I watch as embers of blackened skin and rot rise into the night air, becoming dust as a gail of wind sweeps through the forest. The group is quiet. Recovering. None of us were touched by the skin of the turned thankfully, though Kiren was nipped in the shoulder by a pincer. Zyla tends to him now, healing her brother with deft fingers. Saegor is seeing to the full burning of the corpses. He holds his arm out and casts spurts of flame to feed the ongoing blaze.
Silence cuts the wind. Umbrahorn and I don't say a word, don't move. We have nothing to do but stare and ponder, hear the crackle of embers, the small grunts of pain from Kiren.
Whereas I came into this forest with anger drawing every muscle taut, now I feel an odd sense of… peace. I don't know why: perhaps the hate is colder now, more clinically charged. There's a numbness about us. A feeling of dismay at the realization that this will be the task of our journey — navigate these cursed briars and kill a child.
And Masaru.
And Masaru.
His image is drawn to perfection in my head — his face a purity of purpose.
"You know," Umbarhorn says suddenly, low enough for only me to hear. "I wasn't always Erot's little scarecrow."
"I figured," I say, grunting the response, imitating the old farmer himself. It's unconscious, but I do miss the old man. He was hard and honest — a man of a different, better time perhaps. Well, better than this old mancer who raises dead spirits.
"I was, different I guess," Umbrahorn continues, as if I'm not there. His black eyes stare far off, past the flames, into the parallel blackness of the briars. "Stronger. More… arrogant. More… reckless."
More arrogant? I think, with some measure of amusement. If he sees my smirk, he doesn't mention it.
"Back then I had more parts: shadow, ice, wind, to name a few. I was special — a man-made spirit. My master was an inventor and I was his greatest creation. He set me upon the wilds, the mountains, the lands of Fimbul, the seas of Katal. I did as he bid always. I loved him, my master. He didn't love me though. I was his tool, his weapon to bludgeon."
My smirk disappears. I look at Umbrahorn now, but his gaze is still faroff.
"What happened?" I ask.
He shrugs. "He died, as all men do. And then, I had nothing to do. I was a wild spirit. So, I went about killing other spirits. I don't know why I did it— it was not for any sense of justice or vengeance. And I wasn't… crazy. I think. I was just lost. Then, one day, I attacked a guardian spirit of a small hunting village. Fangshade."
I search my memory for the name, but only remember vagaries of it from my first conversation with Sorina, back when Erot introduced me to her in the village.
"The guardian spirit was the strongest thing I've ever fought. Did some good damage to my armor, my pride as well," he says, chuckling at the memory. I can tell he's replaying the battle in his head — its the way his eyes light up and search the air, as if drawing forth images from the wind to animate the duel.
"But you killed it?" I prod.
He nods. "Killed it well and good. Then, as I was withdrawing, a whole village of angry Fangshaders attacked me. I fought back, injured a great many of them, but my injuries and their leader's tactics granted me my first loss," he looks to me now for the first time in this conversation. "Guess who their leader was?"
The pieces are clicking. The old farmer always seemed like he was hiding something.
"Erot."
"Yes. Erot." Suddenly, Umbarhorn is shaking his head once more, chuckling. "I don't know why I'm telling you all of this. If anything, you're the last person I should be telling any of this: you're so petty and vain."
I'm surprised at his boldness. Earlier today, I don't think he would've made a comment like that. Especially after the beating he took. But now, he says it without fear: an assessment. It makes me uncomfortable.
"Says the great spirit of Erot's farm," I mutter.
"Ah but that's different Raiten," he says, clicking his tongue. "That's in my nature. It's not in yours."
Huh. That's… I don't know what to make of that. An awkward moment of silence passes between us before I clear my throat.
"Erot beat you, then what?"
"Well, his village wanted to kill me. They tore me apart, their shaman experimented on me for a bit. Nasty business. Tore away what made me… me. My other parts. They rendered me into a nor— normal spirit." It pains him to say that one, I can tell.
"Ah. I see," I scratch my chin, remembering how Erot promised Umbrahorn his shadow spirit before our journey. "That must've been tough. Losing pieces of yourself like that." I can relate to some degree. Every day at the tower, I lost a piece of myself.
"Yes. It wasn't pleasant. But I think they were punishing me — those villagers loved that guardian spirit. Yet, one person, only one, stood up for me at that time: Erot. I don't know why, but he argued that the villagers treated me cruelly. Argued that they should've just granted me a merciful death. Of course, no one listened."
"So…"
"So, Erot came by my iron prison one night and just… talked to me. Treated me like a human, infuriating as that was. However, it was better than being tortured by that shaman."
"Seems like something Erot would do," I say, smiling at the thought of a young Erot talking down to the shark spirit under the twilight.
"Eventually, after a few nights, he freed me. No explanation, nothing. I took my chance— ran off into the wilds again, searching for my other parts. But, after a year of desperate wandering, I had no luck. Instead, I simply ran into Erot again — except now, he was alone. He'd been excommunicated from his village or left of his own accord — he still hasn't explained that to me really. But, he captured me, bound me to his land. Told me if I behaved myself and did right by him, he'd do his best to locate the other spirit parts of mine."
And now, everything makes a whole lot more sense.
I shake my head at the thought. Erot, freeing Umbrahorn, probably got him into some trouble with his village. But for him to leave his home like that and settle into completely new lands is… well it's strange. I have to ask the old man about that myself.
"So, you really were a great spirit then," I realize.
"Yah. I was great. Powerful. Could take on anything. Even that Elk creature that you fought."
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves —"
"I'm being serious, I would've wiped the floor with that thing, chomped his head off."
"Sure buddy. Sure."
"Fuck you Raiten."
"Fuck you too Umbrahorn." He's muttering more curses to himself, but he doesn't realize that he's actually gotten me to smile, for the first time in a long while. Albeit, the smile is brief.
Because I remember my mission.
And all the sacrifices I make for that mission. Yet still, it must, it must, be upheld. No matter what.
No matter what.
Right?
"Right?" I whisper, to no one in particular.
The only response I get is the final crack of flames. And then, we're continuing forth, trudging deeper into the doom.