Sygillis of Metatron

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Sygillis of Metatron Page 29

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,

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