Chapter Thirty-eight

Tovaron Ento woke us up in the morning. He told Krissy and the sailors to get ready, then we marched over to a small plot of land behind one of the large barns. The pyres were already there — nine of them — with a dead body lying on top of each.

I didn’t like funerals, but it was one of those things you just had to attend when you received that phone call or letter that a relative or a friend had died. It wasn’t the sad, sombre nature of it that I disliked — the dead deserved a final, respectful farewell. It was all the people you hadn’t seen in ages congregating — so called friends and relatives — most of whom you didn’t even know the names of, or only had vague memories of ever meeting. Awkward moments were plenty at funerals. I could only imagine how my own funeral could have gone. Had all my cousins been there? Old school friends? Or just my parents and a few close friends? But almost three years had passed since, and it was a futile thing to think about.

The elven rangers and the spiritualists had been strangers to us, but attending their funerals was mandatory on account of being there when most of them had died the day before. Being the outsiders — and humans no less — made for its own brand of awkward moments. Krissy took the stares and glares from the fifty odd green-caped rangers with a stony face, and since none of us spoke Elvish, we could only guess what the hushed comments could have been about.

Kitala Iwani was here, too. She looked a lot better than before — she had calmed down completely, cleaned up nicely, and was mostly silent. Her fallen comrades occupied four of the nine pyres — if Kitala Iwani had any issues with the human and the dwarf getting the same kind of funeral as elves, she didn’t show it.

Fenirig Arte gave a speech we didn’t understand, and it was him who went around with a torch, lighting the pyres. They must have put oil or some other extremely flammable material under the stacks of wood — they burned fast and hot. Krissy watched, almost mesmerised, her eyes fixed on the pyre closest to us. I couldn’t feel the heat of it, but I was sure she could. And the bodies burned. Nine of them.

I had no idea how many elves in total had fallen prey to the evil spirit in the two or so months between its appearance and its death yesterday. If it started out small like I had and it managed to grow to the size I’d seen, it must have eaten a lot. I kind of understood why the elves had been on edge, and why Toven had entertain Kitala Iwani’s claim yesterday — the elves weren’t willing to take chances.

Does it make me a bad person if I think better them than me? Krissy suddenly asked, still transfixed by the burning pyres.

‘I’m thinking the same,’ I said to her, and that was the truth.

You’re an evil spirit, Kevin, you have that as an excuse. But what about me? She argued, her thoughts sounding somewhat … troubled. This whole affair must have got to her.

‘It’s … normal to think that,’ I said. ‘Hell, if it had been someone else getting shot in my place, I would have thought better him than me.’

Shot? As in … someone put an arrow in you? Is that how you died before becoming … a spirit? She inquired.

‘Something like that,’ I said.

***

It took less than half an hour for the pyres and the bodies to vanish. A number of elves went about collecting the hot ashes into pots that looked almost exactly like urns used on Earth for the same purpose. Fenirig Arte gave another, shorter speech, then dismissed the gathering.

I was sure at this point that the scar-faced elf was something like a general or other high-ranking officer — he seemed to be in charge of the entire ranger contingent present in this farmstead-turned-outpost.

I didn’t disagree with Krissy’s desire to learn some form of self-defense, and she was right that the person who could make it happen was none other than Fenirig Arte. I really hoped that Kenta and Toven were right, and it would be impossible for Fenirig Arte to enroll Krissy into a training program of his own, twisted and hellish making — he really might accidentally or not so accidentally kill her.

Tovaron Ento came over to us, dragging Kitala Iwani with him. The elf woman stepped to Krissy — her demeanor calm and almost professional this time — and said,

‘I want my familiar back.’

Krissy looked at Toven, raising her eyebrows.

‘Whenever you’re ready, Misery,’ the elf said, shrugging and making a face.

It seemed Toven’s less serious persona had more or less reasserted itself.

Krissy nodded, then beckoned Kenta and Tommi to follow her, and we embarked on a day-trip back to the field where all the nastiness had happened.

***

Tilry started yelling and hollering the moment she saw us coming, part scared part overjoyed. I imagined it must have been killing a noisy, chatty spirit to follow the rules of familiarhood, namely that familiars did not talk to their hosts unless absolutely necessary. I wasn’t sure who had come up with this, but it seemed to be the way the shrines and their so called gods did things. Bit Tilry was a loose spirit now, and no-one but I could hear her. Lucky me.

Krissy followed my directions, and we arrived at the spot where Tilry was helplessly hovering. I was a little surprised she was still here — sure, she was too large to use mice or squirrels for hosts, but I imagined a deer or a wolf or at least some foxes must have come by during the night. Perhaps normal spirits had an aversion to animals? Maybe.

Tilry stopped all the excited noises, and while it was difficult for me to discern where she was looking — having a featureless, faceless head — I thought she might have been staring at Kitala Iwani.

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‘Still here I see,’ I sad to the spirit.

She turned her head to me, and I could suddenly feel her wary gaze on me.

‘I … am,’ she said, then lifted a hand to point at the elven woman. ‘Why is she here?’

‘She wants you back,’ I said to her.

‘She … does?’ she said, and it seemed even the ghostly voice of a spirit could crack with emotion.

‘Apparently,’ I said.

‘Does she know that … I … tried to …’

‘Eat her?’ I said. ‘For some reason she believes familiars can’t or don’t do that. She was convinced we were lying to her.’

‘I see,’ she said.

‘She thought we killed you,’ I explained. ‘But we told her you’re alive and well, and she wants you back.’

‘Are you trying to trick me?’ Tilry asked.

I wanted to sigh. I really did. Instead, I stretched all my tenties and surrounded her with them. She shrieked, and I said,

‘I don’t need to trick you. I could eat you right now if I wanted to. That’s what evil spirits do, isn’t it?’

‘Please don’t eat me!’ she pleaded.

Kevin, what’s going on? Krissy asked, looking around, trying to see the invisible.

‘Just a minute, Krissy. I need to make a few things clear to Tilry,’ I said.

‘Alright,’ Krissy said and explained it to the elves.

I turned my attention back to the ex-familiar spirit.

‘Listen, Tilry,’ I said to her. ‘I may look like an evil spirit, a Tentacle Horror as you called me yesterday, but I’m not.’

‘What are you?’ she asked. ‘You’re not one of the people, are you?’

I wasn’t sure what she meant by “people”. Did normal, intelligent spirits refer to themselves as “people”? Maybe.

‘I don’t know what that means, so let’s just say I’m … unique.’ I said, not sure at all if that was the case or not. ‘I don’t go around eating everything that moves. I could, as you have seen, but I don’t. Can you accept that?’

Tilry nodded her faceless head.

‘Good. Now, having said that, if I find myself visited by angry people or spirits screaming about killing the Tentacle Horror, I will find you, and I will eat you, host and all. You understand? Be a good familiar and don’t talk about things you shouldn’t. Can you do that?’

‘I … can,’ she said hesitantly, then she repeated it more firmly, ‘I can.’

‘Good girl,’ I said.

‘Girl?’ she asked.

‘Whatever,’ I said. I withdrew my tenties from Tilry and I said to Krissy, ‘Right. We’re done. You can tell Kitala Iwani that her familiar is hers again.’

Krissy relayed the message, and I had her point to a spot on the grassy ground for Kitala Iwani to stand, right next to Tilry. Only I could see as Tilry’s genie-like tail pierced the woman’s bronze coloured soul. The normal, regular Essence she injected into it quickly formed wires and connected the spirit to her. Kitala Iwani and Tilry were host and familiar once again. The elf woman looked around, breathing fast, looking scared and excited at the same time. Tilry poked at her soul with a finger where the arm part of it should have been.

‘I’m sorry, Kiwa, I’m really sorry,’ she said. ‘How is your arm? Any pain?’

Kitala Iwani looked around in a sudden panic, then settled on staring slightly up, probably imagining the spirit there. Then she spoke to Tilry in Elvish. Tilry nodded and hummed, understanding every word.

I had been right: language was not a factor in quasi-telepathic chit-chat between spirit and host. I was sure that if I attached myself to an elf, I would understand him or her just fine, regardless of the language used. Not that I had any plans to do so.

‘What is she saying?’ I asked Tilry.

‘She says there is a constant, unpleasant sensation in her arm, but it’s not pain,’ Tilry said cautiously. ‘She says it feels like something is missing.’

‘Well, something is missing,’ I commented.

Kitala Iwani looked confused for a second — I could tell she was hearing Tilry just fine, but she couldn’t hear me. Then the woman looked at Krissy and said something in Elvish to Tilry, probably.

‘Yes, I’m talking with her familiar,’ Tilry said to her.

The woman said something else I didn’t understand, then she took a tentative step forward, almost as if unsure whether the spirit would follow. Then she lifted an arm and drew on Tilry’s Mana. She stared as the gathering spritual substance shimmered blue for a moment, then she smiled. She was back in business, wasn’t she, doing whatever it was she was supposed to do for Wensah’s arch-nemesis.

As I watched the spiritualist playing around with Tilry's Mana, I thought it might be time soon to teach Krissy how to do it, too. Maybe tomorrow.

‘Are we done?’ I asked Tilry.

‘We are,’ she said, looking at me — or at least I thought she was looking at me. ‘Thank … you?’

‘Was that a question?’ I asked.

‘No. Thank you. And tell Lady Misery that I am grateful.’

***

Kitala Iwani didn’t join us on our trek back to the farmstead — as Toven had explained, she wasn’t a prisoner and was free to go wherever she wanted to, provided she refrained from trying to set up a shrine to Sivera. That was fine with me, I was glad to be rid of the competition’s employees. Besides, the woman had a lot of grieving to do, a lot of questions to ask Tilry, and probably needed to come up with something to tell Sivera as well. Some alone time would serve them well.

In theory we could have gone wherever we wanted to, just like Kitala Iwani could — we weren’t prisoners either, regardless of how much Ranger Genral Fenirig Arte wanted us to be. But we had nowhere else to be, and the question of Krissy’s sword training was still hanging in the air, so we followed Toven back to the farmstead.

The sight that greeted us as we entered the house was probably the scariest, most disturbing thing I had ever seen in either of my lives. Fenirig Arte stood in the middle of the room, leaning on the table, talking with two, serious looking elves. The newcomers were obviously rangers, with their dark green capes and swords and all. One had short, white hair like Fenirig Arte, the other had long silvery hair. Neither of them had any scars, but they still managed to exude the same air of battle-hardened badassery as Fenirig Arte. The icing on the cake was the vicious looking smile on Fenirig Arte’s face. This … did not bode well.

Tovaron Ento snapped to attention as soon as he saw the three men, stiffening like a log. He began to sweat as if we had walked into an oven. The three elves simply turned their heads to look at us, at Krissy in particular, ignoring Tovaron Ento completely, so … they were high ranking officers? That was my best guess.

Fenirig Arte glanced at Toven and asked,

‘Is that spirit gone with the wench?’

‘Yes, sir, they’re gone. Somewhere,’ Toven replied.

‘Good,’ Fenirig Arte said, then turned to his compatriots, gesturing towards Krissy. ‘This is the human spiritualist, Misery Mask, from that stupid sounding Bureau thing.’

The two men nodded and gave Krissy an appraising look. Krissy stiffened, too, breaking out in a sweat just as Toven had. Kenta and Tommy were trying their best to become invisible by the look of it, fading into the background without making so much as a squeak. It was a wise choice as far as I was concerned — I would have done the same, but I was already invisible. Although, instead of the loathing Fenirig Arte had displayed, the two other officers eyed Krissy with curious, calculating gazes. They definitely wanted something from her. From us.

‘So, congratulations, Misery, you’re in,’ Fenirig Arte said, his grin growing wider, teeth showing, giving the impression of a shark ready to devour its prey.

‘Uh … w … what? In?’ Krissy stuttered, forgetting to employ her mask of confidence. She looked left and right, her eyes settling on Toven.

Tovaron Ento gathered his courage and asked,

‘Master Fenirig Arte, what do you mean “in”?’

‘Training of course,’ the scar-faced elf said, almost laughing, then took a step towards Toven. ‘I’m nothing if not gracious and kind-hearted, and since you are a good ranger who has definitely never called me Master Fenar, you will have the honour of teaching this wench the basics.’