Things were chaotic.

  From the castle study Astrid had been able to see the plumes of smoke rising across the city – many of them in the richer area, where manors and mansions crackled with flame. The sound of shouts and clashing steel echoed through the city, and although she had asked to be kept informed, the priest-guards seemed to have all but sealed off the castle. A light drizzle had begun to fall in the early afternoon, but it had done little to hamper the roaring flames.

  She’d seen a few hastily thrown together caravans leaving the capital, presumably of nobles returning to their strongholds to regroup and raise a force. She’d also seen one of them attacked by what were clearly farmers, and the flames from the shattered wagons and carriages were still smouldering on the horizon, visible in the gloomy light of the overcast day.

  Astrid felt exceptionally guilty. Not really about having stripped the nobles of their titles – she was a Democratic Pescian Stellar Commonwealth girl after all, and her people prided themselves on throwing off the chains of at least two monarchies – but because of the consequences. It was all right for her, she was almost certainly going to be dead in a few hours. But the rest of the people, all those who’d be affected in what seemed to have already rapidly escalated into a civil war, they were going to suffer as the result of her hot-headed decision.

  One person, acting in anger affects the lives of tens of thousands - a good argument against monarchy if she’d ever heard one.

  She had been slightly surprised by how readily the priests had fallen in to protect her. Although she had detected a bit of worry and irritation from Clervis, the High Priest, when he’d come to check on her, there didn’t seem to be any question as to their loyalty. Although she doubted that would hold if she ran off. Perhaps it was because they knew how bad this demon, this Baelgoroth, would be if she didn’t stop him. In their mind, a civil war wasn’t as bad as what would be unleashed if she didn’t succeed…

  Astrid didn’t want to die. But she had already done enough damage, so as the appointed hour, a little after four, approached, she straightened her spine, allowed herself to be dressed in some kind of ceremonial armour that had just been finished, and boarded a carriage destined for the ‘Field of Kings,’ as the festival ground was known.

  She couldn’t put the genie back in the bottle regarding the civil war, but perhaps she could spare these people the horrors of this demon being unleashed.

  “Are you well, my queen?” asked High Priest Clervis, who was riding with her. He was a bit stuffy, but his heart seemed to be in the right place.

  “I… I don’t think I can win this,” she said with a gulp. “But- but I will try.”

  “The sword chose well,” he said, placing his hand on her gauntlet. “It always does. Your bravery and selflessness do you credit.”

  Astrid looked out the carriage window as they rattled through the gatehouse, what seemed to be the entire priestly order arrayed around her in a massive guard as they began to make their way through the streets. No one tried to stop them as they made their way through the rich section of the city, although she did hear fighting in the distance, but when they arrived at the edge of the city proper, they were met by an immense crowd of ordinary people armed with swords and spears and bows and arrows and hammers and staves and more makeshift weapons – many of which were bloody.

  She felt the priest-guards around her carriage’s anxiety grow for a moment, before the crowd parted and they began to cheer and shout support.

  “Good Queen Astrid!”

  “We believe in you, your highness!”

  “The People’s Queen!”

  “The People’s Queen!”

  Astrid drew back from the windows, her cheeks burning with shame. She didn’t deserve this praise. She was just a random woman, picked by a stupid sword to fight a demon. What right had she to upend their lives so? To, after getting angry, spark a massacre and a civil war?

  The carriage rattled onward, passing through the still revolting town. The priest-guard formed a cordon at the gates of the festival grounds, and Astrid was surprised to see that all of the pavilions and stalls and whatnot had been packed away. Gone were the fluttering pennants and brightly coloured banners, instead the grassy area was muddy and morose, bereft of any sign of the festival that had been there just the day beforehand.

  It seemed that white the ‘Day of the Choosing’ was one of joy, everyone knew what was coming. That the ‘Good Queen Astrid’ was going to her death. Of Mishka, there was no sign, and it was with a trembling hand that she accepted a priest-guard’s assistance down from the carriage.

  She stood that the edge of the large, grassy bowl and looked down on the sharp and irregular rock that had just the day beforehand held the sword. She should never had let Mishka talk her into watching the damn thing, she should have insisted they continue on the Pescia, or at least another world. But no, the stupid bear-eared alien had wanted her sweets, and then her fun, and now Astrid was going to die.

  The rain began to pelt down as Astrid drew the Sword of Kings, filling the depression with the sound of rattling metal as it slid from the sheath. The priest guard spread out around the depression, their faces stony beneath their hoods.

  “Good luck, my Queen,” said Clervis, his voice almost sad.

  “So, where is…?” began Astrid, before trailing off as ahead of her the rock began to shift. Slowly at first, in what could be mistaken for a trick of the light. But then the dark stone began to lighten and turn red, and with a grinding, cracking sound the rock shifted. What she had taken for a ridge of odd protrusions turned out to be a spine, the groove where the sword had been, the crook of an arm.

  Baelgoroth revealed himself, inch by inch, letting loose a yawn as he slowly rose and stretched. Standing twelve feet tall, with crimson-skin, a barrel-like chest and arms like tree trunks. His lower half was covered by a long flowing black sarong, beneath which she could see cloven hooves, and a long arrow-headed tail flicked behind him. He had a large head with shaggy black hair, from which two twisted horns swept upward. His eyes burned like coals, and his blackened teeth grinned widely has he laid eyes on her.

  “A woman?” chuckled the demon. “How progressive! Well then, little morsel, what is your name?”

  “I am Astrid Baxter-Griffiths!” she said, raising her trembling sword towards him. The blade lit up, beginning to glow orange. “And I will… I will…”

  A burning feeling spread from her palm, up her arm, and into her chest as wisps of golden light streamed off the blade towards the demon. She blinked and staggered as what felt like a hand gripped her heart. This was- this was- there was something wrong.

  “Oh, an Off-worlder?” said the demon wafting the wisps of light towards his nose. “How odd… how did you come to be here, little human?”

  “What?” gasped Astrid. “What are you- how are you-”

  “Oh, no need to speak,” said the demon. “I can taste the answers. Your soul, it is… particularly delicious. Such intellect and drive, knowledge and fire of youth… yes, yes – well done High Priest. Positively delicious.”

  Astrid turned back to the High Priest, who had a sad, resigned looked on their face. “You- you knew-” she gasped.

  “It is a pity,” said the High Priest. “It was quite useful how you gave us such a good excuse to move against the nobles. They were getting too big for their boots.”

  Astrid’s vision began to swim, and she staggered, almost falling into a priest who she hadn’t seen standing beside her. Where had they come from? Had they been there the whole time?

  “Sorry about this,” said the priest. There was a snapping sound. “Might hurt. No avoiding it.”

  Click.

  Something warm and metal shut around Astrid’s wrist, and there was a horrible ripping sensation as the metaphysical hand that had been gripping her heart was wrenched away. The light from the sword shuddered and died, and she dropped the weapon as she fell to her knees, gasping for air.

  “What!?” roared Baelgoroth. “Who dares!?”

  The priest tossed their outer cloak off, revealing the familiar hooded form of Mishka. She looked a bit scruffier than she had before, and her hair was particularly frizzy and clumpy – as if she’d been swimming and it hadn’t dried it properly. The most unusual thing, however, was how subdued the Ursulan woman looked.

  “Mishka?” said Astrid weakly, looking down to see the bear-eared woman’s bracelet on her wrist.

  “I told you I’d save you,” said Mishka her voice flat and strained. The bear-eared woman tried but didn’t quite manage a smile. She reached up and took down her magician-like cloak’s hood. “So here I am, sorry about the delay.”

  “Who are you?” said Baelgoroth, before his glowing eyes widened and he took a half step back, seemingly recognising her. Or, perhaps, her species. “No… no! You- you can’t be here!”

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  “Hello Baelgoroth, my name is Mishka, I use she/her,” said Mishka in a soft, gentle voice. “And I am so sorry. I was hoping we might talk.”

  Sorry? Why was Mishka apologising to this creature? This was a soul-sucking demon! A demon who had been in the process of devouring Astrid. You couldn’t bargain with a creature like that.

  “You- you dare greet me like a friend,” spat Baelgoroth. “After what your people did?”

  Her people? The Ursulans? Right, well, that maybe made a bit more sense. Astrid had heard the legends about the terrible, blood-thirsty Ursluan warriors. But Mishka had been so far removed from the stories that, if Astrid were honest with herself, she still didn’t really believe the small bear woman was an Ursulan.

  “I know,” said Mishka, hanging her head. “Nothing I say or do can ever make up for that. But I am sorry.”

  Astrid had never seen the bear-eared woman like this. Even after they survived the asteroid, and stumbled from world to world, Mishka had been a bit subdued for a time, but not… sorrowful. Was it all just a trick? Yes, that was probably it. Mishka was tricky, and deceitful. This was all some kind of weird ploy.

  The thought actually made Astrid relax ever so slightly. If this was a ploy, then Mishka probably knew what she was doing. Hopefully. Maybe…

  “Save your false pity, Ursulan,” hissed the demon, stepping forward and extending a clawed hand towards her. “For it shall not save you.”

  “Baelgoroth, please, listen to me, I can help you,” said Mishka, looking back up, her voice pleading. “You don’t need to do this; you don’t need to kill; I know other ways to sate your hunger-”

  “Who are you to lecture me on killing?” spat Baelgoroth. “I could wipe this world clean of these cattle, and it would be but a drop in the ocean of blood of your hands, Ursulan.”

  “I know,” said Mishka. “But please, don’t do this. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Hurt me?” said Baelgoroth, letting loose an angry bark of laughter. “You have given up your little shielding trinket, and your people were never a match for mine without your tricks. You are vulnerable.”

  “I’m not, I have a protection,” said Mishka, putting a hand on her heart. “If you try to feed on me, you will die.”

  “Lies,” said Baelgoroth, flexing his hand, which began to glow a deep, malevolent purple. “Your people favoured deception. I will not fall for such a simple ruse.”

  “Please!” said Mishka desperately, her voice cracking as she clasped her hands in front of herself. “Please, don’t do this! I can take you somewhere, somewhere my people won’t find you. I can- I can look for more who might have survived. You can rebuild. We can’t change the past, but we can change the future!”

  “I am the last!” he spat. “There are no more!” He jabbed at the skin above his heart. “The rest of my crew perished when your people destabilised our Displace. We were the last, I survived by luck! Does that make you happy, Ursulan, to know that you won?”

  “No. It makes me ashamed,” said Mishka. “Please Baelgoroth, please let me help you. I’m not lying, please, you will die if you try to feed on me. I promise. Please, please, just listen to me!”

  Astrid frowned. Mishka didn’t sound like she was making a ploy. It sounded like she was earnestly begging the demon, trying to actually appeal to the emotions and reason of a soul-sucking monster who had murdered who knew how many people.

  Baelgoroth hesitated, perhaps also struck by the bizarre behaviour of the small bear-eared woman, and for a moment Astrid thought that he might take Mishka up on her offer. Then he snarled, and thrust a hand towards Mishka. A beam of purple energy struck Mishka in the chest above her heart, and she staggered as it turned gold, connecting her chest to his.

  “If I cannot have your little friend cooked, I will have you raw,” spat the demon. “And then, perhaps I’ll have her for dessert!”

  Instead of screaming or shouting as Astrid had, or fighting back with some kind of powerful magic, however, Mishka began to cry. Great, heaving sobs as she stood there, head down and hands loosely by her side as she cried and cried and cried. Even Baelgoroth seemed put out by the reaction, and Astrid saw the priests shift, glancing at each other. That, it seemed, had never happened before.

  Had this been her plan? To get her soul eaten? No. Astrid didn’t want Mishka to die in her place. Mishka hadn’t really been responsible for her being made queen. Well, she sort of had, but the stupid woman had thought it was all a play. And… well, Astrid didn’t really like Mishka – she was insufferable. But Astrid didn’t want Mishka to die for her either.

  “Mishka?” said Astrid, scrambling at the bracelet. “No! I- I don’t want you to sacrifice yourself! Stop!”

  “I’m not,” said Mishka, holding up a hand and looking up with a tear-stained face. “Oh Astrid, I wish I were, but I’m not.”

  Astrid furrowed her brow. She wished she was sacrificing herself? What was going on? The alien woman was weird, yes, but this was crazy.

  “Oh, how rich you Ursulans taste!” crowed the demon, recovering some of his poise. “How satisfying a meal, even raw!”

  The demon began to laugh, a deep, booming chuckle that filled the depression, drowning out Mishka’s sobs. As the demon crowed in triumph, Astrid saw the beam of light connecting Mishka and his heart slowly shift. It was subtle at first, a few streaks of brilliant white energy here and there, weaving their way through the gold, but then more and more and more.

  “Yes, yes!” said the demon. “Such thoughts, such plans, such secrets! With these I will…” The demon paused, a pensive look crossing his face. “Wait, what is this? You aren’t afraid? You’re actually sad, aren’t you? For- for me!?”

  “Yes, for you,” said Mishka.

  Then confusion was replaced with fear, and the demon took a step backward with a large cloven hoof. He grabbed the streamer of energy binding them together, pulling it this way and that, as if trying to rip it from his chest. His efforts seemed to have no effect, however, and the cord of energy grew and continued to shift in colour, with more and more white weaving its way into the ribbon of energy until the gold vanished entirely, along with whatever sign of strain there had been on Mishka’s body.

  “What is this?” said the demon, as white cracks began to appear across his body. “What is this energy!? It burns.”

  “Raw Empyrean,” said Mishka sadly. “A splinter of eternity.”

  “No! No!” screamed Baelgoroth, wrestling with the cord of white energy and trying to pull it off himself. “No! Stop! Stop it!”

  “It can’t,” said Mishka.

  “Her- her bracelet!” gasped Baelgoroth. “It can break the connection!”

  “Then she will die,” said Mishka, looking at Astrid. “I promised I would get her home. I am sorry, Baelgoroth.”

  “Minions, help me!” shouted the demon. “Help me!”

  “They can’t, you know that,” said Mishka, even as the priests began to advance, weapons crackling with elemental energy. “This isn’t what I wanted. I could have helped you…”

  “No!” screamed Baelgoroth, staggering towards her, claws outstretched as the cracks on his body began to grow wider and wider. “I cannot-”

  The demon exploded, and Astrid held up a hand to shield her face, grimacing as chunks rained down all around them. The priests, who had been closing on them, stopped, staring first at their now magic-less weapons, and then at the small bear-eared woman who had somehow slain their master. Then, as one, they turned and ran.

  “What did you do?” asked Astrid as she watched the priests scramble away from them, pelting across the green fairground.

  Mishka closed her eyes, and did not speak for several long moments. “I was an Ursulan,” she said, speaking her people’s name like a curse. “I did ‘something clever.’ I won. We always fucking win.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Astrid.

  “I had to save you.” Another choking sob escaped Mishka’s lips. “I had- I had a duty of care. I’d promised…”

  Mishka turned away and put her head in her hands.

  A deep, sudden sense of shame filled Astrid. In the past twenty-four hours and change she had cursed the bear-eared alien, accused her of being callous and cold, of self-indulgent and self-absorbed. And maybe Mishka did have some rough edges, and she was condescending and arrogant, but if she could feel such sorrow for an enemy who had tried to eat her soul dying then… then Astrid had been too quick to judge.

  “I’m sorry,” said Astrid.

  Mishka looked up. “What for?”

  “For accusing you of being self-indulgent,” said Astrid. “For being cold. You’re not. You’re arrogant and… weird, but you’re not cold.”

  Astrid stepped forward and hugged the smaller woman. Mishka froze for a moment, before returning the gesture somewhat awkwardly.

  “Are you OK?” asked Mishka, breaking the embrace after a few seconds.

  “I… I feel all torn up, inside,” said Astrid, rubbing her chest gingerly.

  “It will take some time to heal,” nodded Mishka. “I’m sorry, there was no other way to break the connection, not after it had formed.”

  “What did you do to him?” said Astrid, gesturing to where the demon had exploded, where there was a small circle of burnt grass.

  “He killed himself,” said Mishka sadly. “Tried to drain me and overloaded. I tried to tell him…”

  Mishka shook her head and reached across, taking back her bracelet and snapping it onto her wrist.

  “I told you, I’ll get you home,” said Mishka softly, raising her hand and beginning to weave together her spell to Voidwalk – a process Astrid that knew from the Asteroid, where she had nearly suffocated, took a lot longer than you might think. “And I will. Come on.”

  “I know, I trust you,” said Astrid. “Although I still don’t understand what you did to him.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Mishka, shaking her head. “Better you don’t know. Safer.”

  “Because I’m a primitive?” said Astrid in a teasing voice, trying to draw the usual bubbly and exuberant Mishka out of her shattered shell.

  “No,” said Mishka, her voice still morose as she flicked her fingers here and there, tracing complex runes and lines and matrices. “Because…”

  Mishka shook her head.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said, turning to Astrid and giving her a weak smile, even as she continued to cast her spell. “I know I don’t look it, but I am old Astrid. By your standards, ancient. I have secrets; secrets that could doom this universe.”

  Astrid looked at her askance. Secrets that could doom the universe? Pfft. Yeah right. More like Mishka was pretending she was more important than she really was.

  “Hold on,” said Astrid. “I, um, don’t know if we should just, err, leave.” She cleared her throat. “I sort of… started a revolution. Accidentally. I was, um… annoyed.”

  “Yes, I saw,” nodded Mishka. “Most of the nobles are gone, and without Baelgoroth the priests have no magical powers. At least, I think that’s how it worked. It’ll probably all work out.”

  “Sure, but shouldn’t I… like stay? Clean things up?” said Astrid. “Try to?”

  Mishka paused, keeping hold on her spell but not advancing any further through it. “I need to leave,” she said. “You can stay here if you like, I won’t force you to come, but I need to leave.”

  “What? Why?” said Astrid.

  “Because someone might have already detected what I just did,” said Mishka.

  Astrid shifted uneasily. “Will you come back for me?”

  “No, not here – not after that,” said Mishka. “I’m sorry, but it’s now or never.”

  Astrid turned and looked back at the city. Even in the rain, she could see the baleful orange glow of several of the more developed fires. Could she really just start something like this, and then leave? Shouldn’t she stay and help? Make sure that people were alright?

  And how exactly was she going to do that? She was an archaeologist with a short temper who had only kicked the whole thing off by accident. The priests, or demon cultists, she supposed, had protected her only because they wanted to sacrifice her. The average person seemed to like her, but she didn’t want to be Queen. She didn’t want to rule.

  So, maybe it would be better if the ‘Good Queen Astrid’ didn’t stick around long enough to turn into a reluctant tyrant? That she just ‘defeated Baelgoroth’ and then vanished. Yes, that was probably for the best. These people should decide their own destiny.

  At least, that was what she going to tell herself.

  “Let’s go,” said Astrid.

  Mishka gouged another rune into the fabric of reality, and a howling aperture opened. The bear-like woman took her hand, and together they stepped once again into the Beneath.

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