Kishirra’s mouth opened in a mute scream.

She could heal this. It was a deep wound, but she could stop the wound. Ansàrra’s power was healing and care. She could… she could… if she could only reach out. It wasn’t for her.

Something touched her face. Lugana’s hand.

“But. You were there,” she croaked. Her eyes rolled back and her hand fell.

You were there.

But.

But. You were there.

Her words rattled through her head.

It matters not, said the thing. Kishirra turned, holding Lugana against her body. The woman-thing was flaking off. The blue shard stretched out of her body like a stinger, wriggling itself free off the vessel that had contained it for so long. Do not forget what you are, Elf. A worthless existence, fuelled by base desires. A weakling, a selfish brat.

“It’s okay,” she replied.

What? The thing hesitated, likely more stunned by her use of that strange word. It tasted a little silly and a little inane, just like the brave woman who had first said it.

“I said that’s okay. It’s fine to be selfish. It’s fine if I am weak. If not fine by me, fine by others. One who is here,” she said gritting her teeth. Kishirra raised her good hand towards the sky. “And one who is Above.”

Nonsense and platitudes. The woman snarled and came close. Stand still now. It will all be over in a few moments – all will fall into its proper place.

“You know why it’s fine?” She shouted, holding Lugana close. It was not like her, to speak like this. But in this moment, she felt like the girl had rubbed off some of her foolishness on her. Not a bad feeling, not at all. “Because I was there.”

Because she woke up every morning – because she said her prayers, in hope and in despair.

Because she did not let go.

Because she sat on the shores of the Mar da Candèa and regarded the brief lives of the Mannish kind living there, and had found them endearing.

And when the time came, she had stood up to the challenge.

“Because, you wretched shade, that was my Test!”

And the world made sense once again.

A circle of golden flames appeared around her blonde head, making her hair flare out like a halo. Each of the hairs on her head as bright as the midday Sun. Her silver eyes shone with the brightness of the open furnace. Echoes of light scattered all around her body, like reflection upon invisible waves.

A sudden wind rustled her dress of leaves and Lugana’s clothes and dark hair. The light seeped into their skin, into their flesh. Bit by bit, the wound on Lugana’s shoulder turned from an angry red to the pale shade of newborn flesh. She stopped breathing in spurts and she fell into a peaceful sleep.

She would take it from here.

Kishirra held up her hand.

“D’oro è corda che cce lega,” she stated. A golden whip appeared in her left hand. With a quick shake of her wrist, she wrapped its end against her poleaxe and grabbed it.

Her right hand was knitting itself together, rebuilding bones and flesh and skin under the touch of the blessed light.

“Ché no v’è notte sanza Stella,” she continued reciting her Sanction. The golden crown on her head flashed and the night came crawling into thin corners. The dawn had come to rest in the middle of the market square of Bùrian. Her dress of leaves caught fire and it enveloped her into an armour of vengeful flames. She aimed her poleaxe at the fragment of the demon. “Ed all’Alba l’ombra annega.”

She advanced, the ground going up in puff of smoke as her flaming feet cracked the soil, and set ablaze the pieces of wood, branches and clothing that had once been for the festival.

“I realise now I have yet to greet you properly, demon. My name is Kishirra. Prode di Ansàrra.”

+++

When I closed my eyes in Kishirra’s arms I did not really lose consciousness. I felt like I was falling, and the pain from my shoulder was getting worse, dulling out every other sense in its swelling ache.

She was still talking, but I could’t reach out to her. I would have wanted to say so many other things.

Was I going to die again? I would die on my parents once again.

What a failure of a daughter, in this world or in the previous one. At least I did show up and do what I needed to, once or twice. And for a few hours I had a beautiful Elf girlfriend…

As I kept floating, I expected to fade at any moment, so I tried to focus on any feeling, even pain. But pain was slowly fading as well. This was it.

And then… I felt like opening my eyes. I could hear noise, screams, howls. And feel an unceasing heat – was I back home and laying next to the furnace?

What was going on?

Groggily, I opened one eye, then another. I lay in the middle of the market square and air was ablaze. The heat came from a flaming figure in red and gold, dancing back and forth as she descended on the fleeing Chalkers like an angel of vengeance. Her blonde mane was alight like a candle and her whole body bathed in golden fire.

Ah.

I turned my head to look at my shoulder – the gash had disappeared, leaving room for pink, fresh skin.

Not that useless a Goddess, maybe.

Thank you for saving her, I thought.

Kishirra swept the ground with her weapon, cutting the Chalkers in two, cleaving through them, setting their cursed bodies aflame – she laughed as she fought and her stern face looked like an image of the Sun. The mysterious woman backed off, the skin peeling off her bones, flesh charred and flaking away in molten rivulets.

The glowing shard inside her chest was trying to wriggle itself free from her body, making her tremble and shake like a marionette caught in a furious storm.

Kishirra spoke. I couldn’t hear her with my ears, but I knew the words she was saying. I felt them reverberate through air and awareness. I shaped them with my tired, dry lips.

May the Sun shine at Night too.

Kishirra’s figure glowed even brighter – she pierced the woman’s right through the chest, her poleaxe biting straight through the blue shard, extinguishing its cold blue light with its own gold, warm one.

A flash bathed the world white.

A shriek pierced my ears, making me wince even through the blessed warmth – a noise like crunched ice, like grinding glass, which grew to a hiss and then –

With a snap like an icicle coming off, it broke.

The echoes of the shriek faded away in a shattered echo, a noise that would not weigh on this part of the world for an age.

Then silence, blessed silence, and far-off, the sound of bells.

I was falling again.

Floating, caught by an invisible current.

Maybe it was time to come home.

V.Carmenero

I think this one was my favourite chapter. What do you think of the little formula Kishirra uses as a Sanction? I really tried to make it exotic and yet somewhat familiar, the usage of 16th-Century Italian (even though neither Kishirra nor Ansàrra are Italian names) is something I really enjoy writing in this setting. Oh, and also fuck demons I guess.

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