Jaydee had collected himself. “We encountered the Skygger many, many years ago. It was a sort of ... well, it was sort of like a perverted Feram, only more intelligent, more dangerous.”
“It did this,” Akribos spat, pointing at the cavity of his missing eye.
“It was a sadist,” Dryal said, her voice softer than usual. She stared into the campfire as she went on, “We were called to a hospice, not far from Lexpositi. The nurses there reported similar things to what you have told us. They were a caring group, doing their best to ease their patients to the other side.” She drew a steadying breath. “But when we reached the hospice, they were already dead. All of them, patients and nurses alike. They were tucked into their cots, very neat and tidy ... except their eyes, noses, and ears were all chewed off.”
Akribos grunted, still striking an incredulous attitude but no longer arguing. He mumbled, loud enough for all to hear, “Maybe it has a thing for eyes ...”
Jaydee picked up the story. “The nurses had referred to their tormentor as ‘the Skygger.’ And when we arrived, the archway into the building had been defaced, with ‘Skygger’ painted in place of ‘Simarian.’ As you say, it was done in pink-red blood that held its color after drying.”
The old man shook his head. “It is clearly free with its own blood.”
Wide-eyed, Raga asked, “What did you do?”
“We searched the building, looking for survivors. It had been nearing dusk when we entered, but there were plenty of windows. Yet, the interior was dark. Too dark. Unnaturally dark. I should have noticed that.”
Akribos waved that aside. “You couldn’t have known what that meant. None of us could.”
Jaydee continued without comment. “The Skygger had apparently been lurking in the darkness, watching us. We had two more companions then, brother and sister Ampri. The sister, Sevis, was dead before we realized we were under attack, her throat slashed so deeply her head nearly fell away as her body dropped ...”
Dryal reached out, placing a hand over Jaydee’s, and said, “After that was madness. No matter what we tried, the Skygger proved too fast, too evasive.”
“I struck it, once,” Akribos said; he, like Dryal, was also staring into the fire. “As hard as I could. It was as though ... as though something had sapped my strength. That, or something else.” He clenched a blue fist, looked down at it. “I have never met anyone as strong as I; that is not a boast, it is a fact. And yet ...”
Jaydee elaborated, “The Skygger is not that large. As I mentioned — from what little we could see — it appears similar to a Feram. Like them, it’s slender, almost lithe. Regardless of how strong or tough it is, it could only weigh so much. Even if it wasn’t hurt, Akribos’ blow should have knocked it from its feet, smashed it against the far wall.”
“But it didn’t,” Akribos grumbled, still considering his thick fist. “I felt the connection, I saw it stagger. But that was all. It shrugged off my best blow.” He sighed, frowning deeper. “That was when it took my eye.”
Jaydee said, “Our other Ampri friend — Tongas, Sevis’ brother — closed in as Akribos went down. His staff whirled like a cyclone, faster than I had ever seen him work before. He couldn’t hit the thing, but he managed to back it into a corner.”
“I stepped in from the other angle,” Dryal said, “with my sword. But like Tongas’ staff, like Venubis’ arrows, I missed. Repeatedly.”
“I shouted for them to step back and struck with a Traecanes wave,” Jaydee told them. “Fractured the corner of the building, nearly collapsed that portion of the walls. I hit the Skygger. I know I did. But as my eyes recovered from the flash of sapphire light, I could barely make it out, crawling up the cracked wall, over the ceiling. I called out a warning ...”
Dryal squeezed his hand tighter. “It was too late. The thing dropped, killed Tongas.”
“And as it pulled out his innards,” Jaydee whispered, “it looked at me. And it smiled.”
“How did it end?” Raga gasped.
Jaydee drew a deep breath, steadied himself. “That smile signified the end of its ‘fun,’ apparently. Venubis fired more arrows, I tried some Traecala bolts ... it didn’t matter. The Skygger went back up the wall and out a window that had shattered in the fight. We never saw it again.”
“And ...” the old man began, then coughed to clear his throat. “And you think this ‘Skygger’ is what has invaded our church?”
Akribos opened his mouth to speak and started to shake his head, but in the end, he did neither. Dryal looked to Jaydee, and he looked back.
At last, Jaydee said, “From what you have told us, it’s possible. If you will give me a moment?” Their guests nodded, and Jaydee closed his eyes and whispered, “Sentietiam ...”
This was the same spell he would perform two days later, on the grassy hillside with Dryal, and the impressions he got were that much vaguer. He saw, felt, something about his shoulder, something skulking in the darkness ...
Something familiar.
He opened his eyes and told them, “Yes. I believe it is the Skygger that has invaded your church.”
PCA
And so now they stood before said church, the firelight throwing their shadows against the building that seemed more imposing than welcoming — but then, their perceptions were a bit skewed by what they knew lurked within. The townspeople had promised to light the fire at the first indication of the thing’s return; having done so, they had all made themselves scarce.
All save for the old clergyman, but even he kept his distance, gesturing a blessing toward them before he, too, retreated toward the nearest household.
“How do you want to handle this?” Akribos asked, his voice rumbling in his best approximation of a whisper. “Should we try to sneak in? Or call it out?”
Then Dryal proclaimed, “It knows we’re here.”
Jaydee glanced over in question. She pointed to the right, to the far end of the building; Jaydee’s eyes followed the gesture.
Near the corner of the church, about chest high, was a neatly written word in the familiar pink-red blood:
Gladius
Venubis, who rarely spoke, commented, “Stealth would be pointless.” He slid an arrow from his quiver, nocked it, and edged a little closer to the church.
But Dryal was still staring at the bloody writing. “It knew. It knew we were coming, Jaydee. That you were coming.”
Jaydee frowned. “It could have simply overheard some of the townspeople.”
Akribos barked something between a scoff and a laugh. “All right, it knows we’re here, let’s get on with it!” He raised his voice further. “You hear that, you son of bitch?! We are here for you!”
Silence from the church.
Jaydee focused, and spoke, “Cipimon.”
A transparent sphere encircled all four of them; were it not for the occasional bluish glistening, the shield would have been invisible. It was not among his strongest spells, and, with the way the Skygger eluded his magic in their last encounter, he was not certain how much protection it would provide. But if the Skygger were to attempt some form of distance attack as they drew near, it was better to at least try safeguarding his group than to make no effort at all.
Jaydee strode toward the church, and his friends followed.
As they reached the structure, the double doors of the entrance crept open to greet them. It was probably intended to unnerve them, but the slow, rattling squeal of the hinges struck Jaydee as cliché.
Akribos shared his feelings. “That’s heavy handed,” he chuckled, making sure it carried. “We must have it anxious.”
“You think so ...?”
Whereas the creaking doors had fallen flat, the echoing whisper brought them to a halt. In their previous encounter, the Skygger had emitted a hiss here and there, and a slithering laugh or two, but it had never spoken outright — given its physical similarities to the Feram, with their snouted faces, Jaydee had not expected that it could speak, let alone with such c
larity. Were it not for the cracked, papery quality to the whisper, it might have sounded completely normal to them ... which somehow made it even more ghoulish.
“Steady,” Jaydee said in a low voice.
And so they held steady, neither moving forward nor retreating.
The doors stood open, waiting. No more haunted house sound effects, no more susurrant words, nothing but silence.
After nearly a minute had passed, he breathed, “Venubis, are you ready?”
Venubis nodded, drawing back the string of his longbow.
Gripping the hilt of each gladius sword, Jaydee drew his twin blades and resumed his forward stride, and the rest followed. Dropping his magical shield — he had no choice, if they were to fit through the entrance — he led them into the church.
Darkness reigned within; they could barely make out the closest pews. Jaydee half-expected an instantaneous assault, was prepared for it, his fingers flexing on his swords ... but the Skygger chose to wait. Which was perfect.
“Venubis,” he said, “light ’em up.”
Venubis tilted his ready bow so that the arrowhead was nearer his face and spoke, “Nignius.”
While Jaydee was the only full-fledged mage among them, both Venubis and Dryal — and all Ralalis, by heritage — commanded a small touch of magic. And Venubis’ personal knack involved a special kind of fire.
The arrowhead sparked, then erupted into white flame. Venubis corrected his aim, and let it fly.
The arrow shot upward into the far-left corner of the church’s ceiling. Had it not been for the unnatural darkness, Venubis would surely have struck exactly where the ceiling met the far wall; as it was, his aim was only too high by a matter of inches.
But the Ralalis was not done. With repeated whispers of “Nignius,” he fired arrow after arrow, striking all four high corners of the church interior, with two more at the left and right midway points for good measure. As always, the magical white flames neither burned wood nor scorched stone, but burned brighter still with each impact, like magnesium flares from Earth that could coruscate for hours.
The effect was less than Jaydee had hoped, but better than he had feared. The Skygger’s perverse gloom remained dominant, with heavy shadows lurking all about, but the interior of the church was no longer like the bowels of an ore mine.
“Ha!” Akribos bellowed. “Try hiding from us now, shithead!”
Jaydee appreciated his spirit, but it was too soon for a victory celebration; in spite of Venubis’ burning arrows, their light remained too meager, the Skygger remained unseen.
The church was laid out much as Jaydee expected, as he had seen countless times before over the centuries: Rows of pews on either side of a center aisle; symbols, both realistic and stylized, of this world’s golden sun spaced out along the walls; an alter at the far end, with a large, metallic, golden Simarian effigy hanging from the ceiling.
Except that something appeared wrong with that effigy. Normally, the golden symbol would have hung open for all to gaze upon it, but though it was difficult to be sure in the murkiness, something was obstructing the upper portion.
Thoughts of the doomed hospice attempted to cloud his focus as he gestured his team forward. He took the lead, with Venubis on his left and Dryal on his right, and Akribos bringing up the rear, the latter’s blue knuckles cracking as he clenched his fists. They each watched their given quarter for any sign of their target.
They encountered no warning signs, neither sight nor sound, as they edged their way toward the alter ... until they drew near enough to hear the dripping blood. Without Jaydee’s needing to ask, Venubis prepped another flare-arrow and shot it into the ceiling directly overhead so that they could better see what awaited them.
Raga, the young boy who had accompanied the priest in hiring Jaydee and his group, hung across the top of the golden sculpture of Simarian. His face sagged toward them, his cheeks ripped open to approximate a wide smile. His arms and legs only drooped a little, as they had been tied in place with his own intestines. The blood dripped from the gaping rip where his belly should have been, collecting in an offering bowl along with the rest of his innards.
When had the Skygger murdered Raga? Did the townspeople realize yet that he was missing, let alone slaughtered? If this had been “the sign” that had prompted them to light the church fire, surely the clergyman would have told them upon their arrival.
Something new, thicker than blood, oozed from the late Raga’s gaping gut wound. It wasn’t until it fell free and plopped into the offering bowl atop the preceding mess that Jaydee recognized it as feces.
A harsh gasp, somewhere between a gag and a retch, came from behind Jaydee. He looked over his right shoulder to find Akribos hunched between the first and second rows of pews, only his elbows and buttocks fully in sight. It wasn’t until he heard the splattering that Jaydee realized his large blue friend was vomiting. He was a little surprised — Akribos normally had a cast-iron stomach — but even he felt his gorge rise as more stool plopped into the bowl.
After a moment, Akribos spat a few times, then rose from between the pews. “Sorry,” he grumbled, wiping his mouth with his muscular forearm as he stepped back toward the group. He spat once more on the open floor, then rubbed at his tearing eyes before repeating, “Sorry. It just ...” He offered a vague gesture toward the mess below Raga’s body.
“It’s all right,” Jaydee assured him. “It happens to the best of us.” He showed his big friend a half-smile before turning back toward the alter ...
... then, as he continued turning in a complete circle, he slashed his left gladius through the air with the intent of severing Akribos’ head from his body.
It almost worked. But Akribos jerked back at the last second, his eyes widening as the tip of the sword sliced a scratch across his throat. A deep scratch, but nothing more.
Dryal gasped in disbelief, her own sword wavering, as though uncertain where to strike. Venubis, in typical fashion, gave no reaction other than twisting his body to take in this new development, his next arrow ready but pointing toward the floor.
Akribos touched his bleeding throat, eyes wider still as he gaped at the blood on his fingertips. “Wha—? Why—?”
... rubbed at his tearing eyes ... his eyes widening ... eyes wider still...
Eyes. Plural.
Jaydee raised his right sword and snapped, “Traecala!”
Sapphire bolts of energy erupted from his blade, targeting Akribos dead center ... but before the first was launched, before Jaydee had spoken the final syllable of the spell, the large warrior was already moving. Somersaulting back and to the side, his hands grasping the cap rail of a pew and pushing him higher and faster still, Akribos’ body melted, sloughing away like dried mud, his proportions shifting, his body shrinking overall even as his arms and legs lengthened, his blue skin darkening, greying, his clothes simply ceasing to exist ...
By the time Jaydee’s final bolt missed its mark, it was the Skygger that landed on the backmost pew, its clawed toes gripping the cap rail as it hunkered down, snickering at them.
“A mage who wields swords,” it chortled before wagging a shaming finger back and forth. “Tsk, tsk. That smacks of cheating. But how interesting. How fun. And perhaps it explains your strange, new name, hmm?”
The Feram had always reminded Jaydee, somewhat, of jackals — spindly, vicious, quasi-canines, the Feram walked about on their hind legs most of the time.
The Skygger, on the other hand, looked — from what they could see of it in the muted light — like it was two parts jackal, one part reptile, and one part ... something else, something nasty, with grey, leathery skin rather than short fur, its dark eyes beady yet also too large for its face. Between the shape of its maw and the bifurcation of its upper lip, Jaydee was again amazed that it could speak with such perfect diction.
To the Skygger’s apparent glee, Jaydee commenced a cautious advance toward the creature. Dryal and Venubis fell in behind him, the Ralalis cro
ssing paths to resume their original positions — Dryal on his right; Venubis on his left. He considered recasting his shield spell, but then they would not have been able to fit within the center aisle.
As they reached the front pew, Jaydee risked a glance to his left ...
Akribos, the real Akribos, lay on the floor between the pews, his one eye boggled in shock, his throat torn deep enough to cleave his vocal cords. That gasp-gag-retch they heard earlier had been the last sound he made, the “vomiting” being the pouring of blood from his mangled gullet— the Skygger must have added to the sounds to cover its tracks as it assumed his form.
The Skygger had gotten that close to them, killed one of them before he could fight back, and except for that final gasp, Jaydee had neither heard nor sensed anything.
How could they hope to stop this thing? Had it not been for its hurry, the thing might have gotten the single-eye detail correct, and all three of them could now be as butchered as their blue friend.
Jaydee looked back to the Skygger.
It smiled at him, and, as if reading his thoughts, said, “Sloppy of me to miss such a detail. After all ...”
Closing its mouth, it worked its short-snouted jaw in an odd way for a few seconds before baring its lips once more to reveal a pulpy, partially decomposed sphere. It almost looked like—
The Skygger spat the item into its hand, then held it up between clawed finger and thumb for their better inspection. “After all,” it repeated, “I still have his other eye. A treasured keepsake from our first meeting, from your pre-Gladius days.” Its smile was too ghoulish to believe.
Venubis let his arrow fly. The Skygger shifted its head to one side, just enough to ensure a miss. But that had not been the Ralalis archer’s target.
The arrow bulls-eyed Akribos’ preserved eyeball, tearing the misshapen sphere from the Skygger’s grip.
“Oh, poo,” the Skygger sulked with exaggerated disappointment. “I was fond of that.”
Venubis offered no return comment as he readied his next arrow.
Paranormals | Book 3 | Darkness Reigns Page 5
