Collected
Chapter 11
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The Collector had always been an imposing figure, a nightmarish being that seemed to hail from darkest recesses of whatever spirit realm he came from — all cloaked behind a mundane bundle of clothing wrapped over his form, complete with a mask to cover his foul face. Combined with his odd behavior and his attempts to act cordial, if not friendly at times, it made him almost seem down-to-earth.
But it was the longing look in his face right now that really sold it for Kamali. That the Collector was mortal. A human once, but not anymore. And not because he had intended to reject it.
“Jarsh.” The name slid out of Kamali’s mouth like a pebble tipping over a cliff, pushed by a little breeze. “Jarsh was the Collector.”
The Collector — Avrom — let the pupils of his eyes drift away from Kamali, further easing the pressure on her. They stared faraway into the blue sky, contemplative. “He was.”
“I-I’m sorry?”
It wasn’t that Kamali disbelieved. The Broken had heavily alluded to it, and Nina too. But Jarsh, the actual Collector? Not the person in front of her? She mentally tugged at Dahlia, the woman’s voice responding almost instantly.
I meant no ill by hiding it, she apologized. But I find newcomers are too overwhelmed by their undeath to be told everything right away.
“Avrom? He was—?”
One of the few claimed by Jarsh that didn’t break. As was I. A venomous noise echoed from Dahlia. Charon and Nina as well. He was a far less pleasant master.
“I’m touched,” the Collector said.
Don’t look for an ally in me, child murderer.
A self-mocking smile was the Collector’s response. “I wasn’t a good person in life either,” he confessed to Kamali. “Though one might state it was just a matter of circumstance. See, I was raised amongst a gang at some far-off city — got my Manipulator Role thanks to them. Not that I’m the best at smooth-talking or anything, as you might be able to tell, but I digress.
“The Collector, he had crashed into town, causing his usual pandemonium. Killed me and a few fellow gang members, ate our souls, the usual. Thing is with Jarsh, his mind had been deteriorating even before his soul stealing antics awarded him the Role of The Collector, and the baggage it came with. After? He was a maddened killer.”
Far too many of us broke at his hand, Dahlia mused. And the accumulation of Broken broke Jarsh further in return.
“The Collector’s body is rather sensitive to his spirits and their psyches, mind you,” the Collector said. “Want to hear a selfish reason for why I try to be on good terms with my spirits? Because otherwise, their collective hostility would be too damaging to me. I would lose control, leaving me free for someone to eject me and take over the body. The Collector’s powers are all in the body, Kamali — I’m only borrowing them.”
Steal bad?
Good! Ill-gotten goods best!
Jarsh gone. Tormentor. Justice!
Deserved worse, worse!
Kamali grew more and more pallid with time, for reasons she couldn’t quite pinpoint. Maybe at the thought that Avrom the Collector was but a bodysnatcher, wearing a form that wasn’t his? Or maybe at knowing where the vast majority of Broken came from? “So then, you took Jarsh’s body—”
“Accidentally. He’d been tormenting us non-stop in a bid to make us stop hurting him back, and well, I snapped. Pushed somewhere I didn’t know I could, and crushed his soul the moment I took over his body.” A strange look entered the Collector’s eyes. “You nearly took over yourself.”
Huh? What? She did what?
“When I first sensed Beastmaster in Gordius Town. You tried to see him and Myra too, and wormed into my body in order to use my Soulsense Rule.” The Collector’s lips parted to reveal a fanged, almost crazed smile. “You used a Rule of the Collector, Kamali. Anyone could do the stunt you pulled, but normally, I’m prepared to shove them back. You were lucky.”
Now Kamali definitely had something to make her pale as a sheet. That was— she had—
Oh dear God, she nearly became the Collector herself. She could’ve made use of any of his abilities if she wanted.
She was too hyper-aware of the movements of Avrom the Collector as he walked over, picking up the stone mask he’d left behind. Too aware of its rocky texture, of the feel of the grass tickling his feet, of the weight of his eyes and the rustling noises of the forest that his goblin-like ears picked up on. “That said, it would be interesting if you were the one in control,” he said to himself. “Your spiritual Shaman powers could be amplified with this form, I reckon. What would a young lady like you do with all that?”
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No. Absolutely not. Kamali cut off all sensations she felt from the Collector’s body, shaking her head viciously. She wanted no part of that. “G-give it to someone else,” she stammered. “Someone like D-Dahlia.”
The woman made a choking noise, Kamali feeling her actively reject such an offer. “I am perhaps too clingy to the control I wield,” said the Collector.
“Y-you’re not better.”
“A sinner is best suited for a naturally sinful form, no?”
Maybe Avrom had accidentally gained the Collector’s body. But that didn’t extend to his continued ownership of it. He chose to keep living as the Collector. Physically, of course, but perhaps mentally as well.
“Well, this day has gone poorly. No point in following the Fervent Indulgent now, I suppose, not with Beastmaster prepared to give me an ill reception for my trouble.” The Collector put on his stone mask, turning away. “At least my hunger shouldn’t rear up for a good while. Where to now?”
“I don’t get you.”
Kamali’s murmur made an ear of the Collector twitch. With the unnatural fear his face exuded being completely gone, nothing stopped her from letting her thoughts gush out. “I don’t get you at all,” she said. “You’re still holding on to a body you don’t exactly want.”
The Collector nodded. “A small price for immortality, child.”
“And to get that immortality, we go around, hopping from town to town, taking souls and being a nuisance to people,” she said. “Doing bad stuff for our own benefit. Am I right about that?”
Murmurs came from some of the spirits, vaguely agreeing with her words. “It will not last forever,” came the Collector’s argument. “At our current state, we will soon be free from the need to devour. You and I will someday figure out a method for freeing the spirits we do not need, of course, and I may need to find replacements, but that is good as well. It will put an end to the prison-like nature of this form. My fellow spirits will be able to truly enjoy their eternity on this earth, in peace and quiet.”
A little touch of Spirit Empathy and Kamali knew he was sincere. He knew he cared, deep down, about the other spirits. “It is like our own little gang here, huh?” she thought aloud.
“A gang leader does look out for his folks, rough as he might be.” The Collector knelt in front of Kamali, looking as tender as one could with a mask over his face. “I’ve done my wrongs, child, but it will be over soon. Look forward to the day we can leave behind this bleak world and hide away in our own personal paradise, will you? You will save yourself a little anguish that way.”
Something just wasn’t fitting together in Kamali’s head. Various thoughts whirred by — concerns that the wrongs wouldn’t end, because people would surely hunt down an immortal Calamity Walker with misdeeds to his name, and he’d have to kill to defend himself. Puzzlement at how Avrom the Collector seemed to act like any crimes he might’ve done would be all resolved with no lasting consequences. Discomfort at how eternity wasn’t really eternal when, as a spirit, she was doomed to join the Broken someday. Could a Collector turn into a Broken too, even while holding the body? Would that allow someone else to freely take over?
But there was one thought that spooked her, or rather, her cockroach self. A thought that maybe, it just wasn’t worth being an undead spirit that was shackled by a self-proclaimed sinner. Not even for the paradise he promised.
A paradise away from a bleak earth. Kamali stared out at the forest around her, imagining what it looked like from the sky above. Then the world around it, and the greenery it contained. The towns built upon it — and the flames and carnage that had claimed two of them, courtesy of Beastmaster.
Anytime she thought of fire, she thought of Eseelis Village. She thought of Father, and wished he was still around. But now, there was a stray part of her that also thought of the Fervent Indulgent, of Virala Town. And in turn, her Mother. Had it only been yesterday since she died, and hurt Mother with her loss? Had Mother perished from the raid? Did she escape? Or had Beastmaster taken her body and made her into—
Kamali exhaled with a shudder, refusing the thought. “Our paradise, their purgatory,” she muttered to herself. “I don’t think I can be happy with that.”
“Oh, for the love of—” The Collector put his hand over his mask, his patience fraying yet again. “I cannot accommodate you in everything, you know. I have no intentions of confronting Beastmaster again, and sending us all to our deaths.”
“I mean, I don’t want to die. Many people don’t. But—” Kamali pursed her lips, reflecting deeply on her next words. “But I don’t feel like we’re living either.”
There was a buzz of voices from the saner spirits. Some bristling at her words, some thoughtful and somber. Some that prodded at the Collector.
You hate the Fervent Indulgent, don’t you? Why let them go free?
You don’t even have to fight, really, just cause enough trouble at Elystra City to ruin Beastmaster’s efforts.
Are we really going to turn a blind eye on the most foul of the Four Horsemen? Let them build up their territory further?
We can’t hide forever, anyway. Someday there’ll be nowhere for us to go, and then what?
Frankly, if you want to be a colossal waste of space that contributes nothing of worth, that’s on you—
Charon’s biting words were the ones that really ticked the Collector off. “Stop!” he commanded, hands on his temples and his head drooping from the emotional pressure. “I cannot! I will not! I would gladly do many things to make your eternity with me a pleasant one, but not this!”
Kamali thought he was glaring at her from behind the mask, but she avoided checking to make sure, too uncomfortable with letting herself sense his body. “You know,” she said, putting her hands up as the Collector loomed over her. “Being a Shaman again, it’s like I have a new purpose to live for. Thanks for that, I feel like I would go insane in your prison otherwise. But by the same token, what are you doing? Does the Collector really have a purpose?”
The Collector hissed through his teeth. “I tend to you all,” he said. “Family is a purpose.”
“Are we family? Really?”
To that, Avrom was dead silent. Motionless. No gust of wind could hope to move him, the way he was. Kamali sighed, deciding that she’d said her bit. Maybe it was best to give the Collector some space now.
Spirit Call worked in reverse, as it turned out. Letting the light of the summoner and the summoned engulf her, Kamali warped herself back onto the large stony island of the Collector’s prison, ignoring looks the other spirits gave her. Her eyes darted across the not-waters of the violet sea and the mist hovering over it, before darting to Dahlia. The woman’s eyes seemed to pierce her for a long time, before she gave a curt nod. Myra, the little girl with her, was looking at her as well, brows furrowed.
The girl’s stare made her spiritual heart throb. Kamali made herself turn around at once, approaching Earl’s group. The scarred, gruff warrior seemed at a loss at what exactly to think of her, settling for a hard yet neutral expression as she came forward.
Freya mumbled to herself, the fallen spirit’s eyes drawn to the ground. “You mind if I try helping her?” she asked, and Earl softened a tad, shifting away. Kamali let herself ease up, shutting her mind from everything else. It was just her and Freya. No one else.
She connected to Freya’s troubled state with her Spirit Empathy, beginning to speak to her in soothing, assuring words. If anything, it would be good practice for her Shaman capabilities. And it kept her busy, away from her woes with the Collector and her own unlife. Would this do anything for Freya? She wasn’t sure. Her Spirit Empathy only helped her with understanding spirits, after all, and words were just words.
But no reason not to try.