Jaydee closed his eyes for a moment, and whispered, “Sentietiam.”
The magic word did not give him future sight in the truest sense; he could not predict coming blessings or disasters in the world around him, only those that would affect him in some way. And even to that degree, it was far easier to see something happening now that would soon impact him, rather than events to come.
But “now” did him little good when it came to the Skygger. That damned thing had a way of eluding magic.
“I believe so,” he told Dryal after a minute, opening his eyes and shrugging. “I get the vague sense the asshole is going to slash my left shoulder. I’ll have to remember to duck to the right if déjà vu hits.”
“ ‘Day-zha’ ...? Oh! The feeling of repetition?”
He grinned. “Close enough. And don’t feel bad about that one. It’s not even English. It’s ... French, I think? Don’t remember for sure.”
They fell silent for a bit, each staring at the bigger sun that was setting and the smaller sun that was rising. This planet had natural satellites, but they were far smaller than the moon that orbited Earth, darker and difficult to spot most of the time.
Then Dryal asked, “Do you remember when we stormed the fortress at Trocuel?”
Jaydee kept this smile inside. Of course he remembered Trocuel, but that wasn’t really why she was bringing it up. This was her way of dealing with pre-battle nerves — he reminisced about his old life; she retold stories of battles past.
Playing dumb, he feigned uncertainty. “Was that the one where Akribos accidentally broke the smuggler’s ribs?”
Her face lit up, her pristine teeth flashing and her green eyes glistening. “Yes! Akribos grabbed the man and pinned his arms to his side, but he didn’t know the man had a knife in his boot.”
He picked up the narrative. “And when the guy squirmed around enough to stab Akribos in the leg, Akribos squeezed him so hard that he broke most of his ribs.”
Dryal began giggling — perhaps a bit more than was warranted, but he loved seeing her like this. “So you moved him to one of the cots,” she continued, “and were trying to heal him, right?”
He nodded. “I wasn’t nearly as good at it back then. Even now, my spell is better on slashes or stabs, not crushed ribs.”
Still giggling, she rocked on her firm buttocks. “So you’re trying to heal him, and we’re all just standing around you, and that’s when the hidden panel opened ...”
“... and in walks one of his fellow smugglers.”
“Yes! And he freezes, and he’s so confused because he doesn’t have a clue who we are but you’re obviously trying to help his friend. So he barks, ‘Who the hell are you people?!’ And ... what was it you said to him?”
“I said something like, ‘We’re the new crew, she sent us to pick up the slack, but your friend is hurt, we need to help him.’ ”
“And who was ‘she’ supposed to be?”
He shrugged.
Dryal clapped her hands. “So the dullard just looks at his moaning, barely conscious friend and asked, ‘What’s wrong with Kraig?’ And what did you say next?”
“I said, ‘Kraig broke his legs.’ ”
She laughed so hard, she almost fell over. “Why didn’t you just say he’d broken his ribs?”
He lowered his head in proper chagrin. “I have no idea.”
“So ... so then someone calls up through the hidden panel, from the dungeon we didn’t even know about ...”
Jaydee impersonated the newest smuggler’s deep voice. “ ‘What the hell is going on up there?’ ”
“And the first guy shouts, ‘Kraig broke his legs!’ So up comes the second smuggler—”
“Not counting Kraig.”
“Right! Not counting Kraig. So now a bald, male Ampri hits the top of the stairs and blurts out, ‘Who the hell are you people?!’ ”
“And I shouted, ‘There’s no time for that! Kraig broke his legs!’ ”
“And then another voice calls up, ‘What’s all that racket?! What’s going on up there?’ ”
“And the Ampri shouts back, ‘Kraig broke his legs!’ ”
“And ... and then he comes upstairs ... and ...”
“... and he yells, ‘Who the hell are you people?!’ ”
Dryal held her sides and asked, “How ... how many smugglers ended up doing and asking the same things?”
“About six, I think. Each one asking who we were, each one telling the next that Kraig had broken his legs.”
She nodded, her head bobbing as she struggled to breathe through her laughter. She looked so damned beautiful when she laughed.
After a good minute, she finally settled down, shaking her head. “And all over the few kegs of stolen spirits in that dungeon.” Then she shook her head again, musing. “Dungeon. How was it you first described our world?”
“You mean after I finally stopped freaking out and accepted the fact that my dimensional shift here was a one-way ticket, and I would not be returning home?”
“Yes,” she agreed, with pointed dismissal. “Something about a dungeon? Dungeons?”
“I compared this world to a role-playing game called Dungeons & Dragons.”
“That was it.” She scrunched her nose in distaste. “It really offended me, at the time.”
“Because you don’t have dragons here?”
“No, because you compared my home to a ... a game.”
“Hey, I took that game very seriously when I was young.” He shrugged. “It was just the way things struck me in those first few weeks. Your technology is about that of Earth’s medieval period, and you have so many different, sentient species.” He chuckled. “That, plus you have magic.”
She shook her head once again, this time in wonder. “And you already believed in magic, in a world where there was none.”
“Sort of. I believed in skillful illusions, at first. Belief in real magic came later, near the end of my time there.”
“After your White Flash, and your paranormals.”
“Around that time, yes.”
She looked to the suns, particularly the blue one. “And you still hold that your White Flash was the same kind of event as our Malba Dico?”
“Makes sense to me. Your own world once lacked magic, had a single humanoid race. Then this ‘Malba Dico’ happened, however long ago, and your world turned into ...” He gestured broadly. “... this. This land of Tolkien’s dreams, after a fashion. It would explain things like the Feram and their abilities, and the Skygger in particular. All of that, plus I saw one of our paranormal rogues’ powers recharge my dormant spell book right before my eyes.”
Jaydee had attempted to learn all he could about this “Malba Dico” over the centuries, a mysterious cataclysmic event that was said to have reshaped the land and the life upon it, and brought magic into existence. But, much to his frustration, all he had found — after hundreds of years of searching — was conflicting lore and legend.
The mention of the Skygger had turned Dryal pensive again, and for good reason. Their little troupe of adventurers (it nagged Dryal when he referred to them that way, but that’s how he viewed their group to this day) had crossed paths with the Skygger before, almost a century ago, and that was how they lost the Ampri siblings, Tongas and Sevis. And while the blue-skinned Akribos was still with them, it cost him an eye.
At their last encounter, the Skygger always managed to defy Jaydee’s magic, to slip under Dryal’s blade, to leap past Tongus’ staff. But, perhaps, this time ...
He glanced down at the scabbarded gladius sword on his left hip, and then at its twin on his right hip.
Jaydee was no longer the same mage who last flung his spells at the Skygger. Hence, the appellation which he, with reluctance, had been forced to accept. When someone sought to hire their merry band, they no longer wanted his friends and “Jaydee of Earth.” They wanted—
“Dryal! Jaydee!”
They turned to regard Akribos as he approached, hi
s fists clenched and his remaining eye squinting in determination, his blue skin taut across his flexed muscles.
“The church fire is lit,” he rumbled in anticipation. “It’s time.” Unlike Jaydee, Dryal, and their resident archer, Venubis (the second Ralalis Jaydee had met upon his arrival), Akribos had been looking forward to a rematch with the Skygger; he wanted payback, which Jaydee could understand as he looked into the open cavity where Akribos’ right eye used to reside.
Jaydee stood, but Dryal remained where she sat a moment longer, trying one last time. “Is there no chance we can avoid this? Let that bitch Vermet and her crew take the reward, just this once?”
Akribos shook his large head, waving a colossal hand toward Jaydee. “The township paid for The Gladius, and The Gladius they want.”
Jaydee rolled his eyes and scoffed, “It’s bad enough the entire countryside has taken to calling me that. I wish you didn’t have to use it, too.”
“I know,” Akribos smiled, his one eye gleaming in delight.
Jaydee shot him his middle finger, one of the gestures from his youth he had shared with them.
Akribos laughed, a bawdy boom that echoed across the hillside and down to the forest below. “Come on, Dryal! Move that Ralalis ass of yours!”
“Come, love,” Jaydee said as he plucked his full-head, leather-chainmail mask from his belt and pulled it into place, thus covering himself head-to-toe in enchanted protection. “We have work to do.” Stepping forward, he offered her his hand.
She slipped her fingers into his. “So commandeth The Gladius?”
Jaydee groaned with gusto as he rolled his eyes again. “I wish I had never taught you people that word.”
Over and above their reputation for getting the job done, part of the reason the whole “The Gladius” moniker came about was because — as mind-boggling as Jaydee personally found it — virtually no one on Trolidi had ever used, or even considered using, a short-sword. What they called “swords” in their languages would have been perceived as long-swords, broadswords, and two-handed claymores back on Earth. They had no sabers, no wakizashi, no dirks or daggers, and no short-swords; hell, if it weren’t for cooking and eating utensils, he sometimes wondered if they would have even thought of knives.
Not long after their first encounter with the Skygger (and with that failed conflict very much in mind), Jaydee made the somewhat controversial decision to train with a sword in addition to his magic studies. All of his companions were skeptical that such a thing was even possible, warning that he would lose ground in thaumaturgy if he divided his focus in such a way, but when he stood firm, Dryal — no surprise — put a broadsword in his hands. But he found the blade awkward, too weighty and cumbersome; his late brother, Steve, could probably have handled it, but Jaydee remained a little too slight of build to make it work, too slow to bring the heavy blade around when it counted. And after the first few months, he had gained very little skill to show for his efforts.
Dryal insisted, strongly, that this was proof that he was not meant to learn the craft, that he had demonstrated centuries earlier that he was born to wield magic, and that should be his sole discipline — as it was for every other mage in the world.
But Jaydee was not from this world. And he would not be deterred.
Visiting their blacksmith of choice the next time they were in his village, Jaydee communicated via verbal description and sketches what he wanted. The smith was as skeptical as his friends, but, through trial and error, eventually delivered not one, but two Roman gladius swords.
Though it required considerable adaptation in his instruction — neither Dryal nor the others were experienced with such “dainty” swords — Jaydee proved, in rapid fashion, that he had made the right choice. He soon outpaced his teachers, and in the field he ended more than one conflict by moving inside an opponent’s defenses and delivering the final blow with a quick thrust into the gut. And it didn’t hurt matters that he employed some specialized spells, not unlike the ones he once used on his leather-chainmail armor, to enhance his swords, making them tougher and sharper than naturally possible.
After various locals asked about the swords and he relayed their Earthly designation, they collectively took to calling him “The Gladius.” And in the decades since, none of his group were surprised when they began encountering gladius-wielding opponents from time to time.
But not only did he excel in his use of the short-sword, not only did he adapt to using two such swords in concert rather than sword-and-shield, he shocked his comrades — especially Dryal — when he did not lose a single step of his magic proficiency. In fact, he continued to gain magical prowess even as he acquired greater swordsmanship. Dryal fully recanted her original position and told him in awe, and more than once, that — be it his otherworldly origin or something unique within him — he possessed an amazing gift.
Dryal had that awestruck look in her eyes now, along with a devilish grin, as she rose to her feet and mouthed the words “The Gladius” to him. He rolled his eyes once more and snickered, and she continued grasping his fingers within hers as they walked down the hillside together.
Golden Simarian had fully set, leaving only blue, dim Pecunium to light the way by the time they approached the church. As reported by Akribos, the fire in the churchyard was lit, but the pyre served only as a symbolic gesture to honor Simarian, and cast very little illumination upon the moderately-large structure. Given a choice, Jaydee and the others would have preferred to deal with their adversary at midday — the Skygger, which roughly translated as “adumbration” or “overshadow,” was so fond of darkness, Jaydee thought it should have just been labeled “Shade” or “Gloom.” But he knew, as he peered up at the once-holy place, that the Skygger would never greet them on anything close to ideal terms.
So be it.
PCA
Jaydee and his companions could never have suspected that they would be facing the Skygger again when, two days prior, they were approached at their campsite. Only innocent civilians would have stumbled through their early-warning wires in such clumsy fashion, so they received the old man and young boy (both of whom were human, or “sonin”) in relaxed guard.
The elder turned out to be a humble clergyman, who had been authorized by their township to offer an equally-humble reward for Jaydee’s group’s services; the townspeople had been filled with despair, until they learned that The Gladius and colleagues were in their area. Jaydee and the others welcomed the two into their camp, to sit around their fire and share their woes.
“A few weeks ago,” the clergyman had whispered in a raspy voice, “someone— no, something invaded our church. It was just ... just a nuisance, at first. It moved things, knocked things over, made noises, always in the shadows. Some thought it was a haunting, some sort of specter, but that was just nonsense ...”
Jaydee nodded in agreement. He had encountered many wondrous and terrible things since his unintentional departure from Earth, but neither ghosts nor vampires nor any other breed of “undead” were among them.
In fact, he had actually thought in that moment, the irony of which would soon strike him, the closest thing I’ve encountered to an honest-to-God “monster” would probably be the Skygger.
“Then the desecrations began ...” the old man continued. “An offering of food was tainted with zana eggs, already hatching. Our holy symbol of Simarian was ... was urinated upon ...”
The boy spoke up. “And lewd drawings were painted all over the alter in blood. At least, we think it was blood.”
“What color was it?” Akribos rumbled.
“Well, it was all dry, so it should’ve been brownish. But it stayed red, too red. Almost pink, really.”
Akribos looked to Dryal. “Feram?”
Dryal shrugged; the Feram had pink-red blood, but that was too little to go on.
Jaydee agreed with her. Why would the Feram bother desecrating a Church of Simarian? They were too mindless for that sort of thing; twisted, almost bes
tial in nature, like warped versions of Dryal’s own people — he would expect the Feram to try to eat these poor townsfolk before they would bother interfering with their religion.
“Have you seen this interloper?” Akribos asked.
The boy shuddered and looked down at his clasped hands. The old man sighed and answered, “Yes. And no.”
Jaydee gestured for him to elaborate.
“One morning, about a week ago, I was collecting flower petals for our upcoming Simarian artwork. The trorel blooms are lovely this time of year. They are perfect. I was returning to the church when Raga here...” He placed a hand upon the boy’s shoulder. “... he greeted me at the door and offered to take the load to the alter. He was a little early, but I didn’t think anything of it. Why would I?” He took a deep breath, which drew out a brief cough, before continuing. “On my way back with another basketful, I encountered Raga again, but now just arriving for the day. When we went inside ... we found that the trorel petals had been placed in the proper place, but they had been ... defiled.”
“How—?” Akribos started to ask.
“Shit,” Raga spat. “It shit in them. The thing that looked like me shit in the basket of petals.”
The old man gave him a disapproving look, presumably over the crass language, but continued, “Since then, my parishioners have kept watch. Day and night. But these ... these acts continue. No one has ever seen whatever is doing this, but ...”
Raga explained, “Sometimes they will see others from our town. One man claimed to have seen himself walking past the alter.”
Jaydee and Akribos were still mulling this over when Dryal sat up straighter, her green eyes widening; surprising no one, she had latched onto it first.
“What?” Jaydee asked.
She looked at him. “The Skygger?”
A chill ran down Jaydee’s spine, the belated irony of his own prior thought sinking in, but Akribos was skeptical, almost aggressively so. “The Skygger? Come on, Dryal! What are the odds that thing would show up here, so far away and after so much time?”
The old man and Raga looked to one another. Raga asked, “What’s ‘the Skygger’?”
Paranormals | Book 3 | Darkness Reigns Page 4