Collected

Chapter 3

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Kamali crashed, and an infinite pool of violet splashed all around her.

She sputtered, head spinning. It took a moment for her to adjust, eyes squinting at the violet mist all around. And the violet not-water she floated over. Nothing but violet everywhere, complimenting her lighter shade of purple.

The Collector’s essence, she realized. The Collector had pulled her soul into himself. She was now chained inside him proper, stuck for however long he wanted her there. Chances were she might never see the outside world again.

It was horrible. It was cruel. It was… better than death?

The cockroach in her said yes. A miserable fate, but still a step above death. Death scared her. She didn’t understand death, for all that she had seen of it throughout her life. She wasn’t ready for it.

But she wasn’t sure she was ready for this either.

The events of the day caught up all at once, and Kamali badly wished she could curl up into a ball — alas, she didn’t know quite how to do that while floating. She sniffed, though tears failed to form, yet another cruel reminder of her undead state.

The Fervent Indulgent had razed her town. She would never see Mother again. A terrible, terrible creature had taken her, probably planned to break her until she agreed to whatever evils he wanted from her. Was this really better than dying? Better than joining Father?

The thought pained her. She sniffed harder, hating herself. Hating her weakness. Hating that she’d never lost her stupid Shaman Role—

Faultless.

Why blame?

“You’ve not done anything wrong, little one.”

Comforting words came from a few of the voices in her head, but the clear-cut sentence was one that was spoken aloud. Kamali shifted her gaze, finding the red spirit of a stout woman with a motherly look, her nose crooked. Her tender smile made her seem radiant, a person sent down to be her sun in purgatory.

Kamali shook her head. “You heard me?” she said. “No, wait, are you—?”

“Dahlia. One of the wretches stuck here.” The lady’s smile turned sardonic for the briefest of moments. “When the Collector takes his souls, I make a point of being the first to greet and support them. Amongst our loose hivemind, it’s a little difficult not to overhear bits and pieces of each other’s thoughts, you’ll find.”

Habit?

All is one.

Darned Broken have the incessant need to comment on anything they sense from us saner souls. Gets on your nerves after a while, if you know what I mean.

“Charon, would it not be more courteous to speak in person?” Dahlia said, snapping her fingers behind her. For a while the air was still, before a grumble resounded, a gray specter floating in. Where Dahlia’s garb looked fairly standard for a townsperson, Charon was a far more striking person — an irony, what with his heavily cloaked form. Not a shred of hair nor skin showed, his face obscured with a full-face mask and thick gloves covering his hands. His garb shifted, Kamali spotting weapons behind the layers of clothing.

The man gave a bored shrug. “Need I be here?”

“You have better things to do?”

“No.” Charon moved to the side, blending into the mist out of what seemed like sheer habit. “Well, welcome to the prison of the Collector, young miss. Aggravating place, but beats being a total goner — pretty sure you agree with me there.”

Dahlia tsked, bending close to a frowning Kamali. “I can tell you’ve had a rough day, even post-mortem. The Collector, he’s not the worst person you could be dealing with—”

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“Better than Beastmaster?” blurted Kamali.

“Beastmaster doesn’t even try. Again, you’ve every right to hate him,” was Dahlia’s response. “And there’s plenty to hate about the Collector too, despite his efforts to be above the nature of the Indulgent Fervent. Some demons like to pride themselves in being a noble evil, hmm?”

Sounded right to her. There was a strange comfort, Kamali found, in talking to this stranger. Maybe because it distracted her from her moping?

“The Collector touched on a few sensitive nerves, I noticed.” Kamila looked up at Dahlia, her smile tinged with a touch of concern. “My Caretaker Role helps me with that, but really, all I had to do was watch your conversations with him. Careless fool — he thinks to comfort his spirits, yet won’t pay attention to what topics his souls dislike hearing about?”

Kamali made no comment. Dahlia hummed, extending a hand to her. Kamala hesitantly began to do the same.

“Well, regardless, you’re here now, so I may as well show you the place. I don’t suppose you’d like to meet the other spirits?”

Not really, but it was better than nothing. “Getting around might be a little weird though,” Kamali said, staring at the lack of ground beneath her. “I’m not used to floating yet.”

“Hm. No, you’re not.” Dahlia pulled her arm, tilting Kamali at an angle. She then let go, Kamali finding herself moving in that direction. “It helps to shift your form wherever you want to go. Not too hard, is it?”

“I—” Kamali managed to tilt herself back, only to overcompensate. She yelped as her face splashed against the violet not-water, then flailed as the liquid inexplicably pushed her back upright. Seconds passed as she got ahold of herself, mortified as Charon chuckled somewhere in the background. She could’ve sworn there were other voices too, mocking and jeering at her.

Dahlia shook her head, far more pitying. “Well, practice makes perfect.”

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It was a little later when Dahlia led her to a small stony landmass in the middle of the violet sea, Kamali holding tight to her arm. The mist parted a good distance away from the area, making it easy to spot the many spirits resting there, each of differing hues and appearances. Some were staring her way, much to her discomfort. Part of it was shyness — she wasn’t one to enjoy attention.

The other part was her being self-conscious of her levitation mishap, a few spirits giggling at her as she approached. She couldn’t see it, but she had a feeling Charon was smirking at her. Jerk.

What really unsettled her was the orange warrior spirit from before, however. He stood at the edge of the island, eyes locked upon her. He blurred for a moment, and it took all of Kamali’s willpower not to freak as he reappeared beside them, blades sheathed, coldly regarding Kamali. “You’ve met Earl,” Dahlia said. “One of the Collector’s more loyal spirits, for better or worse.”

“He’s peeved at me,” muttered Kamali.

“You yelled at the Collector,” Charon said with an aloof tone. “Earl found it inappropriate, and bound to attract unwanted attention. Not that Beastmaster showing up was your fault.”

Earl stared for a long, painful time. Then turned his glare upon Charon. “Not much for chatter,” the cloaked spirit told Kamali. “Though I’ll tell you, he hates my ghostly guts. Can’t stand rebellious spirits like you and me.”

“Don’t associate her with yourself,” warned Dahlia.

Charon simply gave a dismissive wave. “Some of us have to push back at the Collector,” he said, staring back at Earl. The spirit scowled but kept still, letting the trio pass on.

The island wasn’t much of anything, though it was a small joy for Kamali to finally have a surface her feet could walk upon. Apparently the Collector left it as a location for his spirits to gather if they wished, but it was only a series of small stone outcroppings, making for a shattered plain of rock. Spirits drifted aimlessly, some chatting to each other. Kamali roughly guessed sixty or so spirits were here, less than she expected.

Dahlia introduced her to some of the closest ones. The spirits were a varied bunch, ranging from various walks of life. Some were as mundane as Dahlia, apparently having Roles like Fisherman, Florist, and Baker. Others had more interesting ones like Scout, or Monk, or Trickster. A couple gave basic greetings and a somewhat awkward welcome to her new home, while others—

“Had some gall, trying to rankle our master, huh?”

“Your family’s worried sick about you, aren’t they? Hope you weren’t too close to them.”

“Strange the Collector gave you so much attention, isn’t it?”

“What’s up about the Shaman business anyway? There’s a story there, am I right?”

—were talkative. And nosy.

Kamali had grown paler and paler with each time she had to worm out of a discussion she didn’t want anything to do with, with Dahlia having to bail her out once or twice. Soon enough she was distancing herself from the lot, the Caretaker spirit sighing as she followed her.

“I-I don’t think I want to meet them,” she told her.

“I was hoping they would be better than this,” muttered Dahlia. “My apologies. In a place like this, they get hungry for any sort of excitement.”

Kamali could see that. Was this the price she’d have to pay too, just to stay sane? She’d like to think boring suited her just fine, but maybe that would change. She might end up caving in and trying to be a social freak, just to have something to do. Someone to talk to.

At least for now, she had Dahlia. “There’s less people than I expected here,” she told her. “Doesn’t the Collector have more souls?”

“Yes. But no.” When Kamali gave Dahila a confused look, she explained. “There’s some that wander out in the open sea of the Collector’s prison. And some others—”

“Perhaps it’s better you show her.”

Kamali jumped as Charon appeared out of seemingly nowhere. A chuckle left him, much to Dahila’s annoyance. “No, really,” he continued. “She should know of their fate.”

“Sorry?” Kamali eyed Charon, an errant thought of hers wondering where he’d come from and how. It was quickly dismissed by the more important matter at hand. “Whose fate?”

Dahlia hummed. “The Broken.”