by Aleks Canard
‘But wherever shall we go?’ Trix said, slipping her arm through Altayr’s. Wizards and witches were taught comportment even before the most basic spells. While they still had the potential to be haughty, a mage could impress at any event, no matter how lavish.
‘I was thinking we could pay a visit to a dear friend of mine. He’s to be married soon, and he’s come down with cold feet.’
‘I hear no feet are colder than those that have dipped in the world beyond this one.’
‘As have I. Colder than space’s void.’
‘Or Raursioc in the winter.’
The Valkyrie smiled. So did the sorcerer.
Both had taken many people to bed, though they could count the ones they cared about on one hand.
Trix mused over her current situation. They enjoyed sex, even the spooning afterwards. But other shows of affection were severely limited. Did she love Kit? Did she love Altayr? Trix didn’t know the answer to either question. She didn’t even know if the answers were important. She didn’t think so.
Trix was attracted to both men, though for different reasons. Kit could philosophise with the best of them. All machinas could. They’d been versed in theory as equally as combat on Mair Ultima. He was ruggedly handsome, huge on all counts, and his tongue could do this—
Really, Kit had no shortcomings. Trix didn’t mind that he was way into smashball, or that he was boisterous. Liking someone meant liking all of them.
But Altayr, well. He was only a little taller than Trix, coming in at six foot three. He was undoubtedly intelligent, and talented. Being handsome never hurt anyone either.
Trix stopped comparing the two. They did not pine for her, nor she them. There was no jealously, no doodling of love letters, nary any declarations. Such thoughts were only natural when walking arm in arm with someone with whom you’d been involved.
Under moon and under stars, the duo walked towards the temple.
7
The temple was a different place when devoid of sunlight.
Trees around its stone walls no longer reached for the sky but cowered in fear. Snow flurries whispered sinister nothings. Come closer, they seemed to say. For midnight draws near, and he hungers for flesh.
Walking through the courtyard, the sound of crunching snow sounded like cracking bones. Trix took her travelling cloak off. She wanted total freedom of movement if the wraith turned violent. She stayed her sword. Having a weapon drawn would likely negate any chance of conversation.
Altayr summoned his mage-light, and the duo descended into the temple for the second time. Inside was much the same, for it had been dark during the day too.
Haunting silence echoed with every footfall, like someone was watching them. In all likelihood, someone was. It was only fourteen minutes to midnight. The noxwraith would be growing restless.
Despite Trix’s earlier keenness to kill the noxwraith, she would have preferred to come later. Time specific wraiths were always stronger in the time immediately after their appearance. Their strength began dipping after half an hour. The closer to the end of the hour you waited, the weaker the wraith became. Of course, if you waited too long, the wraith would disappear, regaining full strength. Then you’d have to do it all again the next day.
The duo crossed the river, Trix slightly ahead. Familiar energy curled around her limbs. It was the build-up before the release. In some ways, the energy was an extension of the wraith, not just its cause. Trix exuded calm. She didn’t want the wraith to sense hostile intentions. If it did, conversation would cease before it began.
She and Altayr arrived at the temple’s end with one minute to spare. They stood in the doorway closest to the river. Trix believed she could handle whatever the wraith threw at her. But she didn’t want to be boxed in.
Just before the minute was over, Altayr spoke.
‘It begins.’
‘I see it.’
Dust swirled around the room’s centre. Spiralled to the ceiling then poured like a waterfall. Altayr began muttering. AI translation software would do naught against language powered by magic. He was fairly competent in Djurelian. Mages spoke many languages to varying extents. They had to. You never knew when lifting a curse might require speaking another tongue.
The dust waterfall revealed a djurelin. White fur, white robes. He was angelic. Peaceful. Trix wasn’t fooled. The purer a wraith looked, the more dangerous it was. Altayr spoke first. Trix heard Earthen thanks to his spell.
‘Greetings, spirit.’
The wraith appeared to take no notice of Altayr. He stared down the temple. He’d probably died imagining his wedding day. Doomed to stand in the archway marking the exit from his old life forever. Trix didn’t feel sorry for him. Turning into a wraith usually meant the deceased had died full of hatred.
‘You wear her ring,’ the wraith said, still not looking at either Trix or Altayr, but looking through them.
‘I found it clenched in your bones. We wish to see that it is returned to its proper owner.’
‘You will carry it? I cannot leave.’
‘I will. In fact, we will help you marry your beloved.’
‘Jekassa?’ The wraith’s face became confused, like he could not remember if that was her name, or if he loved her.
‘Yes. But we need your help.’ Altayr took his hand off his staff. It stood upright all by itself. He produced the two cuffs Trix found in the grave seemingly from thin air. ‘Which one was to be yours?’
The sorcerer stepped towards the wraith. His staff followed him. Trix edged around the wraith’s flank. This was going too well. The wraith still hadn’t moved.
‘Why do you have my ring? What happened to my Jekassa?’
‘Which one is yours?’
‘Why do you have it?’
Trix: ‘I found it in a grave. Jekassa is dead. Just like you.’
Now the wraith turned. His eyes locked on Trix. If Altayr was angry he did not show it.
‘You killed her?’
‘No, we think a plague did. Tell us what happened here. What’s your name?’
Another confused look. Now Trix remembered why she didn’t converse with wraiths. They were painfully slow to communicate.
‘Jinor,’ he said. ‘It was long ago.’
‘What happened here? We found your body. You were holding onto a piece of white cloth.’
That caused recognition to wash over the wraith’s face. ‘That was Jekassa’s dress. She died in it. I remember. Sickness. Terrible sickness. They had to burn her body. I tried to stop them, but I was too weak. While she suffered, I suffered. Anything to make her well again.’
‘Your suffering can end, Jinor, if you tell us which ring was to bind you and Jekassa,’ said Altayr.
‘You’re greedy. You want Jekassa for yourself.’
Jinor’s angelic qualities started phasing in and out, revealing an ashen, gaunt frame.
‘I want to know,’ Trix said. She stepped in front of Altayr. The wraith stopped phasing.
‘Do you seek retribution?’
‘No, I seek to see you move on from this world.’
‘You darkle, white one.’
‘So I have heard.’
‘And if I tell you which ring was to be mine, you will see that Jekassa and I are married?’
‘You have my word.’
‘No, not your word. White one, your word is death.’
‘And like death, my word is absolute.’
‘Am I not still here?’
‘You linger, called back by magic. But you are dead.’
‘Earlier,’ Jinor gestured to Altayr, ‘this one made the dead boy speak. How did he die?’
‘You killed him,’ Trix said.
‘I would not kill a child.’
‘You are not yourself, Jinor. Haven’t been for a long time.’
‘I’m stuck.’
‘We know.’
‘Between two worlds. I must make the journey. And you are standing in my way.’
‘S
hit,’ Trix said. She drew her sword. Jinor wailed. His white shroud dissipated. He hovered off the ground, a skeletal frame with rags of skin hanging from his bones. ‘To the river, now.’
Altayr had an idea. Jinor hadn’t told them which ring was his. But he would show them, damn it. The sorcerer threw the two rings towards separate sides of the room. One would call the wraith.
Sure enough, Jinor lunged to his left, where his skeleton lay. That was all Altayr wanted. He recalled the ring with a spell. Let the other fall to the ground.
Trix had her sword raised at an angle. She could parry a wraith’s attacks while they were immaterial thanks to the blade’s enchantments. Claws hit metal. The sound rang through the temple. Trix was going to use a silver bomb, but she stayed her hand. The journey of which Jinor spoke was not one of life and death, but marriage. Trix suspected that before he could be killed, he would need to marry Jekassa after all.
Trix fell backwards using gravity magic until she reached the river. Altayr surfed on his staff, poncho flying behind him. The duo crossed the river. Jinor reached the water’s edge. Screamed. The water curdled in response. He smashed against an invisible barrier. Trix and Altayr watched him for some time before Jinor slunk back to the temple’s final room, pondering a journey he could not take.
‘That was interesting,’ Altayr said. He spoke like he’d just left an art gallery and had been mildly amused by the pieces inside.
‘Standard wraith fare.’
‘Oh, I wasn’t talking about the wraith. Any sorcerer who has lifted more than a few curses has had dealings with wraiths. I was talking about you. You didn’t kill him.’
‘I think he needs to be married before I can. When only one wraith is involved, burning the trinket keeping them bound to a place is enough to call it out. Then you can kill it. But in this case, the wraiths truly are bound to each other, just not how they’d like.’
The duo walked back to the courtyard.
‘Do you know how you’ll marry them? I confess that in the finer nature of all things monstrous you are more knowledgeable than me.’
‘And no sorcerer ever gave a greater compliment. But yes, I have an inkling. There’s only one problem. If it doesn’t work, the wraiths may be forever bound to this temple. If it does work, and I can’t kill whatever’s unleashed, they’ll be able to roam Djiemlur as they please.’
‘Better to discuss your plan away from the temple. Magic listens, and the hour of awakening is still upon us,’ Altayr said as the duo gave the grave-well a wide berth. They walked to the hill overlooking the courtyard once they stepped outside the stone entryway.
Altayr transformed a mound of snow into a bench by gesturing with his staff. Such a spell was child’s play for the sorcerer. He sat, plunging his staff into the ground next to the armrest. A mage-light shone from the gemstones. Trix sat beside Altayr.
‘What’s your plan?’ the sorcerer said.
‘Tomorrow at noon, we take the cuffs and burn them in front of the grave-well. It must be done with a normal fire. No magic.’
‘They’re gold. How do you plan on burning gold without magic, or a smelter?’
‘These rings are tainted by dark magic, like all artefacts that bind wraiths. Normal fire will destroy them fine. The burning of both at the same time should draw out Jinor.’
‘You’re forgetting that Jinor cannot cross the stream.’
‘I’m forgetting nothing. You’re interrupting.’
Altayr nodded for Trix to continue.
‘Once I’ve burned the cuffs, you will have to part the stream, allowing Jinor safe passage. He didn’t try reaching the courtyard until we provoked him tonight. You might have to do that again. Or maybe he can sense the stream and knows not to bother. In any case, you have to see that he moves.’
‘I will.’
‘When Jekassa appears, things become more difficult. Burning her cuff at the hour of her awakening is likely to enrage her from the start. I’ll need to hold her off until Jinor reaches the courtyard. Once he does, you will need to marry them.’
There were many ways people could be married in the Milky Way. Priests and celebrants were still the conventional way for most people, with allowances made for different races. However, ship captains and mages could also perform legally binding wedding ceremonies. Seeing as this was an eldritch matrimony, it made more sense for a sorcerer to say the binding words.
‘I can find the right words for you,’ Sif said.
‘Thank you, Sif. What do you expect will happen once I’ve performed the ceremony?’ Altayr said to Trix.
‘Don’t act like you don’t have any theories.’
‘Mine wouldn’t be as credible as yours. This method of dealing with curses is considerably more, well, not crude per se…’
‘It’d be better if you didn’t say. I think the wraiths will literally be united if you can make it through the ceremony.’
‘Magic does have a way of taking the figurative and making it literal.’
‘I’ll hit them with my silver bombs once they’re together. Then it’s all over.’
‘Judging by the way you’re missing part of your ear, and the new scars on your jaw and head, I’d say that you’re pre-empting victory a touch. You know I can remove them for you.’
‘I’d rather keep them.’
‘You wear them well.’
‘Then why offer to erase them?’
‘Being friends with a sorcerer has to have some benefits.’
‘And what benefits does a machina offer?’
‘I can’t speak for all, but you certainly seem to deter banality.’
‘Your compliments are more complex than your spells.’
‘The nature of a good spell is that it should be simple.’
‘The same should be said for all things.’
‘You failed to mention what will happen once the wraith is defeated.’
‘I expect the temple will be freed from their control. The plants will return to normal. Wondrous outcomes only happen in fairy tales.’
‘You’re referring to the fable whereupon a wraith is saved not by death but by the aid of a kind stranger, and said stranger is granted a wish for his trouble.’
‘Wraiths do not grant wishes, only curses. Wishes are exclusive to djinns.’
Referred to by common folk as genies, djinns were concentrated elemental forces of water, air, fire, or earth. Air djinns were the weakest, and most common. Any blustery spot on a planet irregular to the other weather patterns was typically caused by a djinn. They weren’t malefic. Not unless you attempted to catch them. Mages were usually the only ones foolish enough to try. Harnessing a djinn meant that you could draw directly from one of magic’s main elements, allowing nearly unlimited spell power.
Others sought djinns because they would grant their captor three wishes. Upon the third wish, they were freed. Despite being elemental beings, djinns were restricted by the bounds of what was possible. That meant no reviving people from the dead, blowing up entire planets, and so forth.
Anyone who had ever dealt with a pirate would tell you that wording was paramount when striking an accord. Pirates found loopholes better than any lawyer. So did djinns. When making a wish, you had to word it carefully, lest you were granted something you didn’t expect. For example, wishing for infinite money — as a fool would be wont to do — would plunge the galaxy’s economy into crisis. Infinite currency wouldn’t be worth very much. In fact, it would be worthless.
The same went for losing weight. You’d have to specifically detail what weight you wanted to lose, or you could find yourself missing muscles, bones, or even vital organs.
‘Then let us hope we’re not cursed,’ Altayr said.
‘I have a sorcerer with me. Hope has nothing to do with it.’
‘All things rely on luck, Trix. To think otherwise is fatuous.’
‘You know what I mean. Luck will be in our favour.’
‘Luck is ever changing, but yes, I understan
d. Come, we should be leaving if you want to sleep in your own ship tonight. Of course, there is something else we could do.’
‘And what would that be?’
‘It may involve unusual levels of nocturnal exertion.’
‘I’m intrigued.’
Altayr smiled. ‘Wonderful.’
8
Music made all merry at J’vari’s convoy.
Men and women danced. Children failed to emulate them, often ending up chasing each other’s tails and rough-housing. Djurelian liqueur flowed. None minded the sorcerer or the machina partaking in the festivities.
They sat to the side, marvelling at how the djurels coped with loss through celebration rather than lamentation. The fact that they were up at this hour wasn’t surprising. Djurels typically slept from twilight to just before midnight. Like most felines, they preferred night time.
They partied because those who’d been lost could no longer dance, nor drink, nor hold their loved ones to their breast. It was recognition that life could end at any moment, so they danced. Under the shining moon, twinkling stars, and snowing clouds, they danced.
‘I think we’ve been sitting long enough,’ Altayr said.
‘I don’t dance,’ said Trix.
‘Swordsmanship is arguably one of the most beautiful dances there is, and of that, dear Trix, you are a master.’
‘You’re being entirely too complimentary, Altayr.’
‘As is the custom at djurelian death parties.’ Altayr stood. His staff rested against J’vari’s caravan. He extended his hand to Trix.
The Valkyrie rolled her eyes and held it.
Despite his lean muscle, Altayr hauled Trix to her feet, spinning, as if on air. Actually, they were in the air. The sorcerer enchanted an invisible floor beneath them, waltzing skywards before floating back to the ground. Children cheered wildly.
Even though Trix was decked out in battle-armour, she was every bit as graceful as Altayr predicted she would be. They danced together for an hour when the party began dying down. Some adults had started playing games of Faet across foldout tables. Other lounged in hammocks, looking at the stars, drinking mildly hallucinogenic teas.
Thus began the time of reflection. Not mourning, just gentle appreciation for life’s quiet resplendence. Trix and Altayr excused themselves. Started walking in the Fox’s direction.
