by Aleks Canard
‘I had fun,’ Trix said.
‘As did I. We have some walk to your ship.’
‘Trying to convince me to teleport, or do you have another idea?’
‘I camped under the stars last night. Djiemlur’s climate is perfect for it.’
‘I can’t imagine you camping. Mages don’t even like it when their boots are muddied.’
‘Either your imagination is lacking, or a mage has never taken you camping.’ Altayr swung his staff over a snow hill. It hollowed itself out, forming an igloo. Trees on either side of it bent down to strengthen the roof. ‘I assure you, it will be quite warm inside.’
‘Why do you say that like you’ll be waiting out here? Going to conjure a mansion for yourself?’
‘I’m going to place some protective wards. Igloos, while nice to sleep in, aren’t all that secure. Even when they’re built magically.’
Trix was surprised at how spacious the igloo was inside. A flat bed of snow rose out of the floor. She stripped to her 2nd Skin thermal one piece and lay down. It was spongy, cool, yet warm all at once. She could already feel herself dozing off. Altayr entered as her eyelids grew heavy. He vanished his clothes, down to his own one piece. Lay next to Trix. She rolled over. Kissed him on the corner of the mouth.
‘So this is how sorcerers camp.’
‘Only when there are no tents available.’
‘Don’t forget, we have a wedding to attend tomorrow.’
‘I couldn’t think of a better date to bring.’
‘J’vari’s party is over, Tyr,’ Trix said. It was a nickname she called Altayr on occasion. This time it just slipped out. ‘There’s no need to continue with your compliments.’
‘A sorcerer always gives a compliment when it is warranted.’
With that, Altayr turned to the side to sleep. Trix rolled over. Their backs touched. Not far away, the bones in Isaldaj’s temple rested.
They sensed something was coming.
9
Dawn broke on Djiemlur.
Trix and Altayr awoke well rested. They drank from the nearby stream and ate provisions from Altayr’s knapsack. They had five hours until midday. Altayr spent the time casting protective wards over himself and Trix.
The duo wouldn’t be invulnerable, but they would be able to survive a couple fatal hits. Wraiths could pass right through shields as if they didn’t exist. And not even Trix was good enough to avoid being clipped. Still, she had fought Dai of Thyria and survived. He was the fastest opponent she’d ever faced. At least Dai was on her side now.
The snow had doubled overnight. Coupled with the forest’s white leaves, it was almost like bleach had rained from the sky. If it wasn’t for the pink rivers, the world would’ve been eerily monochromatic.
Midday approached. The duo stood in Isaldaj’s Temple’s buried courtyard. Altayr cleared the snow by stamping his staff on the ground. Even a sorcerer could slip on icy stones. Clearing the courtyard also served to help Trix burn the cuffs. She had built a small bonfire in front of the grave-well. The two djurelian wedding rings were beside it. Altayr had committed the wedding ceremony words to memory.
Trix fired a few plasma rounds into the forest to heat her pistol barrel. She looked at Altayr. The sorcerer was holding his staff. Hat on. Scarf up. Poncho swept back. He threw his staff down. Surfed to the dividing stream. Sif activated Trix’s helmet. Copping a wraith claw to the face wouldn’t scar her, it’d cleave her open.
She pressed her pistol barrel into the kindling. Fire caught. It was raging in less than thirty seconds. Sif brought up the local time on her comms gauntlet. Five more seconds.
The cuffs were tossed in. Flames heated the gold. Copper trim oxidised rapidly, turning black. Blue and green flames licked the air. Snowflakes fell near the fire. Rising flames kept them at bay. So far, it was working. The cuffs’ copper trim started expanding, cracking open the gold. The binding magic was becoming undone.
Gold shattered. Copper turned to ash. Trix’s medallion jumped on her chain like it was trying to escape. She stepped back.
A vacuum formed around the fire. Embers were massacred. In its place, on charred logs and blasted metal, stood the meridwraith. She was not like Altayr had described her. Maggots crawled from her eye sockets. Spilled onto the ground in an endless stream. Burst. Became green smoke. Created a poison cloud. Altayr’s barriers would protect Trix for a time. But this had to be done.
And it had better be done quickly.
The plaga’s lolling tongue hung from a broken jaw. It was covered in pustules and poisonous barbs. Swirling feline eyes stared into Trix’s visor. Then the plaga screamed.
Altayr spoke in Trix’s head. ‘Your plan has worked. Jinor has awakened, though he does not move.’
‘Piss him off. You were good at that last night.’
Jekassa, or what was left of her, twisted by longing and torturous pain, turned immaterial. Trix altered gravity to strafe backwards. Had to get some distance. Couldn’t afford to use her silver bombs yet. The machina had to wait until both wraiths were bound. Trix saw the ring she had burnt less than a minute ago on the tip of Jekassa’s rotting tail. It was spectral, but it was unquestionably the same one.
Trix swung her sword in a couple of upward flowers as Jekassa screamed again. Black and green smoke swirled around her. Trix could parry her while she was like this for Jekassa’s claws had to become material to strike.
‘Well, come on,’ Trix said, holding her sword at an angle. She could feel herself falling into a combat trance. Slipping from the real world to a place where pain did not exist, except for others. Where talking was done not by mouths, but by blades’ edges, pistol barrels, and all manner of merciless metal tools. Trix’s already heightened senses attuned to god-like levels. It was fitting. For she was fighting demons.
In this state, the machina was exactly that, a machine. A weapon in pure form. Machinas from all academies slipped into this savage realm during combat, though none as completely as Valkyries. They were lost, slaves to the imminent bloodshed. And for the Huntress, a slave to the promise of a hard-won hunt.
Jekassa came at Trix with Godspeed. Claws disproportional to the rest of her body erupted from the swirling smoke surrounding her. Trix caught the blow on her sword. Sparks spewed from the blade. Trix side-stepped, forcing the wraith’s momentum away from her body. The plaga snapped back instantly. Trix was ready. Deflected the blow again. She could taste Jekassa’s infected air through Altayr’s barriers.
In the temple, Altayr wasted no time with words. Summoned Theia’s Radiance, a repellent for all dark creatures. Beams shone from his staff. Pierced like spears. Witchdoctors, druids, and White mages — the Light element of magic — could cast even higher versions of Theia’s Radiance with less effort. Altayr was part of the Red, a sorcerer who dabbled in both light and dark magic. Jinor became furious. Altayr turned his spell on and off like a strobe, beckoning the jeiun closer.
Fully enraged, Altayr saw Jinor as he truly was. Bugs akin to locusts swirled around his body. Salt poured off his shoulders. Dry flesh hung from bones. Altayr was taken aback. This wraith was stronger than he imagined.
Jinor came at Altayr who ran backwards through the temple, continuously spellcasting. That was when Jinor wailed. Stones shook. Then he vanished.
Altayr grunted. Swung his staff around him with speed rivalling a machina. He’d learned proper staff wielding from the Atheach Reimch warlocks on Raursioc. They’d adapted the fighting style from Raursioc’s early days of axes. It was effective in that it could keep many enemies at a distance, though killing them with naught but a blunt weapon often proved difficult. Especially if they were wearing battle-armour.
The sorcerer’s staff made contact with something. Behind him. Altayr turned with movements aided by magic, and spurned by years of training. Clocked the wraith upside the head. Activated Theia’s Radiance once more. Altayr’s staff could strike the wraith while he was immaterial because it was crafted from daergrum (roughly tran
slated to mirkwood in Earthen) native to Xardiassant.
Jinor reeled from the blast. Altayr skirted around him. To the stream. Leapt to the other side. Jinor was stuck. Kept at bay by the flowing water. Not for long.
Altayr cast his spell. A complex incantation would’ve been required had he been a novice. Altayr needed only one word.
‘Rhantir.’
The stream parted immediately. Its cold, pink water, slammed against the temple walls. Rushed to the ceiling. The riverbed was left bone dry.
Jinor rushed across the divide. Altayr let the water fall back to its original position. Now he just had to lead the jeiun to the courtyard where Trix continued battling the plaga under the beating noon sun. The beast had come close to tearing open her battle-armour. Altayr’s wards kept its claws at bay. But they wouldn’t hold much longer.
‘I’m coming,’ Altayr said in Trix’s mind. ‘And I’m bringing the famine with me.’
‘Good. I have the plague.’
Trix tried positioning the plaga in front of the grave-well. Jekassa was becoming cleverer. Disappearing for seconds at a time, causing Trix to guess where she might turn up next. The Valkyrie always had a general direction thanks to her medallion.
Altayr approached through the temple. Trix saw the jeiun behind him. The sorcerer’s staff moved in a blur. The daergrum wood hadn’t even been scratched by the wraith’s claws. Once Altayr had Jinor in the sunlight, he commenced the wedding ceremony.
Even though he was speaking in Djurelian, the spell he’d cast on Trix to speak with her telepathically translated it to Earthen.
‘On this day, under the changing sun, and shifting clouds, we gather, friends and family, all, for the union of Jinor and Jekassa.’
Altayr’s voice boomed. It was low, pronounced, and rang through the forest like a clock tower bell. He positioned himself so that he was back to back with Trix. The two of them fighting off their respective wraiths as best they could.
‘The groom has braved illness all so he may be here on this day. And his beloved accepts him for it. He climbs to the peak, whereupon Jekassa awaits. And together, they will leave this place to tread new valleys, ascend different summits. To change, and to grow, no longer as two, but as one.’
Trix saw a distinct change in Jekassa. Part of her, the white, angelic ghost, struggled to break free of the wraith’s malice. Altayr also saw Jinor fluctuate. The words were working.
‘Now, with the giving of the rings, their union has become witnessed by all those gathered here today, and by Isaldaj. No matter the changes in your life, may you weather them as one. Your triumphs and your failures are yours to share. Cast aside yourselves, for I, Altayr Van Eldric, the Red, hereby pronounce your union sanctified, and forever binding, in this world, and the next. Embrace.’
The duo rolled synchronously towards the temple’s entrance. Trix looked back on the situation. The wraiths’ angelic forms rushed towards each other, though they were still tethered to their wraith selves. All spectral bodies clashed, fusing into a new form.
Trix had liked the old ones better.
10
It came from the devouring darkness.
A wraith unlike any Trix had ever seen stepped into the courtyard as if it’d been birthed from an infernal dimension. It probably had. The angelic ghost forms, likely representing the modicum of Jinor and Jekassa’s love that survived among the hate, were nowhere to be seen.
In their place, the Huntress and the Sorcerer bore witness to a primordial beast, half plaga, half jeiun. Trees around the temple’s walls were crippled by disease before splitting every which way. Leaves withered. Turned to dust. Even the very stones on which the duo stood appeared to age, like Time’s flail was whipping them to oblivion.
The wraith itself had two heads, reminiscent of panthers. Its tail was a conjoined semi-circle. The union had worked alright. Although wraiths didn’t technically walk, this new form had four legs, each with sizable claws. Trix surmised their primary attacks would be biting. That would make parrying an impossible task.
Jinor and Jekassa became immaterial.
Trix drew one of her silver bombs. She lit its fuse on her Kevlar straps. Threw. The bombs were made to have short timers, and they’d easily explode on impact. Not stopping, Trix armed the second. Both bombs hit their mark. The wraith roared, trying desperately to regain its immaterial form. It couldn’t.
No more smoke cloaked its body, which became more tangible by the second. Shards of silver stuck from its flesh. Now was the time to strike.
Trix ran forward. The monster, though it had taken a different form, was still a wraith. It could still teleport. And its poisonous effects remained prevalent. While it may have looked like a two headed panther, it had about as much in common with a great cat as a plank of wood.
The wraith circled, hovering on a cloud of cursed air.
‘You cannot run,’ Altayr said. He cast a ray of Theia’s Radiance. This stunned the beast. Trix delivered a devastating slash across the plaga’s face. A burst of sickness came from the cut. That was when Jinor’s claw swiped at Trix. She rolled to evade. The claw’s reach was longer than the machina expected. One of her protective wards shattered. The force stunned Trix.
Altayr needed to give her some time. The sorcerer whipped his staff around in a frenzy. Light discs shot from its gemstone tip with each movement. They crashed into the wraith. Forced it to halt its attack. Its black, disease ridden skin burned. Repugnant stench filled the air.
Trix charged again. The wraith teleported. She anticipated its movement. Turned just in time to see the plaga’s tongue lash for her neck. Trix pirouetted, bringing her sword down as she moved. The tongue was severed. Its corporal state falling to the stones in a sickening squelch. Trix altered her direction to split the plaga’s skull. The beast strafed on its nightmarish cloud. Trix redirected, catching the jeiun in the neck. It roared. Air dry enough to parch oceans came forth.
Trix went to thrust in its open mouth as she half-turned. The wraith teleported.
‘Shit.’
Altayr sensed a disturbance to his left. The sorcerer dodged. Brought his staff around to form a barrier just as the wraith reappeared. It charged for Altayr. The wraith’s left shoulder caught him in the chest. His wards held, and his mithril mail lessened the impact, but he was sent sprawling into the air. He levelled himself out. Alright, this monster wanted to play?
Altayr hovered above the courtyard. Raised his staff. The sun’s brightness increased. Washed out Djiemlur’s surface. Altayr pointed his staff at the wraith. Beams of light came from above his head, this time actually piercing the beast’s body, rooting it to the spot. ‘Put this infernal thing down, Trix.’
The Huntress was already on it. Leapt for the beast’s back with a gravity assisted jump. Her blade pointed downwards, ready to punch straight through. The wraith broke free of Altayr’s spell as she was about to make contact. It flew forwards. Trix adjusted gravity accordingly.
She’d forgotten about the wraith’s tail. It coat-hangered her lower back. Her spell ended. She flipped onto the ground. A dull pain emanated from her tailbone. Trix landed on her feet. Sprung forward. Altayr descended back to the courtyard. Needed a new tactic.
Contrary to popular belief, a fireball was not the first offensive spell mages learned when they became apprentices. Fire was too unpredictable, and when left to its own devices, could continue consuming all that burned. Novices were started in offensive magic by casting concussive air blasts. Like an oni machina’s kinetic shockwaves, only weaker.
Altayr charged a fireball. Shot it at the wraith’s heads. He and Trix didn’t have much time left. He could feel his wards failing. There would be no way to redo them in the midst of battle. Not as complex as they were now, anyway.
Fire struck the wraith’s heads, reacting with the silver from Trix’s bombs. Tiny explosions staggered it. Trix ran behind it. Dropped to the floor. Sliced straight through its right hindleg. It hit the ground. Turned to powder.
Loss of limb wouldn’t affect the wraith’s movement, but it edged it towards death.
The jeiun head reared as Trix regained her footing. His famine breath stopped Trix dead since her wards had been weakened by constant exposure. A claw came around. Altayr saw what was about to happen. He ceased his offensive. Cast a barrier around Trix.
The Huntress was halfway through an evasive manoeuvre when the claw caught her helmet. Instead of fighting the blow — which could’ve resulted in a broken neck — Trix went with it. Her HUD died. Visor cracked. Shattered. Sent golden fragments into the air. Trix retracted what was left of her helmet. A jagged visor shard cut her right cheek. Just below her eye. She would’ve been cooked had it not been for Altayr’s barrier.
Trix’s shoulder hit the ground first. She rolled. A bit shaky, but she righted herself. Her eyes burned with anger, though she didn’t feel rage. Only a sense of purpose. She was a huntress, and the monster in front of her was not dead. It was high time she fixed that.
Wraiths didn’t have specific weak points like vampires or werewolves. Cutting off their heads or piercing their hearts worked, provided you had severed their connection to the land they occupied. Unfortunately, since wraiths were essentially concentrated malice, sculpted by magic, they could draw on a place’s energy just like a mage. This meant they were capable of rapid healing. Any damage Trix had done up until this point had almost certainly been nullified. If it hadn’t been for her silver bombs, this battle would’ve already been lost. Though it would be if it drew on much longer.
Altayr cast more light magic, as it seemed to have some effect. He was just aiming to keep it at bay. Trix’s sword had a better chance of ending the wraith than his spells.
The Huntress considered her options. Close combat was a deadly endeavour with next to no magical protection. Her Uldarian DNA would repel the poison for a time, but even that had been overwhelmed when she’d entered the grave-well.
Trix would just have to take her chances. She felt her sword’s weight in more ways than one. Each flourish turned time back further until she remembered the day she’d been given it. It had started as one of the best days of her life. One when all the painful memories from Mair Ultima were not even whispers, just murmurs on the wind, silenced by space.
