Chapter Twenty-eight

Krissintha Arlonet Dar Ghelain watched the hell-hound slowly walking towards her. The elf turned to face the hound, falling into a stance, holding his sword up in front of him. This did not look good.

‘Misery Mask, that’s … that’s a hell-hound,’ the elf said, tensing visibly, a bead of sweat rolling down his face.

Sword away from her throat finally, Krissintha turned to glance over at Quenta and Tommi; they were fine, the two other elves, a man and a woman, facing the approaching hound, too, looking just as nervous as Pure Benevolence next to her.

Prey? Akela’s growly voice came to her.

The hound walked slowly, with careful steps, his red eyes fixed on the elf next to Krissintha. Krissintha’s mind worked as fast as it could, but in the end she knew she had no choice but to … improvise.

Maybe. Don’t do anything yet. She sent her thoughts to the hound.

‘Listen, Misery, …’ the elf said, his voice low, almost a whisper ‘… that’s the evil spirit. I’m sure of it. We have to …’

‘Don’t do anything!’ Krissintha instructed the elf, lowering herself to her knees.

Alright, Akela, want a good belly-rub? She asked the hound.

Belly-rub, good. The hound’s growly and suddenly excited thought came.

Akela quickened his pace, heading straight to her. The elf took half a step back, lifting his sword higher, ready to use it. Akela came to a stop in front of Krissintha. She reached out to pet his head. Akela took the pats with glee, but his red, almost glowing eyes were on the elf.

Prey? Akela asked again.

‘No. He’s not prey,’ she said it out loud as well as sending her thoughts to Akela, glancing up at the now frozen, sweating elf. ‘He’s supposed to be nice and agreeable, isn’t that right, Master Benevolence?’

Fine. Akela said.

Krissintha felt warmth spreading inside her chest: finally, for the first time, Akela had accepted her word on a prey-issue without any confirmation from Kevin.

The elf just nodded slowly, gawking at the scene in astonishment. She couldn’t help but wonder: was this the kind of face she had made upon first seeing Akela back on Misery Island? But that had been a long time ago.

‘But … that’s a hell-hound,’ Pure Benevolence whispered, staring at her.

‘Yes, he is,’ Krissintha said, smiling beneath her mask.

‘A servant of the lords of hell,’ the elf said, a little louder.

‘Yes, he is,’ Krissintha said with a sing-song voice, cupping the hound’s face with both hands. ‘And he is such a good boy. You’re a good boy, Akela, aren’t you?’

Akela growled a little, pleased with the ruffling of his fur. Krissintha turned to the elf.

‘Look, I know what you’re thinking,' Krissintha said to the elf. 'But we, hound included, have nothing to do with the evil spirit that’s loose on your island. But … it’s probably somewhere close.’

‘How do you know about that? Who sent you? Sivera?’ the elf demanded, raising his sword again.

Who … had sent them? That was a good question. Should she just say Wensah? A goddess no-one had ever heard of as far as she knew? She wasn’t sure.

Uh, Kevin? Help me out! What do I tell him? Krissintha asked the spirit.

Just … make something up. Say that we’re from … the … uh … Misery Island … Bureau of … Spirit Affairs, or something like that. Say we are hunting evil spirits. Don’t mention Wensah yet. Kevin instructed her

‘We are from the Misery Island Bureau of Spirit Affairs.’ Krissintha said. ‘We hunt evil spirits. We heard there was one around here, so here we are.’

‘And you … go around with a … hell-hound?’ the elf asked, wary, and still holding his sword at the ready.

‘His name is Akela. He’s good at finding evil spirits,’ Krissintha said. ‘He found me one just a couple of months ago.’

Heh! Good one, Krissy. Kevin commented.

‘What kind of spiritualist are you?’ the elf asked, not taking his eyes off the the hound.

‘The kind of spiritualist who can set a hell-hound on you,’ Krissintha said, looking up at the elf, leaning into the role of the audacious, human spiritualist.

Well done, Krissy, I think they will back off now. Kevin said.

Krissintha stood up, slowly, so as to not provoke the elf into any unnecessary reaction, and she took the mask off — it came off easily, and she breathed in the fresh air. Oh, how she had missed the clean, forest air, even after just a few hours. Akela sat down, waiting for more pats and ruffles to come his way, but not taking his eyes off the elf.

The elf glanced down at the hound, took a long look at Krissintha, studying her face. He didn’t sheathe his sword, but he lowered it, probably a sign of not wanting to start a fight after all.

‘I’m Tovaron Ento, scout-master second rank, of Fenirig Arte’s Third Rangers,’ the elf said, puffing his chest out with some sort of pride, as if she was supposed to know who or what he was talking about.

‘I hope you’ll forgive me, but I don’t know what that means,’ Krissintha said, looking the elf in the eyes. ‘I’m Krissintha, also known as Misery Mask, of the Misery Island Bureau of Spirit Affairs.’

‘I hope you’ll forgive me, but I don’t know what that means,’ the elf said. ‘Alright, let’s talk.’

***

Krissintha sat on soft grass in the middle of the clearing. Akela was enjoying the delivery of the promised belly-rub, resting his head on her lap. Behind her stood Angry Mask Quenta and Jolly Mask Tommi, as if they were her guards.

Krissintha knew very little about elves: she knew they were a long lived people, she knew they were faster and stronger than her kind, and that was it. She was sure three shipwrecked wretches wouldn’t stand a chance against a single elf, let alone three. But Akela and the weird, evil spirit pretending to be a familiar gave them an advantage — an advantage she wasn’t sure how to use yet.

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Pure Benevolence — also known as Tovaron Ento — sat cross legged a few paces away, facing her, observing the spectacle of a hell-hound acting like a spoiled puppy. Behind him stood the other two elves: a middle-aged looking man and a young woman, eying Krissintha and her companions with suspicion, and if Krissintha’s guessed right, a fair amount of apprehension.

‘So … you have nothing to do with Sivera or her spiritualists?’ Tovaron Ento summed it up, having listened to Krissintha’s explanation, most of which had been made up stories of the Bureau hunting evil spirits, the members wearing masks as a matter of course, and assurances that they weren’t here to spread the influence of their patron god.

‘For the hundredth time, no.’ Krissintha groaned the words. ‘Have you been listening at all?

She wasn’t sure if the elf believed her, but at least this time he didn’t argue.

The other two elves didn’t seem to understand Treini, but Tovaron Ento had translated the main points for them. The two of them were eying Akela with more than just a little suspicion. Krissintha wasn’t surprised that the elves regarded the hell-hound as the main threat and problem: unlike the spirit, the hound was very much a visible and imminent disaster waiting to happen. It seemed elves had the same stories and mythologies humans had, and they knew exactly what a hell-hound was. Krissintha wanted to smile: they couldn’t have been more wrong. Akela was a sweetheart.

Hey, Krissy, I put the sword in the grass next to you. Show it to him. Maybe he knows whose it is. Kevin said to her.

Oh, the elven sword. She had almost forgotten about it.

Good idea. Krissntha sent the thought to him.

She reached out with her hand, tapping the ground next to her until she found the weapon the spirit had unobtrusively placed in the tall grass. She grabbed it and held it up to the elf. If he was at all surprised at the sudden appearance of the weapon, he didn't show it.

‘We have found this sword while investigating a number of slain animals in a clearing,’ Krissintha said.

Tovaron Ento took the sword and held it up, looking at it with narrowed eyes.

‘Where?’ he asked.

Krissintha wasn’t sure — navigation wasn’t her thing. She turned to look at the sailors.

‘Quenta?’ she asked.

‘Uh, about two hours walk to the east, down-river.’ Quenta said, living up to her expectations.

She gave the sailor a smile, then turned back to the elf.

‘It looks like an elven sword. Perhaps it belongs to a friend of yours?’ she asked.

‘Ruennen Itora,’ the elf said, scowling.

Krissintha thought it might be the name of the owner of the weapon, but she wasn’t sure. One of the other elves, the woman, stepped forward and took it from Tovaron Ento, then stepped back. Krissintha waited for an explanation to come, but Tovaron Ento just stared ahead, still scowling and muttering something she didn’t understand.

‘So? What’s next? Are you taking us to the port? Put us on a ship?’ Krissintha inquired.

The elf snapped back to the present, his eyes flicking to Krissintha, the scowl vanishing from his face.

‘No,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I think Master Fenirig Arte will want to talk to you.’

***

Krissintha walked with Quenta next to her on one side and Tommi on the other. The elf woman was leading the way some half dozen paces ahead, Tovaron Ento and the other man trudging behind them at a safe distance, not taking their hands off from the hilts of their sheathed swords for second, ready to draw in a heartbeat.

Akela … well, Akela was all over the place, running around them, complaining about Kevin — or Voice as he called the spirit — not letting him venture ahead to explore and to look for prey. Krissintha wanted to show the elves that she was in control of the hell-hound, and that he was nothing but obedient. Kevin had agreed it was a good idea, but Akela wasn’t making it easy.

‘My lady, who’s this Master Whatshisname we’re going to see?’ Tommy asked, almost whispering, glancing over his shoulder, peering at the elves following them. ‘Are they gonna be puttin’ us on a ship?’

‘I doubt it,’ Krissintha said, shaking her head. ‘When someone in authority wants to see you, it means you have something they want. My father had never just summoned people only to send them off right away.’

‘So … what do they want?’ Tommi asked.

‘Tommi, I’ve been meaning to ask you: do you ever listen to what people are saying?’ Krissintha asked, looking at the man’s Jolly Mask.

‘I was … too scared, my lady,’ the man admitted, looking at the ground.

‘Quenta, explain it to him!’ she said to the other sailor.

‘Listen mate, the elves here are havin’ some evil spirit on the loose, and Lady Krissintha just went inventin’ a whole organization for huntin’ em bastards down. So what do you think?’ Quenta whispered somewhat angrily.

‘Oh … I see. Sorry, my lady.’ Tommi said, bowing his head slightly to Krissintha.

'That’s fine, Tommi,’ she said, making an effort to sound magnanimous even when whispering.

Krissintha couldn’t help but smile. Tommi wasn’t stupid, but he was young — well, older than her but not by much — so she was more than willing to forgive his inattentiveness. But Quenta? She wasn’t sure how old the man was; in his forties, perhaps? He was experienced, reliable, always quick on the uptake. She didn’t regret her decision to take them on as her servants. It might have actually been the best decision she’d ever made.

‘But …’ Tommi whispered, scratching his head ‘… how are we gonna go huntin’ an evil spirit?’

‘We have an evil spirit of our own,’ Krissintha whispered back to him. ‘Does this answer your question?’

Tommi scratched his head even harder, and Krissintha was thankful she couldn’t see the no-doubt confused and lost expression under the Jolly Mask.

You’re not going to drop that evil spirit thing any time soon, are you? The spirit’s voice echoed in her head, making her shiver.

It was easy to forget that the invisible creature was right there with her, especially when he’d been quiet for some time. It was all the more jarring to suddenly hear his voice after hours of silence.

‘No,’ she whispered.

***

Krissintha was impressed. The road they had just come across after hours of walking was paved with uniformly cut, smoothly sanded stone pieces, and the solid looking stone bridge stretching over the river was nothing like the bridges she had seen in Thyssa. Unlike the stone and wood constructions back home, this was made only of stone, and it seemed the elves weren’t as willing to sacrifice form for function as much as human craftsmen and builders were.

Two stone eagles with their wings folded stood on tall plinths on either sides where the road met the bridge, staring intently at those who’d cross the river. The banister railing was tall, its posts carved into the shapes of different trees and plants. Elven sculptors were good, Krissintha concluded — people here clearly had the time and resources to waste on turning simple function into art. She … didn’t dislike it.

The elf woman walked across the bridge, silently beckoning them to follow. Tovaron Ento and the other elven man followed them, keeping the same distance as before.

For a while it was only the forest on either sides of the road, but soon the trees gave way to orderly plots of cultivated land. Krissintha had no idea what the crops and plants were that the elves grew here — she never had to learn such things. Quenta on the other hand was nodding approvingly. Krissintha though about asking him, but she didn’t want lessons in agriculture at the moment.

A settlement came into view, or at least Krissintha assumed it was a settlement. As they got closer, she thought it was maybe a few farmsteads slapped together, rather than a proper village or town. A cluster of buildings stood in the middle, made of the same, light grey stone as the bridge, and just as heavily ornamented with carved plant-patterns, reliefs of different birds embossed about the walls. A scattering of larger stone and wood buildings surrounded this main cluster — those must have been storehouses or barns, Krissintha wasn’t sure.

The settlement had no walls to protect it. Instead, a dozen elves stood guard where the road forked; one prong carrying on towards the still distant mountains, the other immediately becoming the main street of the village-like place.

Tovaron Ento rushed forward to speak with the armed elves — some with swords and spears, some with bows and arrows — quickly explaining something to them in their own language, pointing at Akela, then at Krissintha. Once the short discussion was concluded, they were all admitted to the village.

‘Alright, Misery Mask …’ Tovaron Ento said to her. ‘We are going to see Master Fenirig Arte. Make sure your hell-hound behaves.’

‘He will behave. And you may address me as Lady Krissintha,’ she said to the elf.

‘Uhm … no,’ the elf said, shaking his head, smiling at her like one would smile at a small child who had just said something stupid but adorable. ‘On the other hand, you may address Master Fenirig Arte as “Sir”.’

‘Uhm … no,’ Krissintha said.

‘Alright, suit yourself,’ he said, shrugging, a grin forming on his face.

Krissintha followed Tovaron Ento to one of the stone houses, the others trudging behind them. The man stopped at the wide, heavily ornamented door and knocked on it.