The Skillijak

The crow ruffled his feathers and quorked at the disturbance. He cocked his head and listened. The still air was stuffy, dusty with memories of hay bales stacked to the ceiling, long since removed. Spiders danced on their spindly legs as they wove intricate patterns in the ceiling, blissfully unaware they could become snacks at any moment, but the crow paid them no mind for now. The crossbeams of the old barn were dry and pitted with age, but still provided ample room for perching, for watching. A sharp crack split the silence and the crow flapped twice in annoyance. He hopped further out onto the beam, careful to not draw the attention of the beast below.

It was some kind of dragon, the crow was almost certain of it. Its wings had been clipped, robbed of the freedom of the skies. Some penance for dark deeds done no doubt; for now it crept along the ground on round, rolling feet, cursed to forever travel with its nose in the dirt.

It spent its time in hibernation, only waking when the Man came to visit. He would pet it with an old rag, careful to remove the accumulated dust from its black polished shell. Occasionally the Man would climb into its ear and then it would awaken with a loud, rumbling roar, shaking the entire barn. It would spit smoke and fire and the Man would curse and shout. Then they would be off to enact any number of evils upon the world leaving behind a terrible, acrid smell that would linger for hours.

Another blast from outside and a splintered hole appeared in the wall. A sudden skittering circled around the perimeter of the dragon's lair. Footsteps approached quickly and the doors flung open. The Man stood silhouetted in the doorway, his frame casting a long shadow over the beast in the dying rays of sunlight. He held a long wood and metal tube crooked under his shoulder, the sunlight glinting off its nickel plating, wisps of smoke curling from its mouth. His breathing was labored and he was favoring his left side. The crows eyes were transfixed to the Man's side. His plaid shirt was tattered and stripped away at the waist, a long gash ran along his abdomen oozing with thick, foul blood. The crow hopped once in alarm but dared not call out and reveal his location. Even from his perch atop the rafters, he could sense the miasma of corruption emanating from that wound. Only one creature he knew caused a wound like that. The Man had run afoul of a Skillijak.

He must have seen the warning signs of the nearby lair. The birds avoided it and the creatures of the field knew to give it wide berth. Yet whether by ignorance or arrogance, the Man had disturbed the creature's solace.

The Man staggered against the dragon, fumbling in his pockets for his talisman for which to wake the beast. Black veins seethed and pulsed from the tear at his side, ichor bubbled and seeped from the gash. The Man coughed and spun about wildly, pointing his stick menacingly at the doorway. Thunder boomed and pealed from the mouth of the tube which hurt the crow's ears as the Man shouted into the dusk. His eyes frantically scanned the tall grasses waving lazily in the twilight breeze, uncaring to his plight.

Sudden movement caught the eye of the crow. Whipcord thin, a sinewy limb probed out from the edge of the nearby field. A dark, oily cloud quivered and shook with anticipation behind the weeds, all that was visible of the creature tensing, preparing to strike. A second limb crept forward, then a third, planting themselves in the ground to launch the Skillijak forward in one fell motion.

The Man retreated to the dragon's ear, pleading with it, imploring it to wake up and carry him away from his present danger. The sun set impossibly fast, shrouding the barn in gloom as the moon took watch over the evening. Perfect lighting for a Skillijak.

The dragon whined a rhythmic groan, oblivious to the present peril. The Man pleaded as the dragon whined and clicked again.

Movement at the barn door drew the crow's gaze. The Skillijak was just around the corner, long bristles shining in the moonlight damp with the fervor of the hunt. Sensing danger, the Man swung around. He peered into the night for a moment then reached into his pocket and produced a small flame. The realm of men was curious like that. Long ago they had conquered the elements, summoning fire, wind, lightning and water at their call, reshaping the earth into all manner of bizarre creations. Yet even with all their power, they hungered for more. They wrestled and contended with Nature herself, to subdue the world in their grand designs.

The war was not going well.

The Man struggled to hold himself, the flame and his booming stick all at once. The vorpal toxin of the Skillijak worked quickly and the Man was losing strength. He sat on the ground and brandished his weapon. A flash and another boom split the air. Then again, and again. The crow screamed and retreated further into the shadows of the barn.

The smell of the dragon's blood permeated the air, noxious and pungent. It seemed the Man had wounded his pet, but if so, it made no sound, gave no cry of dismay.

A bloodchilling screech sounded the Man's doom. Needlelike appendages shot forth from the darkness, a furious whirlwind of razor-sharp death launched into the barn. The Man screamed as the Skillijak shrieked, their cries a discordant harmony rising to cacophonous pitch. The Man's scream cut off in a choked gurgle as wet splashes pattered upon the floor.

Amidst the crunches and slaps, the flame fell from the Man's grasp. Discarded straw burst alight and began to spread. All at once, the dragon's blood that had been dribbling from its hindquarters roared into a massive conflagration. The Skillijak hissed in surprise and pain and retreated from the towering inferno and slipped into the chill of the night. Through it all, the dragon remained still. The crow cawed in respect to the silent vigil, standing watch in the midst of its owner's funeral pyre. The crow took wing and exited the barn which had begun to catch fire as well. He perched on a nearby elm tree and watched as the firelight glinted in his beady eyes. Off in the distance, he heard the Skillijak retreat into its web, whisper soft into the night to lie in wait once more.