Couldn’t you just chill the bottle?’
‘And where would be the fun in that?’
Altayr filled his chalice then handed the bottle back to Trix.
‘I bought this from J’vari. Thought I had better tell her what we discovered so she didn’t leave, taking our reward with her.’
‘What’d you trade for it?’
‘Zirean plum wine. A fine vintage, but when on Djiemlur,’ he took a drink.
‘You walked all the way to J’vari, then here, carrying me?’
‘No on both of those counts. I teleported, and I levitated you.’
Teleportation was one of a great mage’s hallmarks. Science still couldn’t teleport objects. The problem wasn’t moving the atoms, it was making sure they were arranged the same way on the other side. The closest science had come was warpdrive technology, only made possible by Uldarian Transfers, and long-range comms units which actually teleported transmissions. This was what allowed cross-galaxy communication with zero delay.
Similarly, in magic, teleportation was not achieved by moving individual atoms, but by creating a wormhole. There wasn’t a mage alive who could teleport between planets. The most Arch-Mages could manage was across continents. Typically a teleport required the amount of energy it would to walk the same distance. Therein lay the problem of teleporting between planets.
‘I hate portals.’
‘Yet another reason the trance was a good idea.’
‘What did J’vari say about our discoveries?’
‘She’s confident we can stop the wraiths. What she’s less confident about is that we’ll choose the right cuff.’
‘J’vari understands how to draw out a wraith?’
‘She does now. I explained it to her. The cuffs you found in the grave, they’re nearly indistinguishable. I’d wager that the mage-light would’ve found countless more had you stayed down there. We can only hope one of the grave cuffs is this one’s pair,’ Altayr raised his right forearm. He was still wearing the groom’s cuff.
‘J’vari gave me another useful piece of information. The cuff I’m wearing isn’t the groom’s, but the bride’s. Djurelian ceremonies don’t have ring bearers, best men, or bride’s maids. The groom carries his bride’s ring, and she his.’
‘We can ask the groom which is which when we see him at midnight.’
‘Does this mean you are curious about the ramifications of matrimony after death?’
‘No, I’m wary about sorcerers who don’t get their way.’
‘You make us sound as though we’re uncompromising and quick to anger.’
Trix raised her eyebrows. Drank. ‘I’m going to craft two silver bombs. We should leave soon.’
‘We don’t need to leave until a minute before.’
‘I’m not taking a portal when we’re within walking distance. Besides, I feel clouded. A stroll in the fresh air would do me good.’
‘Magic trances will have that effect. Not to mention magic poisons.’
‘You may teleport if you wish. I’ll be walking.’
‘A walk under the stars with a Valkyrie is an opportunity I shan’t pass on,’ Altayr nodded, almost bowing to her. Drink and conversation had livened his spirits. His face had returned to its youthful — if not magically maintained — visage. He was as handsome as a prince.
His father had been German, his mother from the United Arab Emirates. Altayr had suffered from a cleft lip as a boy, and boiling water had deformed the right side of his face. His family were dirt poor, which wasn’t fair on dirt. At least European dirt was rich with nutrients. One day, a group of altaeif mages came to the town the Van Eldric’s called home. They sensed unbelievable magical potential in the boy. Insisted they would pay top dollar to own him. Turn him into a wizard.
Altayr’s parents accepted the altaeifs’ price. He never saw them again. Had his parents seen him, they wouldn’t have recognised him anyway.
Trix entered the Fox. Headed for the armoury. Away from the distraction of conversation, she realised that she didn’t reek of death. Altayr must have cleansed her with magic. Had Kit been present, he wouldn’t have noticed anything different about Trix’s trademark scent of wildflowers in a forest with a hint of musk and a dash of coconut vanilla.
The Valkyrie pul
led out her armoury’s weapons bench. Took out two bomb casings, silver powder, silver shards, and ignition tape. Rather than using a fuse, Trix used adhesive tape on the bombs’ exteriors which could be ignited by dragging them against her mag panels’ Kevlar straps, allowing for quick release throws.
She went about the process methodically, taking care to pack the bombs as tightly as possible. One for each wraith. She wouldn’t need extras. The Valkyrie didn’t plan on missing. Trix believed that, sometimes, preparing for failure just in case could invite failure in.
Once the bombs were done, she attached them to her bandolier, which mostly held extra pistol magazines. She exited the Fox. It locked itself.
Altayr was amusing himself by making the fire change colours. It flashed neon pink, then was snuffed out by an absence of oxygen.
‘Having fun?’
‘Quite.’
‘Maybe you could perform some parlour tricks for the noxwraith.’
‘My tricks aren’t of a parlour variety, and nor are they tricks. I’m not some street illusionist performing sleight of hand tripe for orits.’
‘I don’t know if me talking to this wraith is a good idea.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘I can’t go a sentence without angering a sorcerer, and you already have famously short tempers. In my experience, wraiths have even shorter ones, if at all.’
‘Nonsense. If I’m going to be conversing with a wraith, I’d like a huntress with me.’
‘Not worried that my presence will result in me killing the groom?’
‘On the contrary, I’m curious to see what will happen if you anger him.’
‘That contradicts your curiosity for seeing a wraith marriage.’
‘If you’re only curious about one possible outcome, then curious you are not.’
‘That’s irrelevant. What matters now is picking the right ring.’
‘A sentence I never thought to hear Beatrix Westwood utter.’
‘They say women have secrets. I’d much rather have surprises.’
‘Machinas were never children, just young soldiers.’
‘You were a child once.’
‘In a life I scarcely remember. Come, Trix. Shall we stroll in the moonlight?’ He offered Trix his arm.
