Collected
Chapter 6
----------------------------------------
Sword pressed against her nape, check. Wind breezes ruffling her back, check. Actual dirt and grass around her and not a trace of purple mist, check.
It was not something Kamali expected to succeed at, but here she was, back outside. The Collector stood over her, grumbling to himself. Unhappy about this particular development.
His hand gestured toward her. “Never pull that trick on me again.”
Kamali felt the command choke her. A sliver of her managed to lock in on Dahlia’s alarm, along with a mixture of bafflement and gleeful amusement from a variety of souls. Charon, she sensed, was cackling like her escape from the Collector’s prison was the greatest thing he’d ever seen, his laughs competing with those of the Broken.
Escaped! Escaped!
Tricky girl!
Pest! Much fun!
The Collector ordered Earl to move his blades off Kamali, the warrior doing so after a moment’s hesitation. The girl almost laughed then, a nervous kind of laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Spirit Call had a movement component, meant to ensure a spirit ended up where a summoner wanted the spirit to be. Of course, it only affected the summoned spirit, and the location couldn’t be too far away.
Except now Kamali was a spirit. And due to some quality of the Collector, she guessed, his realm was technically bordering the outside world at all times.
“If I’d known spiritual-based Roles could be this difficult to handle, I would’ve avoided taking you,” the Collector said, looming tall over the girl. “Charon irks me enough, need you do the same?”
Her voice returned to her in that moment, the want to inconvenience her captor warring with her cockroach need for survival. “N-not really,” Kamali said. “B-but I had to do it once.”
More grumbling from the Collector. Her action had gotten under his nerves even more than she thought, for he began pacing about, head turned to face the sky as if searching for answers. It was almost silly, seeing a Calamity Walker do such a thing, a soul-leeching horror of violet energy left stumped by the antics of a mere girl.
“You didn’t strike me as troublesome when I first found you,” he said during his pacing. “The quiet and studious sort, really. Didn’t expect such a stubborn streak from you.”
“You cornered a rat,” said Kamala.
“A pittance I did not notice the snout and whiskers.”
“Now what?”
“I wish I knew, child.”
Earl fidgeted where he was, the Collector’s demeanour making him uneasy. He shot glares at Kamali, but they were worn out, haggard, almost leery of her. Kamali shrugged, despite herself.
“My Manipulator’s touch, sweetening my words, and none of it helps because you’re too stubborn to listen to me. Yes, I’m admitting to that.” The Collector plopped down at last, a groan leaving him, and Kamali felt his stare in the back of her head, trained upon her. “Well, maybe I’m too stubborn for my own good too. Anything more you want to say? Any insults or condemnations?”
He seemed subdued, and yet he was still trying to talk. Why the obsession? “Just send me back,” Kamali said, remaining where she lied. “I’m not in the mood.”
The Collector’s body had a peculiar shine in the night, she decided. The strong moonlight obscured it, but his body of violet energy made him seem colorful, moreso with the colorful lights floating around his arms and anywhere his dark layers of cloth didn’t cover him. “Hm,” he said after a while. “I need your help.”
“I already said—”
“I need someone who can remove souls from my body.”
Kamali jerked her head. The many voices in her head went hush.
“There. Said it. Don’t know why I didn’t start with that in the first place.” The Collector rubbed the bridge of his mask, looking terribly, terribly tired while doing so. “My reasons are entirely and absolutely nefarious, of course. I’m obviously doing this to perpetuate my cycle of endless hunger, and not to free the spirits within me who’ve found this form of existence so miserable.”
“You want to free your spirits.”
“I want to have the power, at least.” A hoarse laugh left the Collector. “Well, you’d have the power, I’d just borrow it. Nothing would stop you from using it yourself and emptying me entirely, really—”
Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.
“You could just command me?”
“My commands don’t last forever.”
It was such an off-putting change in tempo, and such an unexpected desire, that it threw Kamali askew. It was clearly unexpected for the other spirits too, judging from their surprised murmurs. Why would the Collector admit his weaknesses? No, never mind that — he wanted to free his souls? Free?
“It’s only fair I give the unwilling a way out, if they wish. The Broken deserve it most, they’ve been stuck in their madness for too long. But try as I might, my Role seems reluctant to help grant me such a kindness.” The Collector hung his head. “Am I pushing too much on you? I took your soul, believing a Shaman would have better luck with this, but knowing your dislike of that path—”
“N-no, it’s not a big deal, I-I—” Kamali tripped over herself, unsure where to go with this. Could she say no? Why would she? Being able to liberate the Collector’s souls, it was important. But why would the Collector himself ask for it, when he stood to lose so much as a result?
She couldn’t reconcile the idea. “T-there’s a catch, right?” she asked, an odd whine to her voice.
“That I’m not going to free literally everyone. That would bring the Collector back to that point of starvation and insanity, where all souls became fair game to him.”
There was a disassociation there, like the Collector hated thinking of himself as the killing fiend he once was. Kamali pondered over his request for a while, wracking her brain for some answer to why he wanted this. A ploy to make her utilize her Shaman Role again, and possibly stumble upon other powers he could exploit? But that somehow seemed far-fetched. Was there something hidden in his words? But Kamali couldn’t find anything off about his words.
The Collector was a Manipulator too. It was really all that kept Kamali from accepting on the spot, but it wasn’t like she could find any ill intent hidden away, either. A Shaman didn’t have an inherent skill in sending off spirits, but there was probably some Rule that existed. It would take a long while to gain, she suspected, but it was doable.
“You seem to be in disbelief.” Kamali felt the smile behind the Collector’s mask, his posture relaxed as if he’d freed himself of a burden. “That is fine. Take the time you need to process this. It is a long-term project, but I believe it will be good for us all.”
“Or I could ruin you with such a power,” muttered Kamali.
“I’ll pray you’ll be less hostile to me by then.”
“I-I don’t understand.”
“You don’t like that this is outside your expectations of me.”
“I don’t!” Kamali held her head, dropping all attempts of rationalizing the Collector’s request. “You wanted a Shaman to give you a power which she could use against you? Either this is some trick, o-or you’re—”
“Too naive for my own good?”
Kamali held her silence.
“I am very much a monster, child. But I am not evil. I could drain your soul dry if you did act against me,” the Collector said, “but I’d hate to do so. You’re a pleasant soul, for all the woes you’ve caused me, and I get the strange impression you’d find a purpose in doing this. That it will make you — well, not happy with me. Not content with my morally dubious actions. But at least, generally happy.”
This was messing with her head. The Collector was a creature of darkness. The stories said so. He wasn’t supposed to be this.
“Oh, and if I dangle carrots in front of my souls, it keeps them in line, and helps stabilize my mind. There, evil plan exposed. Does that help?”
That weirdly did. Unable to help the urge, Kamali used her Spirit Empathy, staring into the Collector’s spirit. And blinked as she felt the honesty, the deep desire, of his wish to exorcise spirits from himself.
She turned to Earl. “What did he offer you to be his loyal henchman?”
The scarred warrior raised a brow, ever so slightly. His response came in a single word.
“Life.”
Survival.
Life.
Seeing the world.
Purpose.
Second chance.
Eggplant?
Life.
Knowledge.
Power.
Life.
Life.
Too many voices, Broken and sane alike. Kamali all but staggered at its tempest, pressing down on her. Wishes and desires, condensed into the simplest of phrases.
Except the eggplant. Kamali could’ve sworn the Broken who said that was getting hissed at by other Broken.
“I tend to take souls who have something they want. Life and survival in particular, my dear cockroach.” Kamali could tell the Collector was giving her a knowing look. “If you could, mind you, it would be convenient if you could possibly do something to allow the freed souls to somehow persist — some of my spirits would love to live on in this world, free from my filthy claws and the deplorable acts that I do.”
A pause. “What do you think?”
----------------------------------------
Purple mist and seas all around. Kamali found herself beside Dahlia again, the woman giving her an indecipherable look. A small group of other spirits had gathered, but only Charon she recognized. He said nothing, but there was a smugness in his posture, with hints of something else she couldn’t read. Perplexment? Consternation?
“I don’t know where to begin with you.” Dahlia was first to speak, a hand raising to pinch the width of your nose. “Though if anything, the Collector will sleep less soundly after that stunt of yours. Go figure that a spirit channeler would find a way to freely move his souls in and out of his prison.”
Already Kamali could feel the command stopping her from using her Spirit Call loosening — the Collector really couldn’t enforce it at all times. Or perhaps he was letting it happen on purpose, as a gesture of good will. Of trust?
“He confuses me,” she admitted aloud.
One of the other spirits chuckled, a burly figure of jade. “Avrom’s a bit crooked,” he said in a baritone voice, “but our dear Collector makes for a poor villain deep down, if you ask me. There’s plenty to dislike, yes—”
“But he’s willing to let us go,” said a magenta spirit, pointing at Kamali. “Through her.”
The gazes of many weighed down Kamali’s back. The gazes of those present, and those not. The Broken babbled a little quieter, in a more solemn tone, her name spoken in their whisperings.
None of them had expected the Collector to plan on giving them the option to go free, to escape his cage and die peacefully. Not that they all wanted to — there were others with her mentality here as well, people too afraid of death. Content with their current shabby state. But the fact that they could soon choose to stay, instead of being forced to, still excited them.
Maybe the Collector did have ulterior motives. Kamali wasn’t sure. But she was sure of two things. One, that there was something noble in the Collector after all. Something she could appeal to. And two?
Kamali let herself feel her soul. Then the souls of the others, amplified through her Spirit Empathy. Feeling their uncertainty, with hope thrown into the mix. In some cases, a yearning.
“Guess I have some work to do,” she said.
Her Shaman side, useless and unwanted, had a purpose again.