Collected

  Chapter 4

  Kamali had nearly gagged at the sight. A swollen clump of souls floated before her, grouped together in a hideous mass over the violet sea, in the middle of nowhere.

  They weren’t fused together, but some instinctual behavior had made them group up like this. Their eyes were vacant, many with hung open mouths, and others groaning and babbling broken words. The sluggish movement of arms and legs made it seem like a pulsating ball of flesh was shifting before Kamali, and it was a minor blessing that the mist obscured them to some degree.

  “The Broken.” Dahlia squeezed Kamali’s hand, comforting her. “When us souls lose ourselves, we end up like them, stuck in a hazy stupor. It is effectively death for our sort.”

  “The Collector still can make use of them, though,” said Charon. The cloaked ghost spoke with a tone of indifference, though it was clear he felt uneasy about the scene before him. “There’s not much left for him to work with, but he can, if he wants.”

  “There’s a few clusters like these around. Only a few Broken,” Dahlia went on, “don’t group up with others. The usual mess of voices you’re hearing? They’re the more awake ones who haven’t completely shut down.”

  Some of the Broken souls were glancing at Kamali, she belatedly realized. One or two were even grinning, and one scowling. Their voices were louder than the rest of the general din.

  “New friend!”

  “Join us?”

  “Bah! Unwanted! Away!”

  Hands reached out, and Kamali slowly backed away. Partially in fear of the mass before her, partially to keep herself from tripping over in her levitation. “Someday our minds will degrade, and we’ll join them,” Dahlia said with a somber tone. “But not yet.”

  It wasn’t really dying. But it wasn’t living. A warped kind of immortality. “It’s horrible.”

  “It is. You have my sympathy, dear, and my condolences that your soul was reaped to begin with. My sorrow, too, that you had to watch your home burn all around you.”

  The imagery of corpses and ransacked streets were all too vivid in Kamali’s head. “Not the first time,” she muttered.

  “Oh?”

  Awkwardness overcame Kamali as she processed what she said, at the spike of concern Dahlia showed. Charon too had shifted a little, staring directly at her, and she could’ve sworn the mass of Broken had become hyperfixated on her. “I, well—”

  “No need to say it, dear. You’ll be one of those sorts that worry me sick, won’t you?” A dark laugh left Dahlia, the stout woman tugging her away. “Come along then, there’s better things to waste our time on, and I grow weary of watching these Broken. Charon, some privacy for us ladies?”

  “Not in my interests to follow anyway. By the way, good on you that you’re not letting the Collector walk over you, new girl.” Charon put his arms behind his back, head raised and his tone full of charm. “Too many souls here gave in the moment they got claimed — they ought to be embarrassed a little lady like you showed more defiance than them. Never mind folks like Earl who feel obligated to actually serve the fiend. Maybe you’ll lose that defiance with time, but I’ll hold out hope that you won’t.”

  An impatient tsk came from Dahlia, making Charon leave, his shrouded form fading into the mist. Kamali stared at the spot where he’d just been, unsure what to think.

  Dahlia, however, was very sure. “He’s troublesome.”

  “Is he?”

  “Him liking you isn’t a good thing. I don’t know what Role he has, but it’s focused on secrecy and causing discord. Even the Collector has trouble reading his soul. More importantly, he might try to misuse you for whatever agenda he has.”

  As if the Collector wasn’t enough of a problem. Kamali huffed, keeping Dahlia’s advice in mind. It was annoying she’d have to watch her back even amongst fellow spirits, but she guessed that was just life here.

  Dahlia led her onward through the mist, seemingly certain of where she was going. Sure enough, a tiny rock island, large enough for only a few people, emerged in the distance. It was a secluded place, pleasantly far away from the main island and its snooping spirits.

  It was not empty, however. An ocean blue ghost was drifting away from the island — eerily enough, in their direction. His balding head was hung, arms clasped behind it, yet the thick man had eyes only for Kamali. Sullen, lifeless eyes.

  He lingered there, observing her idly. “Jarsh,” Dahlia said, her voice conflicted. “If you would please?”

  A few seconds of disquieting silence. Then Jarsh shifted, floating off in a random direction, his stiff, woeful posture not changing in the slightest. Kamali shivered, uneasy as his eyes remained on her until the mist snatched his form away.

  “W-who?” she asked.

  First lord.

  The fallen one! The fallen one!

  Madness subdued!

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  Usurped. Dead to us.

  “A Broken,” was how Dahlia summed up the answers of the voices. “A story for another time.”

  Must’ve been quite a story. Something about that particular Broken, alone and unchanging in his posture, made him seem special. Never mind the reactions of the other Broken in response to her question.

  Dahlia took a seat upon the rock outcropping, having Kamali take her own spot beside her. “As you’re new here, it’s only proper that someone explains the extent of your circumstances,” she said. “You know what the Collector is, yes?”

  More or less. Creatures like the Collector were considered Calamity Walkers — terrible forces of nature, typically with Roles unique to them. The Collector was known for his need to eat souls, for example, sustaining himself while incorporating them into himself. Those souls could then be summoned to serve him, or the Collector could directly tap into their Rules for his own use.

  “Indeed,” Dahlia said when Kamali gave her response. “You remember the Collector pulling out a yellow light from his body when escaping Virala City, yes? He was casting Freya’s Haste Rule on you and himself.”

  “Pretty basic Rule,” Kamali noted.

  “But the Collector has many, many such Rules at his disposal. Versatility is his strength. Now, here is something you would not know: the Collector’s Roles are his very own namesake, ‘The Collector’, and Manipulator.”

  Two Roles? Kamali wasn’t a stranger to having multiple Roles — plenty of people had those, herself included — but she was pretty sure Calamity Walkers didn’t have secondary Roles. ‘The Collector’ sounded exactly like the kind of bizarre, tailor-made Role a Calamity Walker might gain, but Manipulator?

  “Just keep it in mind. The Collector’s honeyed words have their barbs.” Dahlia shut her eyes in thought. “I fail to understand the person behind him. He does empathize with us spirits and look after us, but I find he tries too hard to make us forget that in the end, he’s still our jailer. It works for Earl and others, but not for me.”

  Kamali thought she could hear a rumbling sigh — the Collector’s own voice, echoing throughout the prison realm and within her own head. Dahlia snorted in amusement.

  “You’ve noticed by now, but us souls do share a linked mind of sorts with the Collector, and between ourselves,” she went on. “The binding makes us hear one another, though it is the Broken that are always the loudest. They do not know how to regulate their voices anymore.”

  “And the others?” wondered Kamali.

  “They are much quieter, careful not to project. The Collector probably wouldn’t stand it if we did, he already finds the Broken irksome enough. Still, you can hear snippets of our minds, if you listen carefully to any one of us. You can also use it to hear the Collector, and even to see what he sees. You wish to try?”

  Kamali couldn’t help herself. Locking onto others was a little tricky, with there being too many voices in the web of minds to choose from. Dahlia’s was familiar, however, and Kamali found herself homing onto it—

  See? Simple enough, came Dahlia’s words, Kamali found herself awash with bits and pieces of stray thoughts from the kindly woman, and emotions too, notably pride in another person’s successes. A growing fondness too. It was an almost familiar sensation, sensing another being like this.

  Uncomfortably familiar, in fact. “Shamans often get Rules to do this with spirits too,” she thought aloud.

  Worry muddled the emotions. “Is that so?” Dahlia said, frowning. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “I-it’s fine. Just surprised me.”

  Kamali turned away from Dahlia’s mind. She breathed, then shut her eyes, blocking out the countless voices in her head, the distractions all around her. She felt inside her, searching for her soul, and found its essence reverberating throughout her.

  Soul gazing was a trick anyone could learn for themselves, but her Role had helped her greatly with this. Her soul touched all corners of her ghostly form, but it was centered around two star-like objects within her, twinkling with light. Touching one gave her the bizarre impression of countless knowledge, studied and dissected, all neatly packed up like a book inscribed into herself — her Academic Role. The other was much dimmer and far more abstract, but Kamali thought it gave her the impression of something druidic and yet otherworldly. Of life, healing, and nature, but also of remnants and intangible forces. Of spirits.

  Her Shaman Role. A Role she’d come to shun for what it symbolized to her. Something she had tried to replace, ever since moving to Virala Town.

  There were a couple paths snaking throughout her soul as well, some linked to her stars and some appearing from seemingly nowhere. They ended in sparkling growths, holding the essence of her Rules. Her Shaman Role was connected to a few particular powers, like her Spirit Call Rule, meant for summonings, and a Disease Cleanse Rule. But the one she silently eyed was her Spirit Empathy Rule — something she used to understand spiritual beings, once upon a time.

  She missed doing that. She missed Eseelis Village. Missed Father—

  Easel? Seals?

  Condolences.

  No Father? Bad! Need parent!

  Wait, wait, what’s Eseelis Village? What happened there? Is this some taboo topic the big bad officials keep hidden from—

  “Nina, stick your nose elsewhere, you gossip!” Dahlia barked, hushing the last voice and making the Broken’s chattering quiet down for a moment. “You’re projecting, dear. Stay clear of having surface thoughts.”

  Kamali started at that. She emptied her mind out, not prepared to have so much of her life story spread out for others to see. “T-thanks,” she mumbled.

  “Think nothing of it, dear.”

  “Kamali.” The girl flushed as Dahlia blinked at her. “I-I think I never mentioned my name to you?”

  Dahlia hummed, as if to appreciate the name. Her lips were drawn tight, but tenderness held a nook inside her hard eyes, making for a guarded yet motherly look. It gave a contrast to the strange fatherly vibes the Collector gave at times, except it was far more natural. Sincere.

  Kamali found herself growing close to her. She smiled, and Dahlia let her face thaw, smiling back. Her circumstances were darn awful, but she could work with this, couldn’t she? At least she had one person she could stick with. Someone to help her from losing her mind here.

  A lovely thing to hear, child.

  The Collector’s voice rang within Kamali and around her, making her nearly jump from her sitting place. Dahlia’s smile instantly dropped.

  I hate to separate you at this moment. In fact, I think I’ll allow you to remain where you are, instead of summoning you out here, if that is fine. Dahlia showed you how to hear me, I see.

  The interruption annoyed Kamali, but she shoved it down for now. Compared to his spirits, the Collector was all too easy to sense, his presence everywhere. Even now, she realized she could vaguely feel his movements, a tickling sensation at the furthest corners of her mind. She could see through his eyes too, couldn’t she? She tried, reaching out into him and enveloping herself in his spirit—

  Strong moonlight from a merciful full moon. A wild, forested meadow, spread before her. Assortments of flowers grew among long grass stalks, hills bobbing up and down the landscape. Her eyes — the Collector’s — observed it all, his body of spiritual violet energy resting against the rough, scratchy bark of a tree, legs drawn tight to him. Her right vision was oddly blurry, she realized, and she thought she felt his lips curve behind his stone mask, pressed tight against his face. Not the source of the blurriness.

  “Ah, now I really see. As do you.” A boisterous laugh left the Collector, one with that fatherly demeanor that was beginning to grate on her entire being. “This will do.”

  Voices buzzed elsewhere, taking interest in the conversation. The Collector shifted his head, and Kamali found herself looking at Earl, the scarred-face warrior sitting a short distance away on the hill. He watched the nighttime world with little interest, his attention mainly on his master. Her captor.

  “What do you want?” questioned Kamali.

  The Collector’s lips curved a little more. “A conversation.”