Chapter Twenty-seven

Krissintha Arlonet Dar Ghelain had never smelled such a foul, rotten stench in her life. She tried not to think about the things she missed from before all the misfortune had crashed right on top of her head, but she couldn’t help it: scented candles, rose gardens, perfumes … she could have used some perfume right about now. This was worse than the stale and stinky hold of the Dalar’s Heart. Even the fabric of her cape she was pressing against her nose and mouth wasn’t enough to filter the miasma coming from all the rotting flesh. Akela growled viciously, and it seemed the hound had enough already — the reeking carcasses probably too much for his sensitive nose — and he walked away and disappeared among the trees.

Krissintha retched just as she wanted to bend down to pick up th discarded sword, her nose screaming in agony, her stomach suddenly roiling and wanting to send its contents back up. She quickly changed her mind and she decided the sword could wait. She followed the wolf’s example and rushed back to the others at the edge of the clearing, hoping it would be slightly more bearable there. Unfortunately the smell wasn’t so considerate as to not follow her all the way. Her eyes were watering already, and Tommi looked like he was about to faint, even though they were at least a dozen paces from the nearest carcass.

They had to get out of here, sword be damned.

Krissy, try this on! Kevin’s ghostly voice echoed in her mind, and a mask appeared before her — one of those strange theater masks she’d seen once when opening a crate. So this was where they’d gone. Kevin.

‘Why? What’s this?’ she asked, peering at the floating mask, trying not to throw up.

I made a makeshift carbon filter. I'm not a scientist, but I heard you can use ash, so I mixed some with Mana and Spirit-Stuff and I coated the inside of the mask.

‘Uhm … I don’t know what that means,’ Krissintha said, coughing and wishing Kevin would either say things that made sense, or keep quiet. For some reason, this particular evil spirit liked talking.

Let me put it on for you. It should help with the smell.

The angry looking mask floated up, approaching her face. It looked ridiculous, and she wasn’t sure she trusted the spirit so much as to put it on.

‘Stop!’ she said, and the mask stopped mere inches from her face. She turned to Quenta. ‘You put it on.’

Quenta stared at the floating mask with suspicion.

‘Uhm … what’s that, my lady?’ the man asked.

‘Supposed to help with the smell,’ Krissy said, not taking her eyes off the mask.

‘Can we just go somewhere else?’ Tommi squealed.

No! I want to have a look at those dead animals.

‘Kevin wants to look at dead animals,’ Krissy conveyed the spirit’s words, shaking her head.

‘Your familiar’s strange,’ Quenta said, still eying the mask.

‘What do you want me to tell you, Quenta …’ Krissy started to say.

‘… it was the only one you could find. I know, my lady,’ Quenta said, finishing the sentence for her. He then poked the floating mask with a finger, then looked at Krissintha. ‘Awright, I’m takin’ it.

***

Krissintha could see better than she’d expected — the eye-holes on the sad, crying theater mask were larger than they seemed. And Kevin had been right: it did help with the smell. Not as much as she would have liked, but her nose was more comfortable with the faint smell of smoke and ash then with the concentrated nastiness emanating from dead, rotten meat. Kevin was useful in a strange and unsettling way, and she hoped she wouldn’t come to regret accepting an evil spirit as her familiar.

She looked at the angry mask Quenta wore under his hood, then at the laughing mask that had become Tommi’s fate. Shaking her head, she walked back out into the clearing to collect the sword, the two sailors trudging behind her.

She had never trained in swordplay, but she knew that the slightly curved, single-edged blade was not something humans used, at least not in Thyssa. This was perhaps what elves preferred.

‘How’s this stayin’ on?’ Tommi asked, yanking Krissintha away from her thoughts.

She looked over her shoulder as the young sailor behind her was poking the mask sticking to his face.

‘Dunno. I’m guessin’ the same way The Island Queen was stayin’ in one piece,’ Quenta shared his wisdom with his crew-mate, and Krissintha had nothing to add.

As far as she could tell, the man was right. It was spirit-power. She hoped it wouldn’t take a kraken to take the mask off; she had enough of tentacles for a lifetime.

‘Kevin, have you seen enough?’ Krissintha asked, wanting to leave the place.

The sight of a dozen large and dead animals was grating on her, and even though the mask dampened the stench, the urge to be somewhere else was growing. She sighed, admitting to herself that out of her companions, including herself, Akela might have been the wisest, having fled back into the forest.

Yes, I have. These animals were all killed by a spirit.

‘How can you tell?’ Krissintha asked, turning around and starting to walk back to the edge of the clearing, her two servants happily following her.

None of them have any wounds. No bites, no cuts, no stabs … nothing.

‘A spirit, huh? How did it kill them?’ she asked.

It ate their souls. That tends to kill any living creature in my experience, but without the mess.

‘How very comforting.’ Krissintha scoffed. ‘Is it the corrupting spirit we’re looking for? Is it nearby?’

Probably.

Krissintha reached the tree-line, but she kept walking, stopping only when she couldn’t see the clearing any more. She wasn’t convinced it was far enough and she decided it was too early to take the mask off. Just to be on the safe side. Quenta and Tommi seemed to agree with her and kept their own masks on. Krissintha leaned against a tree and held the elven sword up.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

‘Can you take this?’ she asked, and the sword vanished from her hand as soon as the words left her mouth. She then sighed, and said, ‘Can you explain to me how us killing the evil spirit hinders this … god, Sivera or whatshername, and her spiritualists? Aren’t we just doing their jobs for them?’

I wish I knew, Krissy, I wish I knew.

***

Krissintha walked in silence, Quenta and Tommi following a few paces behind her. None of them had any idea where they were heading, and their hope that they’d find settlements along the river seemed to be a vain one so far. She wasn’t sure if it was a good or a bad thing: she knew that eventually they’d face elves one way or another, but she wasn’t looking forward to it. She had no reason not to believe Quenta’s account of the Solace elves despising spiritualists, and she didn’t want to be the target of their ire. Kevin’s promises that “they’d be just fine” did not fill her with confidence.

She found it strange how it had been a lot easier to trust the spirit before she could hear him. She guessed that with Kevin’s voice echoing in her head now, some of the mystery of spirits was gone. It was maybe that, maybe something else, she wasn’t sure. But … a familiar was a familiar, and she couldn’t deny that this evil, corrupting spirit and his hell-hound servant were the reason she was still alive.

***

Midday had already passed, and this time none of them wanted to eat lunch, so they kept walking. Kevin made a few, poor attempts at jokes, something about spirits not having a sense of smell. Krissintha didn’t quite understand it and she decided to ignore it.

Krissintha stopped and looked around: another, small clearing, tall grass and flowers of all colours covering the ground between the trees and the riverbank. The sailors walked past her, enjoying the beautiful, serene view. Akela was nowhere to be seen — the hell-hound was probably way ahead of them, looking for something to hunt. She took a deep breath, and for a moment she listened to the sounds surrounding her: the river splish-splashing, birds in the crowns of trees singing, the branches rustling in the breeze. They were quite far from that stinky, horrid place now, and she she thought it was maybe time to take the smoky smelling mask off. She reached up with a hand to grab it, but as soon as she touched it, she heard noises from behind, and at the same time Kevin’s warning rung in her mind with all the urgency his hollow, echo-like voice could carry.

Behind you!

Krissintha spun around then she froze the instant she saw the long, curved blade an inch away from her throat. She heard footsteps behind her, and a loud gulp from either Quenta or Tommi. Or both.

This was the first time Krissintha had seen an elf. He matched the descriptions she had heard: long, pointy ears, steel-gray hair and eyes, and as good looking as they come. If not for the sword the elven man was holding to her throat, she would have been impressed.

The elf looked her up and down, then glanced over the hooded, mask-wearing sailors. He said something in a language Krissintha didn’t understand.

How many? She sent the thought to Kevin.

Two more, holding swords to Kenta’s and Tommy’s throats. Kevin’s answered.

The elf man spoke again, repeating what Krissintha suspected was a demand to surrender.

Just say the word, Krissy, and the elves are dead. Kevin said, sounding nervous.

What? Are you going to eat their souls? Krissintha asked, suddenly more scared of the spirit than the elf holding the sharp looking blade, squinting at her.

Uhm … maybe? But only if they try to kill us for real. Do you think we can talk our way out of this? The spirit inquired.

Krissintha took a deep breath, and instead of answering the spirit, she spoke to the elf.

‘I don’t understand you.’

‘Oh? Humans then, huh?’ the elf said, his Treini clear and proper, but with a slight northern accent. ‘Even so, I think the meaning of a blade to your throat should be clear.’

‘Yes. It means you’re rude,’ Krissintha scoffed at the young looking elven man, knowing she shouldn’t be pushing her luck, but unable to resist the temptation. She hoped Kevin could eat fast, in case the elf took offense.

The elf’s long, pointy ears twitched, but he otherwise didn’t move.

‘Rude? I’ll have you know, we are nice and agreeable people,’ he said, scowling at her.

‘Nice and agreeable people don’t point their blades at people they’ve just met,' Krissintha argued.

‘Nice and agreeable people might do so when masked humans show up uninvited,’ the elf argued back, a smile creeping up onto his face.

Krissintha felt the smile forming on her own face underneath her mask. This was good. If the elf was willing to engage in banter like this, he probably — hopefully — wasn’t intent on killing her. Her father had never said more than a few words to anyone before taking their lives, and those words had always been variations of “Rot in hell!”. Or at least that’s what she’d heard from their retainers.

‘Well, then be nice and agreeable and withdraw your sword,’ Krissintha said.

‘Listen, human, I am made of pure benevolence, but you caught me on a bad day. Should you be making demands without so much as an introduction?’ the elf demanded.

‘I am …’ Krissintha began to introduce herself, but Kevin’s voice stopped her.

Don’t tell him your name! You trust him already or something? Kevin almost thought-screamed at her.

‘You are?’ the elf prodded.

Krissintha thought about it for a moment. Maybe the spirit was right, but what else could she do other than giving him her name? Not only the elf was asking it — well, demanding it — but it was also the polite thing to do. Maybe etiquette was the way to go here.

‘I am …’ she started again, but stopped, unsure of herself now. Damn that spirit!

‘So … you are,’ the elf said, sighing. ‘I’m glad we confirmed that you … exist, Misery Mask, but it’s not much for me to go on.’

Misery Mask. She remembered now: that’s what theater-people called the crying mask. Should she be surprised that an elf knew that? She wasn’t sure.

‘Yes, my name is Misery Mask. You’re good at guessing, Master … what was your name again?’ she said.

Good going, Krissy. The spirit cheered her on.

The elf laughed humorlessly. Krissintha heard the shuffling of feet from behind her, but the blade was still at her throat, and she didn’t want to risk turning to look.

Don’t worry, it’s just Tommy fidgeting and the other two elves getting nervous. The spirit reported the ongoings.

That’s not a good thing, Kevin. Krissy sent her thoughts to him.

I can feel Akela coming. Do you want to … I don’t know, attack? When they’re distracted? Kevin asked.

No. I’ll try to talk with the elf.

Fine, but Akela is almost here. Kevin said.

That’s alright. Let him come. Krissintha said.

The elf stopped laughing and said,

‘You humans really are an audacious lot. What should I do with you, Misery Mask?’

‘I suppose I’m lucky you’re made of pure benevolence, Master Elf, so I’d say lunch would be nice,' Krissintha said, deciding that leaning into the role of the audacious human was the way to go.

The elf laughed again, then his face suddenly straightened, and he leaned closer to her, his sword not moving an inch from her throat.

‘So … are you a spiritualist, Misery Mask?’ he asked.

And here it was. A Solace elf asking the question that would surely lead to her demise. She wanted to scream at herself. Had she just chosen the wrong approach?

‘What would you do if I said I was?’ she asked, trying to buy some time.

Maybe with Akela providing a distraction, they could get away, just as Kevin had planned.

‘The same thing we do to all spiritualists who wander onto our great and beautiful island without invitation,’ the elf said, grinning from pointy ear to pointy ear.

Krissintha wasn’t sure if the man’s grin was going to be the last thing she’d ever see, but it seemed Quenta’s information was correct: Solace elves did not tolerate spiritualists.

‘I don’t want to be killed, so I’m going to say I’m not a spiritualist,’ Krissintha said, sighing. ‘And here I thought you were a nice and agreeable people, yet you’re threatening to kill me.’

‘We are, and I’m not,’ the elf said, looking somewhat puzzled.

‘You’re not?’ Krissy asked, feeling quite a bit puzzled herself, looking down at the sword at her throat.

‘Just what is it you think we do to visitors here?’ the elf asked, squinting at her.

‘Slaughter them?’

The elf scowled and for the first time he moved his sword — he withdrew it only a few inches from her throat, but it was enough for Krissintha to almost sigh with relief.

‘Of course not,’ the elf said, sounding rather indignant, offended even. ‘We take them to the nearest port and put them on the next ship going to the mainlands. Do you think anyone would trade with us if we went around killing everyone coming to Solace? I told you: we are nice and agreeable people.’

‘Oh,’ Krissintha said and she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Then she heard the familiar growling of a certain hell-hound, approaching from the treeline on the side.

One of the elves shouted something in their own language, sounding rather panicky, and Master Benevolence turned to look at the pitch-dark, red-eyed creature that emerged from the forest.