Chapter Thirty-six

Krissintha Arlonet Dar Ghelain wanted to smile, but she was too tired and rattled by what had happened. Besides, she was sure that Kevin would have been able to somehow see it, even beneath her misery mask.

She wasn’t considering replacing the spirit, especially not with a familiar that had tried to eat her master alive — although she wasn’t entirely convinced that same danger didn’t exist with Kevin. In any case, she thought it couldn’t hurt to teach her own evil spirit not to take her for granted. Then an unbidden and uncomfortable question surfaced in her mind. If she really and honestly thought about it, which of them needed the other more?

She hadn’t really done anything because … she couldn’t. Was she ... useless? Did the spirit need her for anything else than having a host to move around with? Anyone could be that host. Krisstintha shuddered as she though about her own helplessness — not just in the face of the evil spirit and its hosts, but even before. She wasn’t a soldier or a warrior. She wasn’t even a craftsman; beyond embroidery and most recently ropes for a ship, she hadn’t done or made anything useful for the past nineteen years of her life. All she knew was how to threaten and order people around. It was a useful skill to have, but without her father’s authority behind her, it was nothing but empty bravado. Without Kevin’s presence, Quenta and Tommi or the elves could have easily decided to just be done with her. Without the strange spirit who claimed to have been human once, Krissintha had nothing.

‘Don’t worry, Kevin, I was just thinking out loud,’ she said. ‘Our partnership stands.’

Ah! You scared me there for a moment. Kevin said, sounding relieved.

***

Krissintha had counted at least six ranger teams — almost twenty elves. Some had ran off and never came back, then new ones had arrived. They had collected the dead into one place, laying them out next to each other, and even a couple of single-horse carts had appeared from somewhere to transport the bodies.

Tovaron Ento came over again — the man looked haggard, his eyes reddened, and Krissintha could see how much effort he was making to hide his grief and anger. She knew rather well what it was like to lose someone close and she suspected the woman that had died — Ardeela Something — must have been an old and good friend. But despite the loss, Tovaron Ento was conduncting himself a hundred times tougher and more professional than she had when her family had been killed or been dragged away to be executed. She envied how the elf managed to keep his composure.

Krissintha took her misery mask off. It wasn't uncomfortable to wear it, the smoky smell was almost completely gone, but as she removed it she felt like she had been let out of a prison cell. Quenta and Tommi followed suit, then all three masks vanished out of a sudden.

‘How did you do that?’ Tovaron Ento asked, squinting his eyes, looking at her empty hand that had held the mask a moment ago.

‘My familiar,’ she said, not explaining any further.

The elf shrugged and looked down at the still unconscious woman on the ground.

‘How is she doing? Is she … going to wake up? Can we move her now?’ he asked.

Krissintha looked down at the elf woman, too, relaying Kevin's assessment to Tovaron Ento.

‘Her name is … Kitala Iwani, and … she is no longer a spiritualist. My familiar severed her connection with hers,’ she explained. ‘Her body is fine, but her soul is … damaged. I don’t know if or when she will wake up.’

‘Is a familiar’s pact so easily undone?’ Tovaron Ento asked.

‘I wouldn’t say easily,’ she said. ‘Her familiar thought she was being tortured, but … it was the familiar who broke the rules in the first place.’

‘What happened to it? Is it here?’ the ranger asked.

‘She’s right about there, floating above her,’ Krissintha said, pointing at empty air above the woman.

‘She?’ Tovaron Ento asked.

Don’t you dare! I’ll eat you right now! She heard Kevin’s angry thoughts, probably directed at the faimiliar.

What’s going on? Krissintha asked.

Tilry was trying to very sneakily attach herself to Toven! She’s really starting to get on my nerves. When she’s not begging me not to eat her, she’s crying about being left behind in this spot for all eternity.

‘Yes, its a … she, kind of,’ Krissintha explained to the ranger. ‘Listen, do you know anyone who wants a familiar? She’s bothering mine.’

‘I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention …’ the elf said, scowling at her. ‘… but Solace is the wrong place to be asking this question, Misery.’

And look at that! Now she says she loves you, Krissy. Just be quiet, Tilry, will you?

Krissintha shuddered. It wasn’t even evening yet, and this day had already been too long and filled to the brim with all kinds of unpleasantness she’d never wanted to experience. And now there was another, whiny familiar?

Tovaron Ento called over two rangers, who then took Kitala Iwani away, cradling her between them as carefully as they could.

‘We’ll be heading back to the outpost. I have to report to Master Fenar, and I need you to be there to confirm that the evil spirit is gone,’ Tovaron Ento said, almost growling, almost failing to suppress his emotions. He looked over to the carts and the rangers working in reverent silence, loading the dead bodies onto them. ‘We’ll be leaving shortly. Be ready.’

‘We’re ready whenever you are,’ Krissintha said. The man walked away, heading back to his comrades. She turned back to where she thought the familiar was and said, ‘What do you want to do with her, Kevin?’

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

I don’t know. The thing is, she knows what I am, so I can’t just let her go around telling everyone. Maybe I really should just eat … stop screaming, Tilry, stop screaming!

Krissintha shook her head. For a brief moment she considered asking Kevin if he could make it so she could talk to Tilry, but she dismissed the idea immediately. It was too much trouble, and they were about to leave soon. She sighed.

‘Listen Tilry,’ she said, looking at the air in front of her. ‘You heard the man: people don’t like spirits around here. I’ll try to ask around, but … no promises. We’ll come back for you later, so stop screaming.’

She says she loves you very, very much. Kevin said, his thoughts sounding like groaning.

‘Has she quieted down?’ she asked.

More or less.

‘Good,’ Krissintha said, then turned around and beckoned to Quenta and Tommi. ‘Alright, let’s go. The elves are leaving.’

***

The sun had already disappeared behind the distant mountain range by the time Krissintha saw the small farmstead the rangers had been using as an outpost. The moon was climbing up in the sky, and even a few stars were there, blinking down at the world.

Krissintha was tired. Worse than that, on the way back, she had time to think about everything that had happened, time for it to sink in, time for her to realise it had all been real and not just a bad dream. She couldn’t keep the images away from her mind. She had seen people die before — it had never been a pleasant sight — but people collapsing to the ground, dead, their invisible souls eaten by an invisible spirit was … terrifying. Being stabbed, beaten or drowned was at least something she could see and understand. The soul? She had no idea how it worked, and she wasn’t sure knowing it would be any better. But she was alive, Quenta and Tommi were alive, and even Akela …

Akela, where are you? she asked, hoping the hound could hear her thought.

Pack. Mate. Akela’s growly thoughts came.

What does that mean? Krissy asked.

I think it means he’s with that wolf-lady. He’s not too far, I think, a couple hundred paces behind us, maybe. Kevin said.

Those dead wolves … were her pack? She asked.

I think so. Misty may be the only one left. Kevin said.

Misty?

Yes, I named her Misty. You know, she has misty grey fur. Kevin said.

How very … imaginative. Krissy said.

Well, she needed a name. I have a feeling she will soon be family.

***

Most of the rangers and the two carts took a turn and headed to one of the barn-like, wooden buildings in the fields surrounding the settlement. Tovaron Ento took Krissintha and the sailors to one of the stone houses, but not the same one as last time. He knocked on the door, an elf opened it, and they walked in.

Fenirig Arte was waiting for them, sitting at a table in the middle, a stack of papers, ink and quill in front of him.

‘Could have gone a lot worse,’ the scarred, short haired elf said without any preamble, or even looking up, staring at the paper sheet he was holding. ‘It’s bad compared to last time, but much better compared to the time before that.’ He put the paper on the table, looked at Tovaron Ento first, then at Krissintha and the sailors. He hummed once, then said, ‘Gileri Enda’s says Sivera’s people took the brunt of it, but it was the masked spiritualist who dealt the final blow with …’ he glanced at the paper he had just put down ‘… with a huge wave of power, obliterating the hosts of the evil spirit.’

Tovaron Ento glanced at Krissintha and said,

‘She seems to have a powerful familiar.’

‘I take it the evil spirit is gone then, not just the hosts?’ Fenirig Arte asked Krissintha.

‘It’s gone, sir,’ Krissintha said.

‘Gilen also said there was some spirit-fuckery happening with the surviving member of Sivera’s idiots.’ Fenirig Arte said, scowling at Krissintha. ‘Anything dangerous I should know about?’

‘Nothing dangerous. We negated the pact between the woman and her familiar. The spirit is … still there. Waiting. I thought that maybe …’ Krissintha said.

‘You thought wrong,’ Fenirig Arte cut her short. ‘The bastards are near immortal, so let it rot where you left it. Or better, shove the invisible piece of shit on one of your men, and take it with you when you leave. Speaking of which, you are leaving soon, correct?’

Krissintha fought down the urge to gulp, then looked Fenirig Arte in the eyes and said,

‘Well, before that, there is the matter of payment for our services,’ Krissintha said, trying to look and sound confident.

‘Careful what you say next, Misery Mask!’ Fenirig Arte warned, his voice low, his eyes narrow. ‘If you want to babble about setting up a shrine to you god here, just know that I do not hate the idea of flaying spiritualists alive.’

This time Krissintha gulped. She was sure that Kevin could protect her, or even kill everyone in the room if he so wished — not that she wanted it to come to that. But for some inexplicable reason, she was scared of the scarred elf. But she steadied herself, mustered all her courage, drawing on everything she knew about being confident and said,

‘No, Master Fenirig Arte, I don’t care about shrines.’

‘Then why in the name of hell are you here? Why did your bitch-of-a-god send you?’ Fenirig Arte asked, eyebrows raised.

‘I don’t know what Wensah wants, and I don’t care,’ Krissintha said. ‘But we did help get rid of the evil spirit, and I have a personal request I’d like you to grant me.’

‘Personal request? This could be interesting,’ the man said, finally standing up from his chair. He walked around the table to stand a mere step away from Krissintha. She had to tilt her head up to look at him. A strange smile appeared on the man’s face, and Krissintha was sure the elf was already planning the insults and curses to use while denying her request. ‘So, what is it?’

Krissintha glanced over at Tovaron Ento, then back at Fenirig Arte.

‘I think Tovaron Ento can attest to my familiar being quite powerful,’ she said, then paused.

‘Go on,’ Fenirig Arte said, his voice filled with an evil kind of anticipation.

‘But he can also tell you that I myself am somewhat inexperienced as a fighter,’ she continued.

Fenirig Arte looked at the other elf.

‘She’s … useless,’ Tovaron Ento said, shrugging.

Krissintha gave the elf a murderous glare, but this wasn’t the time scold him. She continued.

‘I want one of your men to teach me swordsmanship,’ she said.

Then nothing happened. The flood of insults she’d expected did not come. Fenirig Arte stood straight, looking at her without blinking, as if studying her. The man’s silence unnerved her even more than the casual threats of violence she had received from him before.

Then Fenirig Arte took a deep breath and burst into a deep, rumbling laughter. What the hell? Was this … funny to him?

‘Master Fe …’ Krissintha started to say, but the man lifted a hand to stop her.

He fought his laughter down, composed himself, then said,

‘Well, this is the first thing I’ve heard today that didn’t piss me off.’

‘So … you will …’ Krissintha tried to speak, only to be hushed again.

‘No,’ the man said. ‘Swordsmanship will not help you.’

‘But …’ Krissintha tried to argue, and she was stopped for a third time.

‘Knowing how to wield a weapon, any weapon, is the least important of the skills you can have,’ he said. ‘It’s your mind, your body, your attitudes, discipline, habits, determination … these are the things that will make you a decent fighter. Learning how to swing a sword comes after. But no. For you, even that won’t be enough,’ Fenirig Arte said, then turned to Tovaron Ento. ‘Toven, find out if there’s room for one more among the next batch of fresh trainees!’

‘Master Fenar!’ Tovaron Ento protested immediately. ‘You can’t be serious …’

‘Toven, I will fill your mouth with horse shit and sew it shut!’ the man roared at him, seemingly in a good mood all of a sudden. ‘Go and find out which trainee teams I’m scheduled to train myself, and put this wench into one of them.’ Fenirig Arte then turned back to Krissintha and let out long, delightful sigh, smiling at her. ‘You have just made my day, Misery Mask. You wouldn’t believe how long I’ve been waiting to see a spiritualist crawling in the mud before me on a daily basis.’

Krissintha was beginning to think that this had been a bad idea.