When I woke up my first feeling wasn’t pain. “I’m starving,” I groaned, rolling over just enough to survey the room. Denror was standing by the hearth poring over a book, and I could smell stew cooking.
“I imagine so,” he mumbled distractedly, not looking up from his book.
I managed to sit up on my own this time, but every muscle ached. My eye still hurt and I had a feeling it was still bruised and puffy, but I could open it a bit now. “Scholar and physician, nice,” I said, rolling my previously dislocated shoulder.
“Not by any standards am I a physician. You have a fast recovery rate, that’s all,” Denror answered, snapping his book shut.
“Well, I might recover fast, but I’m still starving,” I declared.
He chuckled and moved away from the hearth. I saw the pot hanging from a spit, and knew that’s where the stew was. I didn’t really care what was in it; I just wanted food in my belly. And when Denror came back with a bowl of stew, my jaw dropped open ever so slightly. The bowl wasn’t even half filled!
“Is this a joke? I said I’m starving, not just slightly hungry,” I complained.
“That’s all you get for now. If you can keep that down for an hour, you can have some more. But last time I let you have your fill, I ended up having to clean my floor,” he stated.
I closed my eyes for a moment, glaring at the back of my eyelids. Then I ate. Once I was done, I spent the next hour listening to Denror lay out his plan. First I had to finish recover, and then we had to get the naiad to tell us what we needed to know, and how in the meantime he would teach me how to survive seeing the dead. I had no idea dwarves could even work magic, until he offered to teach me defensive magic.
“I must say, you have an arsenal of skills. Magic, books, healing, fighting, and even cooking,” I said, ticking them off on my fingers.
He laughed deeply, from his stomach. “Once you’ve eaten the same food for a week or two, you won’t think I have much cooking skill. And you have many of your own skills.”
“Yeah, I have the skill of starving myself and constantly finding myself in situations that should kill me, some skill set I have.”
“Maybe so, but you are still alive.”
“And still hungry,” I said. He gave me a rueful look and I had to justify myself. “If you hadn’t eaten in five or six days, you’d be really hungry too!”
He didn’t show any visible reaction, and he didn’t say anything; he just got up, filled my bowl with stew, and gave it to me.
“After this, how about some magic lessons,” I suggested before shoving a spoonful in my mouth.
“No. You’re not ready, not yet.”
“Yes I am!” I protested.
“No, you are not.”
“You have no idea what I’m capable of doing!”
“I know you aren’t physically read. You can’t even fully see,” Denror said, and his tone said that was final.
I sighed angrily, and I finished eating in complete silence. I had never been good with listening to authority—a trait my mother said I got from my father. She was probably right, because she always did as her elders instructed her, which is why I got this task.
I’d only ever heard stories of my father, and from those stories I didn’t like him, though apparently I looked like him, and I was just as stubborn and defiant. He’d been told not to venture into dryad territory, but he had anyway, and he fell in love with my mother. She’d fallen for him too, but when the elders told her not to fraternize with humans, she’d obeyed and cut off all contact with him. By then she was pregnant with me, and after that I knew the story. I knew my father was a prince or courtier, and didn’t even know about me.
For the briefest moment, a single thought flashed through my mind—‘is this what it’s like to have a father?’
Denror led me through the tunnel, and I saw sunlight again. I was conflicted by the blinding light and the warm rays. I was grateful for the blanket around my shoulders, because my toes were cold the moment they touched the outside.
I looked at the ground in disbelief. “It never snows in Alde’lione,” I whispered. Cold whiteness covered the ground and trees, and magnified the sunlight threefold. I squinted and surveyed the area, but I didn’t recognize it. Maybe because of the snow.
My feet went numb from the cold as I left Denror standing in the tunnel and ventured out, taking light steps across the soft, snowy ground. I sank to my ankles in the stuff, but it was beautiful. I hadn’t gone far, but mine were the only tracks across the landscape. A cold wind nipped at my cheeks, and I pulled the blanket tighter around me.
“Supposedly the snow only comes when there’s peace in the land,” Denror said from the mouth of the tunnel.
“There’s never peace in the villages and cities,” I countered. “Humans don’t know how to make peace.”
“Maybe one of the gods decided to make it snow.”
“My people don’t bow to anyone but the Mitéra and Patéras.” The Mother, or as the humans called it Mother Earth, was the only goddess we knew, and the Father, Father Sky, was the only god we bowed to.
“Then maybe it’s a gift,” Denror said.
“Maybe it is,” I said, awe in my voice. “Teach me something. A magic,” I said suddenly, spinning around to face him.
“Bringen das feuer,” he called in his native tongue. Flame leaped from the base of his hand to the snow, and burned until it reached the grass. The snow melted in a perfect circle at his feet. “Enfrieren des wassers,” he commanded. He bent over and picked it up, showing it to me. The melted snow had solidified into a perfectly clear, half-moon shaped piece of ice.
Denror ran a hand down his beard and dropped the ice onto the cave floor, where it shattered into tiny shards. “Magic,” he said simply. And stroking his beard somewhat approvingly, he turned to go back into the tunnel.
“Wait!” I said. I ran across the few feet of snow and stood on the warm stone. Heat raced through my feet and it burned. I continually shifted weight from foot to foot as I spoke. “What does that mean?” I asked anxiously. As a nature spirit, the ice wouldn’t harm me. But this flaming heat might, and it was certainly unpleasant enough.
“In your language I believe it would be ‘anadeíxei ti̱ fo̱tiá’ and ‘pagó̱sei to neró,’” he said simply.
“Oh. Will it work in my language?”
“All are languages of magic. Admittedly it might take more concentration than you realize, but I’m sure you can make it work.”
I huffed an annoyed sigh. “Thank you, oh so cryptic one,” I grumbled as I turned and walked back onto the snow. I was still mystified by the snow, and it certainly was a beautiful mystery.
I was practicing the magic, which was simple fire and water spells, when I saw the first dead people, though I didn’t know it at the time.
There was a little boy, maybe four or five, looking happy and confused. With him were two girls, one maybe eighteen and the other a little slave girl of six or seven. I knew she was a slave by the brand on her cheek. The other girl wore layered skirts and an artful hairdo, like all the women for the village.
“Would you care to come with us?” asked the older girl when they approached me. Her lips were painted red and flowers were braided into her hair. Her dress was a light purple, with fancy embroidery on the bodice and hem, marking her as a noble.
I frowned. “To where?”
“We’re going to Elisium,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“It’s the most beautiful place ever. We’re going to their parents,” said the slave girl. She wore a simple brown dress and around her neck was a symbol called kopa, of the Kap’pai tribe.
“What are you doing in the woods then?”
“We got lost,” said the little boy. His trousers were muddy and his shirt was plain, leaving me with no idea where he might’ve come from.
“But I’m sure we’ll find our way again soon. Could you help us?” said the eldest.
“Angelita!” The angry voice caught me by surprise and I almost tripped in my haste to turn and face Denror.
I almost said something, but cleared my throat first, afraid my voice would crack. “Yes?”
“Why are you just standing there? You should be practicing. I only told you that because I thought you were serious,”
I turned to face the trio and gave a sheepish look. “Sorry, maybe another time. Good luck though. I’ve got to get back to work,” I told them.
“Who are you talking to?” Denror asked. When I looked at him though, he had instant recognition on his face. “Come here, child.” His voice was suddenly concerned, and that made me curious and worried.
“Good luck,” I said again to them before I turned and jogged back to Denror. “That was kind of rude,” I informed him.
“Look again,” he said, so I did. There was no one there.
The blood drained from my face. “Were they…?”
“Yes. They were dead. But more importantly, did they try and get you to accompany them anywhere?” He was deadly serious, and I was already more than a little freaked out. They didn’t look dead.
“I… uh yeah,” I said, still wrapping my head around this new information. “Some place called ‘paradise.’”
“So I was right,” he said to himself. To me, he said, “No matter what, Angelita, do not follow them. ‘Paradise’ means paradise, but it isn’t real paradise. It’s a gate to the afterlife, and that isn’t paradise. The dead will always try and bring people who can see them to the afterlife.”
He kept talking but I stopped listening. I guess I interrupted him, but I wasn’t sure. “How do I tell them apart? They looked so… real.”
“They were real. At one point. What did they look like?” Denror asked.
I described the trio and Denror nodded as I did. He made me go into great detail about the eyes, and asked on each one if they had regular eyes. Apparently they were interesting, but not that interesting. When I finished, he seemed satisfied. “It isn’t the Sammler.”
I shivered, but not from any sort of natural cold. “The what?” I asked softly.
“The Sammler. They are responsible for every premature death. Often they may possess someone in order to kill someone else, and thus bring two souls back for the effort of one. If one of them had been the people you’d seen, you would be in trouble.”
Denror made me go back into his cavernous home, and I didn’t even resist. I hadn’t ever seen anything dead get up and move around before, and that had given me a scare I never wanted again.
“What do the Collectors look lie?” I asked.
“Well they can take any form, but the eyes are the tell-tale sign. There are nine Collectors, and their eyes are solid colors, either black or white. They have no pupils or irises.”
Now I was getting worried. “What do I do if I meet one?”
“At this point, nothing. I’ll teach you a magic that should keep you from getting caught in their spells, but if you do, the only way you can survive is if someone breaks their hold on you.”
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