Silence reigned in the cells, with the Light’s quiet the most conspicuous. The easy, monotonous repetition of polishing the breast plate gave Redmun time to think about what Jessa had said. It was a sore topic, and it made his mood foul, but it had to be done. Redmun spat for what must have been the fiftieth time onto the rag he kept just for this purpose, and kept polishing. Every now and then he rubbed at his forehead, tired of the strange, buzzing headache he'd been feeling. Exhaustion, no doubt. The past few weeks had been taxing.

Both when Liander died, and now with Layla, Redmun had held back with the Evil's power until it was almost too late, then came in too strong because of his desperation. And the Evil's pushing. Yet he couldn't exactly abandon his powers completely, could he? He'd spent the last fifteen years using them, rarely but efficiently. But there, again, Jessa was right. He couldn't just pretend things were going to stay the way they were. Gelstadt had been found, and he was killing people. People that, if Redmun had better control of his powers, might have been saved.

So that meant he had to deal with the Light-Evil. Maybe… Maybe he ought to try making a Pact with it – at least then, under the deal's unyielding conditions, he'd be certain what it could and couldn't do. Except he'd never succeeded in the past, but perhaps now that it was spurred on, it would be willing to have some give-and-take.

Yet just the thought set his stomach whirling. Making a pact with a normal Evil was risky, full of dangers you'd never see until it was too late, and there was no going back. Once a Pact was set, it was set in stone. And the thing in his chest was no normal Evil – couldn’t be. It wasn't just how other Evils reacted to it, or how it never let up its veneer of good will, despite how Redmun saw through it. He felt it in his bones – this thing was worse. Even then it was probably listening to his thoughts. Again, the image of that place… that realm of light where Redmun could almost see the maddening shapes came to mind. Was there even a point in trying? Maybe not. But Jessa was right. He didn’t have a choice.

Redmun set his mind back to the breastplate, giving it one final go-over before putting it on. Looking down, Redmun could just see the edge of a glow erupting from his chest. It was slight, and only visible in that sheer dark, but it was there. His heart, glowing with light. A shiver racked his body.

A quick shuffle brought him to the corner of his cell. He leant his head against the wall, looking up into the blackness of the ceiling, brought his legs in tight against the chill, and spoke.

“Evil.” A whisper. He was fairly certain there was no-one else in those cells, but he hardly wanted to risk a citizen hearing him talk to his own Evil. Hysteria was an easy thing to come by when Evils were about.

Yes, Redmun? Expecting, amused. It knew this was coming.

“What are you?” The question came on its own, not the one he'd meant to ask.

What am I? You mean to ask if I'm something other than an Evil?

“You know what I mean.”

Do I? Accusatory, as if it had the right to be. Perhaps if you answer me something first… Why do you think me an Evil at all? What Evils have I done?

“What-” Redmun clenched his jaw, shut his eyes. No, he told himself. Don't play into its games. “You know what you did, now answer the question.”

A moment passed, with no response. I know what I am, Frail Redmun, the Evil said just as he did opened his mouth to continue. Yet what remains to be seen is if you care, or if you would listen even if I spoke the truth.

More nonsense. “What do you want?”

To make the world pure.

“What does that mean?”

You know what it means. You, of all people, know.

“You mean the burning? The pain that almost feels sweet? Like I deserve it? That's what you mean?”

Yes.

“Then why haven't you purified me, Evil? Is your light so weak that even after a decade of burning I'm still not pure?”

It continues because you resist. What resists purity cannot be pure, just as what resists evil cannot truly be evil.

“As if that means anything.”

It means that your labels are meaningless, Redmun. To yourself, to the creatures of this land, and to me.

Redmun stood, his anger building. That buzzing was driving him mad, and the conversation was going nowhere. Every word the thing spoke felt like tiny threads wrapping him up, spinning him around, putting him off track.

“Why do you care about Gelstadt?” Redmun asked, his voice louder now. “Is it the Corruption you care about, or him? And why me? Why did Liander bring me to the forest, hmm? What's the point of it all, Evil?” Redmun waited, but the thing was quiet. “Will you answer nothing clearly?”

Why should I, Redmun, when any answer I give you might be met with scorn, with distrust, viewed in their worst possible form?

Redmun almost struck the wall, but stopped himself. He breathed deep, trying to find some calm. After this he'd never talked to the thing again, he swore it. But there was still one more thing he needed to do.

“Fine, Evil. Keep your secrets. But make a pact with me.”

Why should I? Redmun heard the edge of a chuckle in its ancient voice.

“Because even you can see this isn't working. Twice we've nearly died because of our…” He paused, and made himself say it. “Mutual distrust.” It made him sick to give the thing that much credit. As if it deserved trust. “We will find Gelstadt again – I promise you that – and when we do, I need to know that we can win.”

Frail Redmun, it said, and Redmun grit his teeth. He hated how it called him that, and had since their very first meeting. It wasn't said as an insult, but as if the Evil were a caring mother, cooing over its poor child. You can already use my powers as you wish. I have already sworn to no-longer push my energies to you. What else is there to be done? I have given you everything.

“Take the pain away,” Redmun said. But no, that wasn't quite it. “Take away… the edge. The part that etches away at my mind, making me almost think the agony is pleasurable. I could endure the pain, if that weren't there.” Even now he could feel it from his chest, that horrible madness, lying just beyond sight.

I cannot.

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“Of course you can!”

I cannot. But you can.

“Piss off,” Redmun said, shaking his head.

The pain is merely attempted purification. It will continue to burn as long as you resist it. It is your doing.

“You can!” Redmun roared. “You're doing it on purpose! I know you are! Light doesn't have to burn!”

Once more you misunderstand me fundamentally, it said, it's age-old voice oozing with sadness. I am not Light. That pain you feel is purification, and I can no more cease it than you can cease being Redmun. Alive or dead, purposeful or not, purity is what I am. You are un-pure, and so I pain you. I wish it were different, but it is not my fault. Nor is it my fault that you resist. I will never force it upon you, Redmun, and so the pain will remain, until you accept what it gives.

Redmun placed a hand against the stone, steadying himself. Not light, but purity. Or whatever the sick thing counts as such. A few things seemed to click in place, and a smile spread on his lips. Whether he'd meant to or not, he'd managed to get an answer from the thing. Was that why it seeks out Gelstadt's Evil? Because it is purity, while the other is corruption? That would certainly explain the smell…

“Possessor?”

Redmun spun to the bars. He couldn't see anything in the dark, but the voice sounded close.

“What?”

“Who are you talking to?” It was coming through the wall. The next cell over. He hadn't been alone at all.

“Who do you think?” Redmun dropped himself into the bunk, feeling the wood creak beneath him. “It's okay. It's not as bad as it sounds.” His hand rubbed at his aching head, wishing things could just be simple again. Then he barked a laugh. When had things ever been simple?

“Oh.” Shuffling, then the voice came clearer, stronger. “Is it really a good idea to yell at it like that?”

“No, not really. Not a good idea to talk to it at all.” Damn it, I probably scared him. “But it's alright. It's not going to break loose.”

“Good,” the man said. “What's a Possessor got to do to end up in here?”

Redmun scratched his chin. Was it a good idea to talk to the man? It might help him relax. He couldn't feel particularly safe, having heard a Possessor talk to his Evil. And it was Redmun's fault for letting himself slip like that. “I maimed the local priest. In front of the Church,” he said, and tried not to feel too proud.

“Wistac?”

“You know him?”

“My uncle. Dad says he's mental, but I spoke to him a bit. Just seems sad.”

“You don't think the Church is mental?” Redmun asked. Who was this man? He sounded young, especially if he was still listening to his 'Dad'.

The boy laughed. “No, it's mental, but the people ain't. I mean, way I figure it at least, life's bad. Real bad. Gotta make sense of it, and if life's bad, so's the answer. I mean, we're here for something, and there's plenty of suffering to go around. Maybe we're just not good enough to hear what the God's are saying.” He hesitated a bit. “I thought of joining, a ways back, but I don't have the stomach for that sort of penitence.”

“Hmm.” Redmun hadn't thought of the Church so hard in a while – didn't like to – but maybe the lad had a point, about wanting answers. A lot of people didn't have much luxury in their lives, and there were always monsters outside. Maybe pretending things were meant to be that way brought a shred of sense to the world. An interesting thought, not that it meant much. “What about you? What are you in here for?”

“Drinking on duty.”

“A guard, then?”

“Yeah.” Redmun heard a bit of shuffling, then back. “Brooker's a dick.”

“For not letting you drink on duty?”

“No,” the boy said, throwing the words out. “For not believing I didn't start it.”

“Did you start it?”

More hesitation. “Does it matter?”

Redmun barked a laugh. The boy had spirit. “How old are you, lad?”

“Eighteen.”

Redmun shuffled through the dark, putting his back to the cell's wall, and taking out his Possessor's coin, idly running it through his fingers. “You ever left Lutmouth?”

“Gods, no. Wouldn't go out there if Orth-tet himself pulled me along on a chain, or if Emelia was out there nude an' dancing.” Redmun cocked a smirk at the lad's language. Strange to hear Emelia – the ruler of Khelvorias – thought of as desirous. Beautiful, sure, but she had a reputation for coldness. “Why?”

“Just curious.” It had probably been a bad choice to talk about outside. What else did people do in the cities? Redmun had no idea. Children played catch, adults drank and worked fields – or tunnels. Other than that… Redmun really had no idea what people did with the peace Possessor's lives bought them. Redmun ran his finger across the surface of the coin, feeling his name engraved on it. His badge, so to speak, and the only remaining gift Master had given him.

“Is it bad?” The boy asked all of a sudden.

“Is what bad?”

“Having that thing in you…”

Redmun hesitated, not sure if he ought to answer that. But Redmun didn't like lying, and he didn't want to just ignore the boy's questions. “Yes, it's bad.”

“So why do you do it? What made you want to do it?”

Redmun thought about that for a moment. He wasn't the average Possessor. For him, he'd been forced into it since birth, by Rose's harsh fist. And, he supposed, by Gelstadt's mistake. But he knew enough about normal Possessors to answer.

“Well, let's see. My friend Jessa became a Possessor young – too young by most standards – because her family got caught in the last Dead-March, and she was all alone. All alone against the world. In my experience, at a time like that, people have two reactions. You either run away from the world, or you face it. Jessa faced it.”

“That's what it's like for a lot of us. Something takes the rest of our life away. Maybe our family dies, or our home gets destroyed, or we get run out of our lands by landlords – whatever. And we decide to screw the costs and go for something meaningful.”

“Whoa.”

“Mhm,” Redmun hummed. Not much of that applied to him, though. He'd never had that turning point, that time of realizing the world really was as awful as people said it was. Jessa had, and she'd come out cold, but Redmun knew of others who'd turned soft, or broken. Like Layla, and no doubt like Wistac. Like most would.

“But what's it like? I mean, even with all that, it's gotta be a hell of a thing to have an Evil inside of you.” The boy shuffled, moving closer to the hole between them. He spoke quickly, excitedly. “I hear they whisper to you at night, make you have bad dreams. Or they'll take control of your gifted limb and strangle you, or-”

“No, it's not like that.”

“Oh. What, then?”

“It's… personal. Every Pact between a Possessor and his Evil is unique. The Possessor needs ways to fight other Evils, the Evil needs ways in. Ways to niggle at the mind, to ware at the Possessor's will. They negotiate, so each Possessor ends up with different burdens for different boons. Something that only they really know about. That sort of thing. Jessa… You know what a Banshee's Cry is?”

“Nah.”

“It's the worst sound you can hear.” Redmun remembered the few times he'd heard it. Jessa didn't use her own very often, but when she did, he felt both sympathy and incredible awe for her. “Like knives digging into your ears, tearing it up. Like a hive of bees have crawled into your brain, ripping it to shreds. Makes you feel you know what it means to be dead. Jessa hears it every single time she uses the thing's powers.”

“Whoa…”

“Yep.” And Jessa managed to smile sometimes while doing it. The crazy bitch, Redmun thought with a fond smile. “Each Possessor has to decide what they're willing to give for what they take. Maybe nightmares, maybe constant pain. Usually there's a few for each Pact. For…” Redmun took a deep breath. “My master couldn't think of his wife without seeing her corpse – and I mean seeing it, as clear as you see your hands – in front of him. Dead. Mutilated. Rotting.” Master had said she sometimes talked to him, though what she said, Redmun was never told. “They do all whisper, though. Whisper and try to get into your head.”

“Whoa,” the boy said yet again. “What about you? What's yours do?”

Redmun frowned at that. What does mine do? Could he even say? Did he even know? It did what it wanted, really, and yet it was co-operative. Most of the time. It had made him kill his Master – though on some days, even he couldn't say that and be sure – and Layla, too. And it had its machinations, its words that twisted him about. And yet, compared to most other Possessors, Redmun had it easy, didn't he? It wasn't the first time he'd thought that. Hell, the screaming in Jessa's ear was just one cost of many. Her Banshee could choose to make her feel no pain whenever or wherever it wanted, essentially meaning it could decide if she noticed a wound or not. And no doubt other things she didn't let show. And what did Redmun have? A more intelligent and manipulative voice in their head than most, and pain? And still he managed to succumb.

Redmun shook his head. “Mine…” he tried to find the words to justify what suddenly seemed like a weakness, but they didn't seem to come. “I'd rather not talk about it.”

“Oh,” the boy said. “Okay.”

“Sorry, it's just… Well, you heard.”

“Sure.” Cloth rustled as the boy rose, his voice more distant. “Well, if it's alright with you, I'm gonna sleep now. You kinda woke me up.”

“Oh, sure. Sorry,” Redmun said.

“It's okay.” Redmun rose himself and paced to his bed. “And, uh, thanks.”

“For what?” Redmun asked.

“For, you know. Looking after us.”

“Uh.” Redmun blinked. He didn't think he'd ever been thanked before. It felt strange. Strange but good. “Sure.”