Sygillis of Metatron

by Ren Garcia

  "I do. It has saved my life on endless occasions."

  Durman marveled at it. "Drusilla, hold this … feel its weight."

  He gave it to her, and she gasped in surprise, her naked muscles flexing to hold it. She noted with her hands its smooth surface. "It's a club, then? I feel no edge."

  "It is sharper than any mere sword—one needs great skill, though, to properly use it."

  Drusilla handed it back to Davage. She gazed at him; she was so like Syg. He thought he could almost read her mind. She looked at him fiercely, like Syg did in the evenings, when she wanted to make love and wasn't going to take no for an answer.

  "Then, your eyes," Drusilla said. "Is that portion of the story also true? I recall you could see us clearly through the mist."

  "I have the Sight true enough, and yes, your Mother likes it very much."

  "May I see?" Drusilla asked, not taking her eyes off of him. "Is that a seemly thing to ask, Captain, to see your eyes?"

  "Well, it's normally not done, but I can make an exception for you, ma'am." Davage shrugged. He lit his Sight and looked at them.

  Drusilla gasped and jumped, with the agility of a tiger, naked into his lap, her hands on his face. She stared at him with wonder.

  Davage turned his Sight off, and she sat there, staring at him. He thought for a moment that she was going to attack him.

  "I'm sorry, Captain," she said finally, climbing off. "That must have been quite rude of me. I couldn't help myself. I've never seen such a thing."

  "No pardon needed, ma'am," he said straightening his coat.

  "Now, I have a question for you, if I may?" Davage said as he watched Drusilla climb back to her spot. "You were, of course, Sygillis's Hulgismen, yes?"

  "We do not know that name."

  "You served Syg, did her bidding, went into battle with her?"

  "Yes."

  "Then you were her Hulgismen. Now Syg—Sygillis I mean—did not know where you came from, she said you simply arrived here in the temple. Do you know where you come from?"

  Drusilla and Durman stood up. "Come with us, Captain. We shall show you."

  They took hold of their silver necklaces and in a moment, their clothing and armor changed into an airy molten form, flew through the air, and formed back into armor and cloth. In an instant, they were fully dressed. Davage was impressed.

  Drusilla approached him and took him by the hand.

  They made their way out of the building. Outside, under the silvery light above, was a bustling village. Davage noted homes, schools and smithies where strong men and women hammered silver into various things. There were small barns where the seal-like creatures grazed on liquid silver and tended silvery young hatched from silver eggs. There were chapels and theatres, cemeteries and workshops, all seemingly dedicated to, wrought from, and sustained by Syg's flowing silver.

  He saw red hair all over the place, green eyes in quantity. All bigger, markless Sygs running around everywhere.

  And as Dav had noted earlier, the make and style of the buildings changed as they made their way to the perimeter. The closer to the wall they got, the more crude the structures became.

  As they passed an alcove, Drusilla, still holding his hand, pulled him, with great strength, into it. There, momentarily alone, she pushed her helmet back, her red hair flowing out, and kissed him, her armored hands greedily feeling every inch of him.

  Davage had to fight to remember that this wasn't Syg—it was Drusilla, a Hulgisman.

  She was so like her, though—her lips, her taste, even the way she kissed was the same. The only difference was that he didn't have to stoop quite as much to kiss her.

  Davage stood up after a moment, and Drusilla could no longer reach him.

  She stared up at him, her green eyes greedy, taking in everything. She pulled her gloves off.

  "I'll not apologize for that, sir …" she said as she tried to work her warm hands into his shirt. "I'll not apologize for how I feel. I have seen you in my thoughts, my visions since the darkness lifted. I have seen you through our Mother's eyes."

  "Drusilla, please …" Davage said.

  "Love me," she said kissing him on the neck, "as you do our Mother. You say I am like her in every way. Pretend I am she if you must. But love me, please sir!"

  Davage, for a moment, allowed his arms to go around her. She unstrapped her greaves, stepped out of her boots, and began, with amazing dexterity, undressing him.

  "Drusilla!" came Durman's annoyed voice from a distance.

  Davage pulled away from her, fixed his clothes, and continued. After a moment, Drusilla caught up to him and, again, took his hand.

  They at last arrived at the temple's wall; it was silver and sloped its way in an easy angle toward the distant top.

  Drusilla pointed at the wall. "Here," she said, "here is where we came from."

  Davage knelt down and looked at the wall—his eyes hurt too much to Sight. It had a knobby, organic look to it.

  "I don't understand," he said.

  came a voice.

  Davage turned. There, standing in the silver was Ergos and Loviatar.

  Loviatar said, still in her Demona image.

  Durman and Drusilla shook their heads.

  "I take it you know this lot?" Davage asked.

  "They are thieves, Captain. They steal our power," Drusilla said.

  Loviatar asked, hurt.

  Ergos said.

  "And what do you provide to earn this rent?" Davage asked.

 

  "Right," Davage said. "Let's test that." He pointed at the wall. "What is this?"

 

  "And the fertilization?"

 

  Ergos said,

  Loviatar approached the wall.

  There was a great boom from the far wall high above.

 

  Durman shook his head. "Our reserves of Silver Blood run low. The hordes give us no peace. We cannot withstand this for much longer; we weaken with each new breach."

  "Is there nothing that can be done, no bargain that can be struck?" Davage asked.

  "We have a dream, Captain," Drusilla said holding Davage's hands to her heart. "We dream of leaving this place, of taking to the stars, of finding a home where we can leave the Silver Realm in peace, discover new friends … take husbands and wives, and have children. None of that is possible here. We are all brothers and sisters."

  Durman pointed to the silver spire in the distance. "We have converted the temple. We can launch it into the heavens, controlled from there, the Spire."

  Ergos smiled.

  Davage recalled the moat of black around the temp
le.

 

  Davage stood there, horrified.

  Ergos's eyes grew wide.

  "We already knew such things," Drusilla said. "We know we can never see our Mother again. We know the darkness will fall upon both her and us should that happen. The Black Abbess wishes us dead, if only to prove a point to our Mother—that there is no escaping her. We are … of no consequence."

  "As am I, and my ship and crew. All of our deaths shall serve as a further punishment for your mother—a further statement."

  Boom!

  "To the walls!" Durman cried. "Drusilla, to the pool with your Order!"

  Durman began running toward the silver dais. People began clattering about, dropping what they were doing.

  "May I help you, Durman? May I assist in the defense?" Davage asked.

  Durman looked back at him, awe in his face. "You will help us? Ride with us into battle with your golden CARG?" He seemed astonished.

  "He will not, Durman! He will stay with me here! Captain, come to the pool with me," Drusilla said.

  "We could use his sword, Drusilla!"

  "I DON'T CARE!" she shrieked.

  Davage broke away from her grasp. "I am here to serve, sir."

  "Then come with me!" he shouted, running off.

  Drusilla took his hands again. She gazed at him with "that look"— the same one Syg gave him in the mornings as he headed off to the bridge for his shift, the look that silently said, "Don't go." She reached up and kissed him again.

  "To touch a god …" she said. "Please stay with me."

  "I am no god, Drusilla. I am needed above."

  "Then, to adore a fine, brave man … for you are certainly that and more," she said, voice shaking.

  Davage followed Durman through the complicated streets and alleys until they burst out into the open area. Ahead, ten of the seal-like creatures were being assembled and mounted. One of the creatures, seeing Davage, approached him and bowed, whiskers twitching.

  "Are you to assist in the defense, sir?" Carahil asked.

  "I am."

  "Then, may I carry you? To make amends for my doubting you previously."

  "No amends are required. You were correct to doubt. You had no certainty that I was telling the truth."

  "Then, may I be so honored to carry you aloft?"

  "The honor is mine." Davage climbed aboard. Carahil was firm and strong, his skin smooth and warm, the Silver tech flowing through him. He recalled Loviatar saying he and his kind were vermin, once swimming and crawling about, eating the dead bodies that Syg had made in her evil. Once medium-sized scavengers, now they were huge, their eyes awash in silver. Could it be possible that such goodness, such shining spirit, could come from the depths of such darkness?

  Someone handed Davage a long silver pole of the same type that they had leveled at him earlier.

  "I have not been instructed how to use this weapon!" Davage shouted as Carahil began loping ahead.

  "Will it to fire, Captain!" he said.

  To his right, Davage noticed Drusilla and ten other armored women approach the silver pool. They stopped at the edge, pulled off their boots, and waded in.

  "Drusilla!" Durman shouted. "We will need this breach sealed quickly!"

  She responded: "The levels are low, Durman! We will do what we can!" She was talking to Durman, but was she was looking at Captain Davage.

  "I will await your return, Captain, and perhaps we will have a moment alone together to continue what was started!" she shouted. She and Syg—they just didn't give up!

  Carahil laughed as he bounded into the air. "Be warned, Captain. Drusilla usually gets what she wants—and that, apparently, is you!"

  Flapping and grunting, the gaggle of beasts and armed men took flight and rose upward. They approached the area where the breach would soon be. The silver was cracked—shafts of dirty, dry light pooled in.

  Boom!

  More light. Skittery, indistinct movement beyond.

  "FOR THE CHILDREN WE WILL ONE DAY FATHER, FIGHT WELL!" Durman shouted.

  Boooom!

  A huge, jagged chunk of the wall caved in. Black legs and fangs awaited beyond.

  At full speed, the silver warriors surged through the hole, energy lances blazing, out into the amber light.

  * * * * *

  Syg sat alone in the mess in Dav's favorite spot. She had a cup of coffee in front of her, but she didn't drink any. She didn't want it.

  For the last hour she had been in the presence of the Sisterhood, arguing a plan that she had—one that she thought might work well in Metatron. She knew nothing of ships and battle tactics and all of that, but she knew the Black Hats, she knew the Black Abbess, and she could guess what would be waiting for them there in Metatron: more Cloaked vessels, lots of Shadow tech and lots of Black Hats.

  The Sisterhood of Light and a former Black Hat Hammer both trying to cook up a plan to save a League Fleet captain—the ironies.

  The Sisterhood had listened, but they committed to nothing.

  The silver things she had made were perfect … perfect in every detail. Her plan will work; she knew it. A lot of people were going to die soon, in the skies over Metatron, and all because of her, because of her dream.

  She began to wonder if the dream of the Silver Temple wasn't a plant, a Painted Black Hat snare set to lure her back to Metatron; not to kill her, but to capture and possibly re-convert her. The Black Abbess, losing face, needed to make a statement, a loud one, that nobody— nobody—leaves the Black Hats, ever.

  Re-converting her before the black stage of Metatron, sending the Seeker to a spiraling, fiery grave, and killing Dav, author of all of this, would do the job nicely.

  The thought terrified her.

  She wondered how she will do it, how she will end her life. If Dav was dead, she shall kill herself, plain and simple. She wanted nothing more to do with life if Dav was gone, if he was not here to share it with her and be her guide. She will die with Silver in her, as Sygillis the Elder.

  She wondered if she'd earned a place in heaven, if all the evil she'd done could be excused, forgotten. She wondered if she would see Dav there.

  Outside, she could see a dull, yellowish star begin to grow large in the distance.

  Mirendra.

  , came a telepathic message from Kilos—Giftless, yet infinitely better than Dav at telepathy.

  Standing, she walked out of the mess to whatever awaited.

  * * * * *

  The chaos outside of the Silver Temple was mind-boggling. The Shadow tech spiders and beasts that once lightly peppered the side of the temple now covered it all the way up to the top, legs and fangs waving, a moving mass, an appalling carpet of black.

  The Silver Warriors, using their energy lances, pushed them back from the edge of the hole, dispersing their sooty material, but Davage knew there was no getting rid of them for good without the Sisters. They'd be back, and in no time.

  Glancing back a moment, he could see the edge of the hole mending—Drusilla and her Order, standing in the silver pool far below, were repairing it, but slowly, oh so slowly.

  Ahead a spider lunged into view, waving its legs.

  Eyes aching, Davage Sighted it, saw its red heart, and blasted it with his lance. Energy crackled out and seared the spider. Carahil had been right; all that needed done was to wish for it to fire and it did.

  The spider's heart stopped beating, and it retreated. Unsaddling his CARG, Davage put it right through the heart, shattering it. The spider drifted into smoke.Recover from that one, he thought.

  Elsewhere, the fight went poorly. There were simply too m
any beasts and spiders to push back, and as Davage looked around, only nine riders fought where there were once ten.

  A spider skittered into the hole, and then another. He thought he could hear screaming from within.

  A leg came up and hit Carahil's hind quarter, and with a cry, he was out of control. Colossal fangs waited.