Sygillis of Metatron

by Ren Garcia

  It was considered a great honor and rare privilege when the Sisters came calling. Davage had the honor seven times previously—four at Castle Blanchefort, two aboard the Seeker, and one on his old ship Faith.

  The stage was always the same.

  A small contingent of Sisters arrived and politely announced that he had been "selected." They then asked if he was agreeable to participate in their "program." Smiling, soft spoken through their Marine translators, wearing their winged headdresses and light traveling cloaks, it was hard, if not impossible, to say no to them. It was hard not to love them, to adore them.

  He always agreed; most "selected" gentlemen agreed. It was an honor, after all. One never wanted to disappoint a Sister, to send them away, to say no.

  The next day the Sisters arrived. Again they thanked him for participating and then showed him to a closed door and invited him to go in, where, inside, a Sister waited.

  He never recalled seeing the Sister in the room. She was always in bed, the bed covers pulled up to her eyeballs.

  Those eyes, fixed on him.

  She then, almost immediately, gently took him by the mind and led him into green passes of bliss and harmony, a symphony of delightful sound. There, hallucinating, enraptured, he lingered for hours and the Sister, unseen behind these lovely veils, was seeded by him.

  In the morning he awoke and the Sister would be gone.

  Sometimes he recalled a dim memory of slender arms around him, of small, shy kisses on his face and neck. He could sometimes recall hearing "I love you … I love you …" in his mind.

  He would then dress and go outside, where the contingent of Sisters, for a final time, thanked him, and took their leave, their mission accomplished. Two years later, in the Old Vith chapels and hidden cloisters of Valenhelm, Pithnar, or Belle, a girl child would be born—a Sister from birth. His daughter—but owned entirely by the Sisterhood. Occasionally, when a contingent of Sisters passed him in the streets, one might give him a second glance and smile in a shy, knowing way. He, in return, doffed his hat, wondering if they had … ever been in arms.

  Did she have any choice, this girl child? Though not abducted as a Black Hat, not chained, not forced to crawl, not forced to fight, was she any less a prisoner?

  He wondered; he wondered.

  3

  MIRENDRA

  The Mirendra system, on the boarder of League/Xaphan space, was fallen down, sad, dark, and starving for light. Mirendra, once a massive blue giant star, the "Eye of the Cat" in the Mertens constellation as seen from Kana, was sucked down to a dull ember. Sucked dry by the Xaphans—all five of them.

  The Xaphans—it was easy to blame everything on them.

  They had first come at the end of the age of the Elders. At that time, The League served the Elders, roving the heavens, looking for stars that might nourish them. Joyous, the League fulfilled is role, guiding the Elders to new stars, and there the Elders fed, taking just what they needed, causing no harm.

  But then the Xaphans came. They were creatures very similar to the Elders—huge, planetary in size, powerful in the extreme, and hungry for starlight. But where the Elders shared, the Xaphans hoarded. Where the Elders gave, the Xaphans took. They attached to the star, bled it dry, and quickly reduced it to a small, cold spark.

  And that wasn't all. They liked a bit of suffering to go with their meal of starlight. They liked the fear and the dying that went along with it. The more populated a star system was, the better.

  Some said in hushed tones that the Xaphans were in fact the Elders, soured and corrupted into another form, that five of the original twenty-five went bad. That's what some said.

  Gaudy and utterly evil, the Xaphans clouded themselves in endless illusion and glamour. They came to the League in the last days of the Elders, as they weakened and died, and presented themselves boldly. Appearing as rich, pompous Elder-Kind, they arrogantly entreated the League to serve them, to come to the Xaphans and cast aside the Elders. The rewards, they promised, would be beyond measure.

  The remaining Elders, growing weak and pitiful, implored the League not to listen. They begged them to instead fight the Xaphans, to forever make war upon them, for the suffering they would create will be horrific. The Elders exacted the Promise from the League: that they will fight the Xaphans, that they will defend all life from the Xaphans, and finally, that they shall not kill the Xaphans either.

  And the twenty-five Elders died and passed into legend, their Promise binding the League and their progeny for centuries.

  The Xaphans, though, were relentless. As the years rolled by, their promises of decadent pleasures and Gifts beyond imagination began to sway the League. Eventually, twenty Great Houses, mostly old Blue Vith Houses from the north, fled and joined the Xaphans, living on them, flying their small strange ships, looking for stars for them to swallow and life forms for them to kill.

  Thus the League and their betrayers, now simply called Xaphans right along with their masters, made war upon each other for centuries, the Xaphans wishing to take life, the League struggling to defend it. And the League, with their superior Elder technology and their Promise binding them, were victorious time and time again.

  Such was the Golden age of the League/Xaphan conflict. The League was strong, and the Xaphans were strong. There was a clear enemy to fight, a clear purpose to uphold.

  Eventually, as with the Elders before, the Xaphans became more and more irrelevant. The Vith that went to them during the Great Betrayal were mighty in the Gifts, and enduring loss after loss to the League, one failed scheme after another, had enough. They began to strike out on their own, their grudge with the League now an old and personal one. The sects they formed were powerful enough to inflict great damage on the League, and they left the Xaphans in droves.

  Desperate to eliminate the League and restore their credibility, the five Xaphans listened to Princess Marilith of Xandarr. She had a bold plan to destroy the League, and they gambled everything on it, spending their last great resources to launch a vast force in a place called Mirendra 3.

  There, the Xaphans would settle their ancient score with the League.

  There, Princess Marilith, on a twist of Fate, settled a personal score of her own … with a lone, wandering, vulnerable Captain Hathaline of Durst who stumbled into her grasp.

  Initially successful, the Xaphan attack left the League bloodied and battered, ship after ship lost. Nevertheless, the League rallied and laid a massive defeat on the Xaphans in a second battle of Mirendra 3—thousands of ships on both sides in a confused, twisting, turning fight. The Xaphans and Princess Marilith could not recover—they had no resources left to draw on.

  Now, there they spin, stuck around the dying star Mirendra, forlorn, abandoned, starving … waiting for it all to end. The Xaphans: Ergos, Loviatar, Zust, Lethin, and Deluum, wondering how such a thing could have happened to them.

  4

  "ARE YOU HAPPY, SISTER?"

  Davage sat in his office. Far away, through the window, the dull yellowish light of Mirendra began to grow in the distance. There, they'd take a quick look at Ergos, at the city of Metatron to see if Syg's temple had turned to silver.

  A Sister sat in his office drinking a cup of coffee. The usual one. The one he'd noticed in her nightclothes. The one who liked him.

  "Sister, thank you for coming," he said.

  She put her cup down and smiled at him.

  "I wanted to thank you."

  Confused, she tilted her head to one side. Kilos was not present, so she could not communicate back. She gazed intently at him, trying to understand. Davage continued.

  "I am certain, with this whole Sygillis matter, that you believe me to be either crazed or suicidal. Such is, of course, not the case, and I wanted to thank you for indulging me … for allowing me to proceed … for defending me."

  The Sister smiled. She finished her cup, stood up, bowed slightly, and made to leave.

  Davage stood up. "Sister?" he said.

&nb
sp; The Sister turned, approached him, and lightly put her hand on his lapel.

  "I was wanting to ask you, though I know you cannot answer me in a way that I will understand," Davage said.

  Looking up at him, she cocked her head to one side, awaiting his question.

  "Are you … happy, Sister?"

  She appeared confused.

  "We of the League enjoy endless freedoms—freedoms that you help make available to us."

  The Sister stared at him.

  "And I should think it … a shame, a great shame … if you, as a Sister could not enjoy those same freedoms yourself. And so, I am asking, does being a Sister … make you … happy?"

  The Sister continued to stare at him. Without realizing it, the Sister had backed him into the corner of his office, her hand still on his chest.

  Suddenly, she burst into a huge smile, her eyes big and blue, and gazed at him with kindness and love.

  She nodded after a moment.

  "I'm glad, then, Sister. I am sorry for my childish question."

  The Sister kept him stuck in the corner. He began to feel a bit awkward.

  "I … wish …" the Sister said, struggling to talk, her ill-used voice raspy and difficult to hear.

  "Pardon, Sister?" Dav said.

  She shook her head and tried to speak again. "I will … request …"

  Dav couldn't understand.

  The Sister appeared frustrated. She closed her eyes and then …

  She hit him with her thoughts. They barged into his mind in a rush, filling him, overwhelming him. He was not trained for this.

  The room spun. His mind shouted in confusion. His thoughts, under her power, bounced, raved, approached perfection, and then crumbled to mindless chaos. The Sister looked a little different to him as his mind gauzed over in random, disrupted veils. Her eyes appeared unnaturally big, and they had changed color, to an odd bluish-violet. She appeared strange and hunched, ancient … intense.

  Her thoughts pounded his mind:

  WAAAAiwantyouAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAiloveyouAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAZZZZZZZZZZtouchyouZZZZZZZZZZZZ ZZZZZZZkissyouZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZWAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAZZZZZZZZZZZZiknowyoufoundmeattractive,andifindyou attractiveaswellZZZZZZWAAAAAAAAAwhenmytimecomesagain, captain,iwillinsistuponyouAAAAAAAAAZZZZZZZZZZZandiwill showyoupleasureundreamedof.howiloveyouZZZZZZZZZZWAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAZZZienvysygillisZZZZZZZZZZZZZablackhatcan courtyou,icannotZZnotfairZZZZZWAAAAAiwillhaveyouwhenmy t i m e c o m e s a n d s h e w i l l n o t p r e v e n t m e A A A A A A A A A A

  She stopped the thoughts, and Davage slipped a bit, the tiny Sister effortlessly holding him up. Once he was free of her power, her appearance returned to normal, but she still had that odd, intense look to her.

  She kissed him, and not a gentle peck on the cheek. She gave him a long, passionate kiss on the lips.

  She then turned and left, giving him one last look as she walked out.

  And Davage tried to compose himself as Mirendra grew bigger and bigger in the window.

  5

  THE BLACK ABBESS STRIKES

  The Seeker rocketed into the Mirendra system a short time later.

  The last time Davage was here, he grieved over the body of Captain Hathaline, his life-long friend. Her death, and the information she carried, meant life and victory for the rest of the League.

  Captain Hathaline, in death a hero.

  How Syg looked like her …

  He remembered spending all night long out on his balcony, over four thousand feet in the air, sending signal lights into the cold night, waiting for the dim blue response in the distance—Hath. He remembered jumping off the balcony with her and Wafting down to the bottom. He remembered wrestling with her on it. The loser was the one who got thrown off first. He usually won because Hath was so tiny, but she was always game to try again. How she had loved him, expected him to love her in return, felt entitled to his love. Perhaps that's why he didn't give it—out of principle, not because he didn't think she was beautiful. How angry he'd been at her when he learned what she had done to Princess Marilith at the wedding ball. How he told her he would never forgive her, a lifetime of friendship betrayed.

  And she went away in her ship, heartbroken—determined to redeem herself, determined to win his friendship back.

  And then she was dead, their last words spoken in anger.

  Hath, dead—pushed into an escape pod by her crew, kicking and screaming. Her crew soon dead at the end of Marilith's guns. And soon she followed in an airless coffin, Cloaked by a terrified Sister.

  Dav—weeping at her tomb in the quiet, lonely Durst graveyard, begging forgiveness from her silent, empty shade.

  Mirendra.

  There they met the Xaphans, their forces proud and strong.

  There they beat them and the Xaphans, betting everything and losing, festered, the light of Mirendra unable to support them all.

  All five orbited the dying star. They themselves now dying, those Xaphan minions who could flee having long since gone.

  He could see them on the screen, depowered and naked—like a courtesan stripped bare and deprived of her make-up.

  The Admiralty had been clear after the battle: We will not kill the Xaphans as we promised long ago, but we will not save them either. Let them wither and pass away …

  Zust was reddish and quiet.

  Loviatar, a mottled red ball, wailing in despair.

  Ergos, lopsided and ochre, the biggest of the lot.

  Deluum, black and lifeless … dead already.

  Lethin, blue, a few weak lights shone here and there.

  There they were; the Xaphans, the enemy, once great but now weak and helpless.

  He remembered the exact coordinates where he came upon the debris of Hath's ship—the Dart, the burned metal, the floating bodies—crew, Marines, even a Sister, which almost never happened. And the little life pod, airless, with Hath's body in it.

  Open, exposed, humbled in Mirendra … both he and the Xaphans—lost in grief.

  He pitied them and secretly wished for the old days when they were mighty and fearsome, an enemy worthy of respect.

  Still, this was the Black Hats' backyard, and a few of them still used the Xaphans to operate from. Syg did.

  Quickly, through this sad gallery of Once-Was, the Seeker made its way to Ergos and the city of Metatron to see if a silver temple was there lighting up the darkness.

  The bridge was alert but not overly tense. Mirendra was a pretty clear sector since the battle.

  Davage ordered to make orbit around Ergos's equator and scanned for contacts—nothing. He had a mind to beat to quarters, but thought better of it. No need to cry wolf until the beast was in sight.

  Ergos was dark and sad. Dav always recalled him being gaudy, light-strewn, like a piece of cheap jewelry, his surface not seen at all.

  Here he was, drab and yellowish, not a light in sight. All his finery gone. No proud boasts … nothing but fitful silence.

  Slowly, the Seeker descended into a standard parking orbit of 450 miles north of Ergos's equator.

  He ordered the helm to drop the nose a little and get a bit closer. The usual smoke and flames as the tough ship began to enter the upper atmosphere.

  "Watch out for Drops, Helm," he said to Saari, the smallish, bluehaired crewman manning the wheel—Lady Saari, of the House of Fallz. She had strong ties to the Science Ministry, as her mother was the Lady Branna, one of the League's top scientists. Normally in a tight situation, he took the wheel himself, but as Saari was fairly new, he didn't want to wreck her confidence by taking over and shoving her aside for no reason.

  She adjusted her stance and pulled back a bit, the helm wheel being quite a bit bigger than she was. Lady Saari was doing just fine.

  The viewing screen filled up with the dull amber light characteristic of a dry-light star—in this case, Mirendra. Davage could feel the sickening tug of Ergos's gravity in addition to the ship's artificial gravity. It too
k a moment to get used to.

  He walked to the front of the bridge.

  "Anything on sensors?"

  All of the crewmen manning the sensing ports reporting nothing.

  Something was wrong, he could feel it.

  "The Ops screen is clear, Captain," Kilos said from her station, careful about protocol when on the bridge. "Do you sense something out there?"

  "Not sure," he replied.

  He lit his Sight. He Sighted everything, from the darkness of space to the horizon, where the red ball of Loviatar was rising, to Ergos's pocked, ugly surface.