Have Courage, Elsa Ch 8: Sorcery, a frozen fanfic

Once again, give a hand to FrozenRose1, who was able to turn gibberish into coherence within merely an hour or two of editing last night. Rose, you are the beta-reader that I never knew I desperately needed.

Oh, all rights go to Disney.

Chapter 8

Sorcery

"If I will suffer sleepless nights or worse, so be it. I will not have my people harmed by any threats so long as I'm in reign."

That is a Queen's promise.

Helge bowed to Elsa and widened his mouth into a rueful smile. He faced to Anna next, understandably hesitant for the young lady. "I don't see a need to repeat my words. So...?"

Anna straightened her back, looking very briefly like the queen besides her. She had ever only done this once, when she set out to bring Elsa back from her self-exile. "If Elsa agrees, then so will I."

"Anna, you don't have to do this..." Elsa protested.

Anna flashed her sister a fearless smile. "A Princess should be able to protect her people just as much as their Queen can." She bumped Elsa in the shoulder gently. "I've done it once before, and I will be glad to do it again. I am your right-hand woman, after all."

"Count me in as well." Kristoff announced, butting into Elsa's train of thought before she could argue against her sister. "It was only three weeks ago when we saved Arendelle from an Eternal Winter." He gave his own daring grin. "What can a single monster do to compare against a force of nature?"

"Kristoff..." Elsa said.

"Especially when we have the Queen of Ice and Snow on our side." he added proudly.

Anna ceased her regal and straight-backed pose, replacing it with a tender face that bloomed with endearment, her blue eyes shining bright as stars. "Elsa, just because you are the Queen does not mean you have to defend Arendelle by yourself." Anna lifted her sister's cold hands in hers, blanketing them with her palms, so Elsa could feel the sweet warmth that tingled against her chill skin and wintry powers. Anna's sister relaxed and looked down, focusing on the dainty hands that held her pale arms aloft. "Kristoff and I will be right behind you. So will Olaf, Sven, Helge, and every one of our friends, together."

Elsa's eyes grew misty, obscuring her sight, and she blinked the tears away. A vision flashed in front of her eyes, so not only Anna, Kristoff, and Helge stood in front of her, but also people of all aspects and colors of life, ranging from royal servants, to soldiers, snowmen, ice harvesters, cooks, families, and even vagrants. They were crammed tightly in the library, fighting for an open space, so Elsa could have a good look at each of their familiar faces.

Did I really have this many people who would place their hopes in a weakling like me?

Elsa made an effort to smile at all of them, nodding her head happily in appreciation.

Helge nodded. "I believe everyone has made their decision, then." He cleared his throat. "There is no time to delay; the last adventure of Prince Adam of Ravendall shall be revealed."

Page 75: I was truly grateful for riding with my lifelong friend Appelsin that day. I owed the horse my life several times over for having not abandoned me, and remaining bold and obedient in the doorway to death. When I rode to battle to ward off an army of orcs, Appelsin was the one who never entertained the thought of running away. When we were attacked by Dark Fenrirs, Appelsin was the one who protected me from their teeth and sharp claws. When we ran afoul of malevolent hags with a serial desire for transmuting victims into gardens, Appelsin was the one who gladly offered himself as a distraction, before attacking anyway. His hooves and legs have certainly fell more monsters than my skills, protection, and enchanted sword combined.

I was truly blessed to have him for my steed, because Appelsin was a braver person than I could ever be, even as a horse. If he were a human, than he would have succeeded where I have failed Kjellfrid miserably.

She was a beautiful, innocent young lady, with hair that fell down in waves, reaching long past her back. They floated in nonexistent wind, surrounding her head in a halo of refracted light. Her eyes, despite being a common shade of brown, shone with grace that rivaled that of elves, with twice the compassion present. Her lovely face was in the shape of a heart, and if she smiled, her full lips and dimples could have melted glaciers off mountains.

That was, if she was capable of smiling anymore.

She died alone, like so many others who lost themselves in Ravendall's haunted woods. This was supposed to be my third week trying to console her.

I really detested the Lost Woods at times like this. Despite the many spoils and cherished moments that I was fortunate to receive, there were occasions where I wished I never ventured into the forest that one year ago. I was forced into a world that essentially destroyed the innocence and joy I was raised to expect from living as a second-born Prince. Being Guðmundr's aide opened me to a world of constant danger, and forced me to come face-to-face with others less luckier than I, some I recognized from the very same town squre in Ravendall, where I like to tell my stories in.

Kjellfrid was one such person, a young lady who always hung around as I told anecdotes to children. That was, until she mysteriously disappeared weeks ago. I never realized how beautiful and sweet she was until I found her nearby a boulder, broken as a discarded and disheveled doll.

A part of my regular duties was to prepare ghosts for what comes next, so they will no longer have any lasting attachment to this world. Guðmundr cannot clear them out by himself, for he was not anywhere close to human to empathize with them properly.

So, when I made the deal with him, he assigned me as, among other things, a custodian to the overcrowding ghost population. Technically, I was supposed to erase them with the sword given to me; I could use it, as he subscribed, to annihilate them as one would do with pests. They do have a capacity for violence after all; a dead person still walking is also a very bitter person, sometimes willing to lash out at others.

That is just one of the few unpleasant things about the old geezer; he's essentially a minor god, with little to no concern for things as trivial as a human's morals. He would never understand just how difficult such a task is for my sanity. To use a weapon on someone who deserved only pity...

Instead, I took the fool's route; I searched for their bodies, sometimes stealing them away from the very creatures that had killed them. I conducted funerals, burying them with my own two hands. I sympathized with them, learning more about their lives before talking some sense into them, until they finally ascend and disappear from life, including mine, once and for all.

Sometimes, in the end... I still have to use the sword.

It was a vicious tango, this road that I have chosen: to make friends who will only vanish forever at the end of the day.

Kjellfrid's story was one of the more upsetting, and I can recall more sources of death than I could ever care to count: the lady was separated from her family, and had been chased into the Lost Woods by hostile men at the middle of the night. Just as she managed to escape, she fell prey to a stalking Fenrir. She didn't even know she had been killed, until I found her ghost stumbling through the woods, calling desperately for help.

She no longer spoke anymore after we found her. For real.

I entered a massive tree hollow, an old relic of an age long past. It still stood strong and proud, despite being as dead as a snag could be. I found it a fitting place to bury her body, which is why I expected her to be here.

I called her name gently, enunciating each syllable so they echoed throughout the hollow cleanly. Ghosts are very particular of their identity, being so isolated and all. Along with memories, a name and profile is all a phantom has left. Like loners of the living realm, a call for a ghost's name would have about as much of an effect on them as a small lightning strike. They will come almost instantaneously.

And yet, Kjellfrid did not respond.

Perhaps she decided to accept her fate and move on, I thought.

Of course, that was just wishful thinking. The girl was too far gone with anguish to achieve Ascension on her own. I touched the inner walls of the hollow, wary and unsure. More than a year spent in this forest had given me a sense that something was amiss. The air was too cold for the summer, and the blue sky, despite being clear of any clouds, was two shades too dark.

Then, I saw it.

It was a grey, translucent thing that stood all by itself, blocking the opening out of the hollow. It was not a lady. It was not a man. It did not even look like a monster. It was just this grey... blob. It had no arms to speak of, no mouth, no eyes, not even feet to stand upon. Every few seconds, the blurry silhouette flickered like a grey candle flame, briefly shifting into a vague humanoid form, before returning to an amorphous shape again.

I remember you

I blinked, absolutely certain that I've never even seen this thing before.

Oh, there was no doubt that it was a ghost: I've seen some that looked like melted wax models, because they were dead for so long they began to forget their own appearance. That's one of the special things about ghosts; you are what you recall, and this one must have been far, far from capable of identifying itself. I raised a finger to point at the grey thing. "Excuse me, spirit, but I do not remember ever meeting you. Are you new here?"

spirit

not my name

I am new to you

I winced; its voice was heavily altered modulated, like arranging an entire church choir of the most tone-deaf wannabe-chorus members in the world. At some syllables, its words shifted to dominance by a child's, other times a full grown man's, and even those of a few different women.

With its mishmash of voices and its shapeless figure, it must have lost much of its individuality. It also claims to know me, and yet I have never been introduced to it in my life.

I reflected on a little phrase I wrote in my journal to complain about my brother, weeks ago, a phrase that now made the skin on my back crawl in sudden terror.

I didn't even mention about the decreasing ghost population...

What if this apparition was shapeless, specifically because this figure is no longer individual? What if it recognized me because it possessed memories that did not originally belong to it?

Only one type of creature possesses qualities like this.

Only a Spøkelse could fit such a description.

Suddenly, I was very dubious of the creature standing at the entrance into the hollow, looking at me with its false innocence. A Spøkelse is a major-league threat, on par with the destructive capabilities of a rogue warlock. It is the result of at least two souls linking together, then fusing into a single form, which mercifully happens rarely. The link occurs like how relationships, not necessarily positive or negative, are formed in real life; something mutual to bind them together. Normally, this is no reason for concern, as about 99% of all the creatures in this world have absolutely no idea how to apply such a concept to deadly levels, although humans come dangerously close.

Unfortunately, ghosts are a vastly different story. As they are the product of despair, fear, denial, and rage against fate, these emotions will also be what their "bonds" consist of. In other words, a Spøkelse from the get-go would be unpleasant, and its behavior would only go downhill with every spectral addition. That is not even mentioning the amount of power it gains from consumption of spirits. Who knows how many lost souls had this thing absorbed into itself?

I rested a hand on my holster, my fingers lightly brushing against the handle of my sword. "What is your name, friend?"

friend...

My voice became slightly more clipped and forceful. "You did not answer my question, fellow soul. What is your name?"

The apparition flickered in place once more, twitching and jerking like an irritated flame. Whispers came from within it, an unfocused mess that could have been mistaken for a pit of venomous snakes. The mere sound gave me a compulsion to scratch an itch that never existed.

I gritted my teeth, and kept on talking. "Speak up, ghost. Tell me your name, loud and clear."

jel

eir

I was not entirely surprised at this response. Despite the very real dangers a Spøkelse can commit, it is still a mixture of past lives that were never meant to fuse together. Otherwise, humans would have never been so individualized. Its mind must have been too scrambled to formulate anything, much less complete sentences. I proceeded to push further "Surely, you have a name that belongs to you?"

You should at least remember which one of you decided to consume fellow ghosts first, demon.

Hol

geir

Name is

The grey creature's voice hardly changed from its warbled mess, but a sort of clarity was finally achieved, as if this screeching chorus of voices was enforced this time, rather than continue as simple chaos. Some of the multitude of hollow voices were actually speaking at the same time now, albeit still in completely different pitches and accents that grated against the ears like a knife sharpener.

my name is Hólmgeirr

"Right," I said affirmatively. It's given name is not guaranteed to be the culprit's actual identity; Hólmgeirr could be a mixture of names and factors made coherent. There's a chance that the Spøkelse gave its true name, the one belonging to the first spirit to reject its fate and consume another. Perhaps the true ghost's real name was in a different language entirely, and that the majority of Scandinavian phantoms in Ravendall affected its nationality. Maybe it was fabricated, compiled from the several spirits it had absorbed. Of course, it could just be simply lying. I don't see why something like that couldn't happen.

Still, I spoke the given name, making sure I pronounced each and every syllable right, every accent in a perfect imitation of how the ghost introduced itself. To confirm its name, I infused my voice with the mental equivalent of reaching out a helping hand. Not to help the Spøkelse (the monster was as much to ghosts as cannibals are to people), but the poor unfortunate souls that are trapped within it. "Hólmgeirr."

For a split second, the ghost shook violently in place, rather than just flickered. The amorphous shape spewed a darkly grey mist from its entire being, so the I was able to have a glimpse inside.

I nearly threw up at the sight of the Spøkelse. Its core, its true self, was a bald, twisted little figure, made of a grey and lustrous material that could have been iron. Its body glowed dully against the sunlight entering the tree hollow. Angry patches and welts covered what was supposed to be skin, looking like regions that have been worn down by years of rust. Its teeth was the only body part that appeared to be actually organic, yellowed tombstones set in its metal gums.

The thing knew it was hideous; it covered its face behind severely rusted hands, and stared at me with empty eye sockets in horror and shame as it peeked through its skeletal fingers. It shook its hands desperately in front of it, clawing for the mist to withdraw back within itself. I peered, and saw faint faces in the grey smog, their empty eyes and mouths opened in anguish, but no sound came forth from their lips. Once more, The Spøkelse was a featureless, shapeless grey shadow.

All of this happened by just speaking its given name.

I bowed slightly to the Spøkelse, without diverting my eyes for a single instant. "I am Prince Adam of Ravendall. We are currently in Ravendall's Lost Woods, and I have a business to run." My fingers wrapped around the handle of my sword, gripping it tightly. "Have you seen any fellow ghosts nearby here?"

yes

you are Adam

how can I forget

"So... you do know?" I took a tentative step forward, closer to the monster standing in front of me. I was careful not to let my boots crunch and turn over dead leaves and compost.

yes

"Then I have something to ask of you, friend." I drew my sword slowly, conscientious to make myself appear as little as a threat as possible, as if I had no intention of ever using it against the Spøkelse. The blade shone brightly without reflecting any sources of light, and illuminated the entire hollow as a burning lamp could have done. I pointed at the ground, a somewhat fresh rectangular patch of dirt, where a sweet girl's body was buried, and my voice turned hard. "Where. Is. Kjellfrid?"

Once again, the spirit flickered, drifting from side-to-side rapidly. A faint echo bounced off the tree walls, a delicate voice that was smothered almost immediately, before it could free itself from the demon's babel

Adam

friend

she is not tucked in an empty tree all by herself anymore

she has a new people to belong to

no longer alone

My eyes widened in comprehension of these words, and my fists shook with hostility. The gleaming sword rattled as I glared at the Spøkelse with complete hatred. "You monster, you've devoured her!" I screamed.

I helped her

I have given her a home

everyone is united

she is no longer alone

I am no longer alone

Kjellfrid was able to achieve companionship

You did nothing of the sort!" I spat acidly. "What you have merely done was locking an innocent girl away from ever moving on from this world. You have trapped her in a prison of isolation and depression until the very land of Hel freezes over, unless exorcised by force!"

The demon moved backwards, shock somehow evident in its shapeless figure. It was taken aback by my sudden ferocity.

I have been helping like you did

these souls are now forever bonded

My entire body was shaking in fury. My heart pumped against my head in a raging drumbeat. Not only was this Spøkelse a monster, but it was utterly abhorrent in its stupid, childlike outlook in its death. "'Bonded,' sure, if what you really mean was 'bounded in thorns and manacles!' You are only prolonging their suffering! They shouldn't persist in that maelstrom of despair within you!"

oh Adam

what can you possibly know about humans

Are not they social creatures

no matter how miserable their pitiful lives can be

"Shut up." I seethed. "I'm regretting that I ever wasted my time talking to you." I pointed my sword directly at the demon, in absolutely no mood for this joker. "Be at peace, monster, and release those who you have chained and suffocated within you."

The Spøkelse's form was wavering severely now, even shivering, as one would expect a candle flame to do if a strong breeze was set to exhaust it. I can see a silhouette of the creature, shrouded in a miasma of despair, clutching its head like a broken patient, writhing in internal agony.

I am not alone

I do not want to be by myself again

even if I have to endure with loathsome humans

"Weren't you human, too?"

I have long discarded my humanity

I was always a monster

no longer will I be held down by human fate

by disgusting and fleeting hopes and dreams

I am strong now

I am free to do what I wish

My sword emitted a radiance as blindingly white as the heart of a star, bleaching the entire tree hollow in beams until no other color existed. "Then I will have to discard that notion, Hólmgeirr, you Lost Spøkelse!" I roared. In an dazzling arc that lingered in the air, painted white by the intensity of the blade, I slashed at the shadowed being.

Contrary to popular belief, apparitions are not intangible; ghosts can indeed be affected by human hands. While they cannot be killed a second time, they can be injured and/or incapacitated, until they no longer have the will to remain phantoms. Hence the sword that was gifted to me, which I had used rarely out of... desperation.

You see, there is a trick involved when it comes to fighting spirits and supernatural creatures of darkness; a fight for them is actually clash of willpower. The two warring parties must do battle by pitting their souls against each other as weapons, until either their physical vessels succumb to injury, OR their hearts can no longer resist subjugation to the winner. It is just like a real war between people.

For example, take the recurring belief that ghosts can be able to touch and attack their victims, leaving mysterious bruises and scratch marks, whenever they want to. That is the mistaken viewpoint of an overly superstitious rumormonger. In reality, the victim was rendered delirious by the ghost beating his spirit and will down, until he can no longer control himself, and dig his fingernails into his skin out of induced madness.

A livid shade literally cannot do anything else, for they no longer have a physical body to actively injure or hurt with.

By that logic, one can feed ghosts, even a Spøkelse, a taste of their own medicine.

Unfortunately, there is a reason why the rumor of a ghost's supposed intangibility will not be disproved anytime soon. Anyone can learn to fight a shade... with patience. It is really a matter of practice: to attack a phantom, you would have to be able to focus your soul, to concentrate and manipulate it into a tool for attack and defense. Slayers of monsters, including Noaidi priests and Catholic Saints, were given beautiful titles and glory, specifically because they were capable of manifesting their souls into their magic, swords, staves, or even bare hands. Such prowess require spiritual meditation for several years on end. A few well-known heroes have trained themselves for longer than the years I had existed. I myself never meditated a day in my life.

Which is why I cheated.

I felt a little recoil as the blade bounced off the iron core. A piercing ring sounded from the impact, echoing in the hollow's walls until my ears nearly couldn't tolerate it. Within the smog, pierced by the sword's blinding light, I saw the Spøkelse clutch at its chest, a radiant white gash streaking from where its pelvis should be, all the way up to its left shoulder.

The sword, a Viking Ulfberht that had seen use before humans had fully settled in Norway, was an enchanted conduit for my abilities. Blessed by Guðmundr, Landvættir of the Lost Woods, its magic allowed me to easily channel my spirit into its double-edge with just a word, so long I was under Guðmundr's employment. Flesh or ectoplasm, it didn't matter to the weapon. It had served me for over a year, by evening a playing field that lumps ordinary humans with so many disadvantages.

I smiled wolfishly as it cried and howled with pain, and its body suddenly vented grey miasma with the force of a volcano eruption. Instinctively, I shielded my face from the blast, and-

It was late into nighttime, the pale moon shining above me as I breathed heavily and wiped sweat away from my eyes. I was taking my first few steps into the dark forest. It was a foolish decision to do so, but I needed to escape from those bandits. Nobody in their right mind would enter the Lost Woods, and there were no other locations nearby where I could hope to lose them.

And, I reasoned to myself, if that fearless fool Prince Adam can survive the Lost Woods, than surely I can at stand a chance, at least until those men give up finding me.

From behind me, I could hear the storming of heavy boots, the clinking and clanking of metal tools. There was no time to stop and think.

Running through the thick woods of Ravendall proved to be nearly impossible. I could hear the men shouting curses behind me, the lanterns they carried creating elongated and monstrous shadows that slithered and pursued me individually from their masters.

I leaped over a tree root, and screeched in panic as the outfit I wore was suddenly pulled, jerking me backwards. I snapped my head down to see that my dress had snagged itself onto loose branches. The dress contained too many loose ends that would only slow me down. Desperately, I tore at my clothes, swinging my arms wildly as I ripped out its hems and part of my skirt. Ribbons and torn pieces of rags drifted out into the dark night, forever lost.

I darted my head back, my hair whipping behind, and saw men with their crossbows. They didn't see me yet, but they were getting closer.

Frantically, I pulled at the last remaining fabric of my dress, and was thrust forward by my own weight. I slammed into the forest floor, the soil and roots scratching my cheeks and nose. I spat hair and dirt out of my mouth. My lungs were wheezing in protest, my legs were on fire, but I picked myself off the ground and continued running.

"She's over there! Get her!"

"Stop running and give yourself up, already!"

The forest, a natural world wonder that was untouched for who knows how long, contained ground that was never tamed by human hands. There were instances where I was knee-deep in dead leaves, slowing me down to an uncomfortable crawl, or where my feet floated a second more than I would have anticipated them to. I tripped over hidden roots, and lost my balance often, bumping into shrubs and other forest greens. Besides my chemise, I had little protection against the repeated scrapings of the rough tree bark. Welts formed all over my hands and feet, burning and stinging angrily, but I hardly cared.

I didn't see the steep downhill until it was too late. My foot slipped on loose dirt at the very edge, and it sank almost down to my shin. I was flipped over my head, my world briefly turned upside down, and I felt a distinct weightlessness that lasted until I hit the side of the hill in a roll. My head spun painfully, and I was pressed against dried leaves and fallen branches.

Miraculously, I did not slam into any tree trunks, and I eventually slowed to a stop. Disoriented, I couldn't tell whether or not the ground was actually as slanted as it appeared, or if that was a product of my confusion.

I spotted a white stone outcropping, a sharp boulder that jutted out at an angle not quite parallel to the forest floor, leaving a narrow gap underneath. The idea seemed absolutely absurd, but I realized my body could squeeze under; it could make for an instant hiding place.

I crawled on my belly as I entered the dark and dank little shelter. Like a terrified cat, I tucked myself underneath that rock outcropping, listening for the signs of incoming danger as my body pulsated in pain and fatigue.

"Where is that kut!?"

"Search around! She couldn't have gotten far!"

"I think I saw her tracks, over here!"

My heart rammed hard against my throat, a giant staccato on repeat that threatened to burst out from my chest. I nearly choked in of fear, but I clamped my hand up to my mouth. I breathed heavily through my nose, hardly providing enough air to supply my burning lungs. My legs twitched and cramped from the ordeal I had put them through. I was tempted to move them into a different position, but that would draw attention to my location.

I listened in discomfort for the boots that brushed and kicked aside dirt and leaves, boots that were coming closer to where I was hiding...

One... Two... Three...

I counted slowly to myself, anything besides imagine being dragged out in the open forcefully to monstrous faces and eyes, like a fresh catch in a hunt.

Thirty-eight... Thirty-nine...

In the tight space beneath the rock, the air was getting stuffier. It was becoming harder and harder for me to breathe.

Seventy-two... Seventy-three...

Wait. Their footsteps... they were fading away! They weren't heading in my direction at all!

I just barely prevented myself from wriggling free from under the rock, and gulping for fresh air. For all I know, bandits could still be out there, waiting and biding their time until I crawled out of my hiding spot in a false sense of security. I could be snatched like a poached rabbit. I continued counting.

Ninety-four... Ninety-five...

It was only after I reached three hundred when I finally believed it was safe enough to investigate.

The night was absolutely silent and still; not a single insect or bird chirped in the forest. Such woods should be considered completely unnatural, and it only added to my anxiety.

The white moonlight peeked into my hiding place, spilling inwards like overturned milk.

I crawled my way out from beneath the rock, and brushed off the dirt and forest refuse. I was truly grateful it was midsummer; all I had on was just my undergarment now. I turned my head around, hoping there was nothing waiting for me here.

There was only more silence in the woods. For some, unfathomable reason, the night was devoid of any nighttime animals that would have been at complete home in a forest as vast as this. The moonlight combined with the night skies to paint the woods in surreal splashes and shades of indigo and violet hues. The trees decorating the landscape stood tall and straight, only to spread and bend out and downwards threateningly like creatures that stalk in dreams. The leaves of the forest canopy hardly moved or swayed in this windless night. Thanks to the soundless atmosphere, I felt more like I was staring at a still portrait drawn by a bored author, than a nervous reality.

I gazed uphill, hoping I will be able to climb up and retrace my steps-

A powerful blow struck me from behind, heavy and overwhelming, pinning me to the floor. There was an audible, horrible crack that split the night air, and I was suddenly numb from my neck down. It was an oddly delicious feeling, to be no longer tormented by the complaints and limitations of my body. The only thing left to feel was my own heartbeat, which was beginning to slow down...

...Sixty-six...

My vision faded to black...

...It's cold...

Sixty-seven... Sixty-eight... Sixty-nine...

My eyelids fluttered open, seeing green leaves that swayed back and forth, and permitted sunlight to briefly invade and stab at my eyes. I felt the ground shift beneath my back; I was being dragged away roughly on the forest floor. Heavily groggy, my body close to paralyzed of all its senses, my brain was still in complete terror of being hunted down and killed.

Seventy... Seventy-one...

Some of my mental functions started coming back to me, and I tilted my head upwards ponderously, a task I never thought would be this difficult. Something snorted heavily, its massive body a dark smudge in my bleary eyes, and I saw the gleam of ivory jaws that pulled on my boot, carrying me further through the trees and wood.

Fenrir!

I pushed myself off the ground and withdrew my legs, trying to crawl away on my back, away from the beast that held me firmly between its teeth.

Eighty-one...

Even in self-defense mode, I was still reeling from that invasive memory. Every other time that I blinked my eyes, the emerald green shades of the forest were replaced by the vivid, violet monochrome of the night scenery, accompanied with panic and paranoia.

My head split apart at the cranium, and my vision flashed a dull red. Gasping in pain, I nursed my throbbing head, and looked up to see that I had bumped my head against a tree, hard.

I looked back down at the animal, and found that it was merely Appelsin; he had been the one dragging me away. I breathed rapidly, my chest pressing and thumping tightly and uncomfortably against my armor. I still felt an overwhelming need to count to myself, which hardly seemed reasonable now. The horse walked over to my position, regarding me with level eyes.

"E-eighty-three... W-were you the one who s-saved me?"

The horse said nothing. He didn't need to. I sat myself straight to pat him on the neck with one hand. Applesin whinnied softly with appreciation. Again, he had to pull a hero act, saving me once more from death, without fearing his own.

I brushed his mane past my left fingers tenderly as I struggled to remembered what had just happened.

That time at night... it was real, all of it. The forest and stone outcropping had been real. Those people hunting me down had been real. Who I was had been real. It was a visceral, terrifying reality that plagued my thoughts constantly as I sat.

It just wasn't a reality for me.

It didn't take me long to put two and two together; that vision, that utter nightmare was the last living memory of Kjellfrid.

I put my hands up to my face, rubbing my eyes tiredly. I've had experienced some truly spectacular mental attacks in my time, and this one was relatively high tier. When the Spøkelse had counterattacked me with that smog, it had been infused with some of the girl's memories, specifically her dying moments.

...The Spøkelse.

Oh no, I haven't defeated it at all! The only thing I've only ever done was injure it, making it angry! It's still running wild in these woods, free to wreak havoc in the forest, free to prey on the weak and unprotected, free to consume even more dark spirits and grow!

I let it escape scot-free.

I failed a sweet innocent young girl, who is now trapped in a pocket Purgatory.

Kjellfrid's last remaining moments replayed itself in my head once more, causing me to wince and shiver with dread. Thanks to the Spøkelse, I had just died once. If it weren't for my horse, it would have likely killed me for real right there, skills and magic sword be damned.

The sword! I shoved my left fingers into the scabbard, alarmed to see that it was empty.

"A-Appelsin," I cried desperately. "Did I leave my sword back..." I swallowed hard, my mouth painfully dry. "...there?"

The horse blinked its soft eyes once, and nuzzled my right arm. I lifted it to touch him, and exhaled with amazement and relief when I saw that the sword was safely and tightly in my grasp. Unconsciously, I had kept the Viking weapon in my hand with an iron grasp. I haven't even noticed my arm muscles were beginning to tremble and feel sore from holding it so tensely.

That fog... no, I wasn't rendered unconscious at all. I was rendered unaware, forced to relive a life that wasn't even mine.

Appelsin made a soft sound, tapping me with his muzzle twice.

"What is it boy?" I followed his wary gaze, and looked around the tree behind my back. An unpleasantly grey mist, thick enough to blot out every detail of the normally beautiful and lush woods, was racing through the forest, like raging floodwaters after a broken dam.

I yelped and panicked. I couldn't subject myself to a new nightmare, a new death. Frantically, I grabbed Appelsin by the reins, mounting him, almost squealing, "Hurry, take us home!"

He obliged without hesitation, and we rode through the winding forest like the wind, followed behind by thick supernatural clouds that smothered the forest lands in a rapid pace, like the storming of volcanic fumes. They washed, splashed, and crashed against trees and rocks like breaking waves, never relenting, never stopping.

After minutes of riding, dodging low branches and shrubs, and leaping over fallen trees that could have slowed Appelsin down, Ravendall's capital was within sight.

Something brushed against my back, scraping against my cheeks, causing itchy goose bumps to crawl down my arms and legs. The rush of fog zoomed past Appelsin and I, faster than the horse could ever gallop. I shut my eyes and twisted my brows into one of concentration, preparing myself to guard for yet another vision.

It never came. I opened my eyes in a squint and quickly closed them again. I had to try two more times to confirm that I was in the same place, on the same horse, in the same time.

Appelsin slowed his gallop to a trot, and then to a complete stop. We have reached the outskirts of town.

Curiously, I waved at the fog, feeling chills as I touched... something. It was almost indescribable, really. I've been calling this substance a mist, but it is so much more than that; the clouds floating low in the air had texture like uneven clumps of dust, or ashes from burning fires. They left no cool, gentle sensation like ordinary vapor, but instead rubbed disagreeably against my skin like ghostly sandpaper. It was as if I've been licked by the rough, dry tongue of a corpse, over and over again, all around my entire body. No doubt, sucking this kind of haze in would have been absolute torture to the lungs and throat... If it was actually possible.

I dismounted from the horse, looking at myself first, and then at Appelsin. His wide nostrils flared, but not out of irritation. The darkly grey clouds floated all around him, almost shrouding the horse in what can pass for a robe, but there was a clear lack of motion that indicated it was inhaled. For some reason, the smoke was perfectly able to smother everything, but within our bodies.

"Hey, Prince Adam! How was your trip?"

I staggered and fell on my backside, my heart struggling to free itself from my chest cavity. A dark shadow had loomed over my right shoulder, and I nearly pulled out my sword in self-defense before a thick, knobbly hand materialized in front of my nose. I peered through the fog at the silhouette.

The sudden intrusion was no ghost, but merely the local bartender Mark, a man as thick as he was tall, with a deep, basoon voice to match. If he had noticed my sudden overreaction, he didn't let it show in his posture. Gingerly, I took his offering hand so he could pick me up.

"Your Highness? You seem a little... jumpy."

"It's fine," I muttered, holding my arms close to myself. I craned my neck left and right, slightly lost. "I-it's nothing serious." I stepped a little closer to Mark's side, feeling a bit more secure. I couldn't just have Appelsin to accompany me in this situation, after all. The guy was a bit of a skinflint, but he ran a quality bar that I frequented. He was literally the best option I had within reach.

"Oh... okay, sir." Mark took in a deep breath, and looked down the road. "Crazy fog we are having, huh?"

I couldn't see even a two meters beyond the mysterious grey mist. The fog was like a cloud of smoke and ash, and yet there were no floating particles to suffocate on. Even stranger, my skin did not feel the cool vapors that characterized normal evening mist. The air was so thick, all sources of mundane light, including the sunlight, were scattered and dissipated, coloring the entire world in a monotonous haze.

The Spøkelse. To have its abilities and powers stretch and manifest this far with such thickness, from that tree hollow, all the way to Ravendall, it must be incredibly powerful...

An earsplitting scream of a young woman filled the air, reverberating off the walls of houses, window panes, thatched roofs, and market stalls.

...or incredibly close.

I shoved Markus away, snapped out of my funk, eliciting a shout of confusion and protest from the large man. He quickly disappeared from sight as I ran, pounding my feet against the pavement, towards the direction where I had heard the shriek. In the fog, my footsteps echoed and bounced off the empty streets of Ravendall, creating a haunting effect that lingered ominously.

A thick, ornate lamp post materialized in the mist, and I had to sway hard to the left to avoid earning a broken nose. I gave the offending thing a rude look and a hand gesture, briefly forgetting that lamp posts can't react.

Blasted pole. Blasted fog. The Sp-

I grimaced, not exactly leaping with cheer about remembering the past hour for now.

You can handle this, you aren't a child.

It's bad, but you have suffered worse.

The Spøkelse must have done something and cursed Ravendall with an incredibly thick, supernatural miasma; an artificial undercurrent of suspicion and unease. I could hardly tell where I was going, and barely any light pierced the heavy clouds. I was rendered nearly blind; I couldn't even see the buildings situated on either side of the road. It's a miracle there weren't any more pedestrians out on the streets to bump into right now.

Then again, the citizens of Ravendall must have had the good sense to realize something has gone horribly wrong, and stayed inside their homes out of fear. They are much smarter than me, I suppose.

Just as this thought ran through my head, a figure burst from the thick fog, heading directly towards at me. Neither of us bothered to slow down, and we collided with each other bodily. The two of us tumbled onto the pavement, accompanied by the flapping of fabric and clinking of metal. We finally came to a stop after spinning a fair distance from the crash site.

"Ach..." I moaned, gagging as I stood back up. I had the wind knocked out of me by the impact, and the palms of my left hand stung from scraping the paved road. I coughed to get more air lungs into my lungs, and stared at the small cuts now forming ruby droplets. Then, I looked at the fallen person besides me, and mentally slapped myself. She was a young woman, a lady who appeared too shaken to realize that there was a dark patch on her clothes spreading from her elbow. She only hugged herself, the eyes of her whites clearly distinct.

"Oh, blast, I am so sorry, ma'am!" I apologized. "You're bleeding!" I lifted the lady back on her feet tenderly, making sure she wasn't hurt anywhere else.

"Ow... what had happened to this insane worl-" She turned to face me as I investigated for additional injuries, and her eyes, wide as saucers already, somehow stretched even bigger. "Prince Adam!" She hurriedly bowed, not realizing she was far too tall, and far too close to me. Her forehead hit me right in the nose, and a fresh wave of agony throbbed in the center of my face.

So much for dodging that pole.

"Your Highness!" She held her hands to her mouth in absolute horror. "I-I'm sorry..."

"That's fine, I deserved it." She was fidgeting badly, the hems of her dress flying everywhere and brushing the thick mist away slightly. Even in place, her braid swung like the pendulum of a grandfather clock.

No doubt, the shouting that rang just a couple of minutes ago had set this woman off like being poked with an iron branding. I had to grab her by the shoulders firmly, so she could look directly at my eyes. "Ma'am, did you hear any sharp cries just recently?"

She pointed to herself with a long finger, her eyebrows raised deep into her forehead. "I-I' the one who yelled..."

I squeezed her shoulders hard, now reveling in my fantastic luck. "Why did you yell?"

"A-a man just collapsed..."

"Continue, continue!"

I-I tried waking him up, but he didn't respond. I-I tried feeling f-for his heartb-... his heartbeat," she blabbered, "but there was nothing! Soon enough, he was limp and ice-cold!" She clutched and shook her head. "I... I-I think he's dead!"

"WHAT!?"

The girl winced at my outburst. I coughed, and lowered my voice to a more manageable level. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to shout at you." I tried my best to smile confidently at her, hopefully a valiant effort. "Can you take me to him?"

The lady sniffled and turned around at the expanse of thick, soupy mist. The only things that were distinguishable now were the lights from the lamp posts strewn across the streets, and even they did little to pierce the murk. "I don't think I can..." My shoulders sagged with exhaustion and dejection. The young woman saw my crestfallen face, and straightened her back up. "But maybe I should at least try." She grasped my stinging hand, not realizing it was burning with pain, and led me as we stumbled out way through the fog.

The girl's memories must be quite remarkable, because we only hit the same dead end four times in a row. Six times, actually, if accidentally walking into an alley didn't count in canceling the streak.

This was getting nowhere.

I glanced at my scabbard, the silvery steel trimmings that adorned it glimmering like starlight, even in midst of Ravendall's current dim illumination.

We need to get rid of this spectral mist.

My head suddenly experienced clarity for the first time that day, and I smiled at an idea now crystallizing in my brain like an icy blast.

If this thick haze was truly the work of the Spøkelse, then... perhaps the enchantments on the Ulfberht can eradicate it! If it can work on unearthly flesh and bone, than surely it has some anti-magical properties.

I dug my heels against the pavement, and nearly fell over as the girl continued to jerk at my hand, her legs still pacing at full speed. It was only after shaking it twice when she realized that I wanted to stop. Puzzled, she let go and asked me, "What's going on? Why aren't you moving?"

I held up an index finger at her, gesturing her to wait. "Excuse me, miss..." I reached down to my side, where I stored my weapons on my holster, and drew the sword from its scabbard. Even in the heavy smog, the sword's luster shone brighter than lanterns, already clearing my visibility admirably. I can see details like the doors on houses now, and the slight outline of potted flowers decorating windows.

In the white light, the woman looked at me and the blade fearfully, confused about what I was going to do. My heart sank a little at her face and posture, which leaned to one side heavily, and away from me. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that she believed I was going to attack her. I held out a regal hand, doing my best to look assuring and stable.

"Stand back, ma'am."

"W-what are you going to do?"

I showed her my teeth, finally certain that something has gone right for the first time in a while. "I'm about to perform a miracle."

I pressed my forehead against the crossguard, feeling its cool silvery steel resting on my skin. I whispered a few words under my breath, an incantation that I will not write here. I thought of my people, the folks of Ravendall; they, who deserve lives without interference from magical creatures that thrive on their fear, hatred, and pain. They, who I have protected with every fiber of my being for over a year, regardless of the trials presented in one of the most dangerous corners of the Earth. They, who accepted and praised my exploits, even though they deserved more than the scrappy, one-man protection of a Prince. The people of Ravendall, who would bicker about markets and prices, cook, eat, play with their families, argue, work, sing, dance, love, strive for a better living... I will make sure they can continue to see a brighter future tomorrow without fear, for it is my duty, as Prince of Ravendall, to protect the ones I love.

The sword blazed with brilliant, white flames, physical extensions of my emboldened will and soul. I ponderously pointed its steel tip downwards, and plunged it into the ground. With only the sound of a whispering wind, the flames compacted to the very bottom in a miniature star, exploded in a spectacular light show. Compared to the relative darkness caused by the murk, the release of magic was absolutely blinding, paining my eyes with the extreme contrast. From where I struck, a pulse of magnificent white light expanded outwards, like a bleached aurora floating above the ground.

The ghostly mist from where I stood evaporated upon contact with the barrier of incoming rays, peeling back and folding itself over as if it had a mind of its own, one that cowed before the wall of purifying radiance.

I gave myself a few seconds to adjust my eyes to the returning darkness, and I looked around. Disappointingly , the clouds were still present, and still a far cry from anything mundane or ordinary. But now, it is no worse than the average nightly fog. At first, the thickness of the phantasmal ashes had given me the next best thing to blindness. Now I could at look down the street, seeing the cement lines tracing brick and cobblestone, the beautifully decorated shop signs and residences, before details faded and melted with the vast fog once more.

The woman stared at me in awe, her mouth slack-jawed. "A-are you an ange-"

"Don't. Ever. Say that." I interrupted, sheathing the Ulfberht back into place. "I'm just a young man, and the last thing we need is one waltzing around here."

She blinked, perplexed at my reaction. "Um... Okay." She turned her head around, observing the details of the now-visible streets and landmakrs, and her wide eyes sparked with recognition. "This way, then!"

People were beginning to poke their heads out of their doors, their curiosity getting the better of them. No doubt, the burst of white light and fire was too strange to ignore. They stared at me and the woman, wondering why we were in such a hurry in these cursed elements. Slowly, the silent kingdom grew less and less hushed.

It was not long before we finally found him, slouched against a cobblestone wall. His flamboyant outfit, decorated with a fur trim and small jewelry, suggest he was a man of moderate importance, a merchant perhaps, but it was too unwashed and disheveled to carry a merchant's usual bravado.

The girl and I stopped in front of the man, and I bent down on one knee. A wash of rancid odor attacked my nose, a mixture of alcohol and old sweat. I nearly choked from his powerful musk, and it took all of my will to just turn my head away and blink away tears. I patted the drunkard on the cheek, and his head lolled to one side.

This time, I actually did choke.

The man was Kjellfrid's brother.

Three weeks ago, on the day Kjellfrid disappeared, this person ran from one end of town to the other, screeching his beloved sister's name frantically, asking everyone he could reach if they had seen her. The man had spirit; until I confronted him, he never gave up his search. After more than a week, he knocked on doors nonstop, stopped incoming carts, disturbed horses, bribed heralds, anything he could to raise attention for his sister. He was being a disruption to the peace and civility of Ravendall, some people complained. The King forced me to tell the merchant to cease and desist.

I didn't know what possessed me, but I did more than that.

I remembered telling him the reality. I remembered the ways his eyes twitched, the way his mouth parted slightly in disbelief. He had broken out into a nervous, toothy grin, his voice wavering as he laughed off my words with little conviction. I remembered explaining to him the events that lead me to her body in the Lost Woods. I even showed him my hands and fingernails, which were caked with the same fresh dirt that I buried her with.

He punched me in the face. And again. And again.

I didn't stop him.

I was left with several violet bruises and cuts on my cheeks, my mouth tasting of hot iron, and a nose that smeared blood everywhere. I didn't provide any physical evidence, the brother said. I couldn't know for sure, he said. He stomped off, as stiffly as if he was made of wooden beams. His fists certainly felt like it.

Despite King Trigve's consternation, I didn't tell him anything. I was not going to have a man arrested for rightfully punishing me.

I never saw him again afterwards.

And here he was, strewn on the roadside like an abandoned toy, just another piece that fell off the board of fate.

No. Nonono.

He shouldn't be dead. He has no reason to be dead.

A lot of people die without justification, Adam. It's just the way life works.

You, of all people, should know better.

I ignored the saner voice in my brain, which have been growing quieter these days, and jabbed the brother's body hard in the chest. No response. I lifted his chin up desperately and opened an eyelid, hoping I could see life within his eyes, the same glint that burned with such passion when he was still hunting for Kjellfrid.

Who was I kidding? I was the one who extinguished that flame in the first place.

I grabbed his head with both my hands and lifted him, realizing that his entire body was as limp and ice-cold as the girl had described. My thumbs, which were wrapping around his neck, detected no pulse, no heartbeat whatsoever from the man. I shoved him to the left side of my head in complete denial. I foolishly hoped that he could still display any sign, just one tiny little hint that he was still ali-

I froze in place. The smell of alcohol coming from the man was positively antiseptic, and somehow increasing in strength. Slowly, I pulled him closer to my ears, opening his mouth ever so slightly.

I could hear the faint rushing of air. Emerging from between his worn teeth, his breath tickled my cheeks at an even tempo.

"F-... He's alive! He's breathing! I-I think he's still alive!"

By now, a crowd of onlookers, including the girl that lead me here, was gathering around me and Kjellfrid's brother. Upon closer inspection, I could see even more hints of activity; his eyelids, instead of being relaxed and closed, fluttered ever so slightly, and the muscles in his face occasionally twitched into a grimace. His chest still rose and fell, filling itself in inhalation, before releasing air stained with the stench alcohol.

You're just desperately grasping onto strings. His corpse is likely under rigor mortis.

Shut up. I've been dealing with spooks and bodies for a while now, and I can tell if someone is still alive!

The lady perplexedly laid a hand on Kjellfrid's brother, observing his state. "He's breathing but... his heart. It's not beating at all. How could this happen? Prince Adam, is he under some sort of curse?"

I hardly heard her, instead running some theories through my head. Disease? Poison? A bad batch of ale? What could possible produce this kind of ailment?

I looked left and right at the worried and nervous spectators. "Does anyone know what happened to this man?" I shouted.

Almost each and every citizen of Ravendall, their faces in all shapes, ages, colors, and sizes, looked at me, then at each other, clearly ignorant of the brother's fate. Everybody, except for a single dark shape. That one person stood at the back end of the crowd, unmoved, and unheard of. Even with the more manageable vision impairment caused by the smog, I couldn't discern any feature about him or her. This one was shrouded in a cloak, one that fluttered in a breeze that did not exist, and nearly blended with the suspended smog...

I stormed forward, pushing surprised viewers to the side, targeting straight for this mystery person. He or she realized who I was after, and slipped away from the crowd hurriedly. "Stop!" I cried! "In the name of Ravendall, I command you to stop and reveal yourself!" The figure paid no attention to my demands, and slithered between two houses, into an alleyway.

I was prepared to follow suit, but my instincts screamed at me, tugging my heartstrings violently, pleading me not to take one more step into the darkness.

Soft whispers emerged from the inscrutable blackness, and a massive, wickedly shaped and cruel blade shot out to the side of my head, with the force of a released bowstring. The twisted, ornate metal of the polearm seemed to glow with its own grey and auburn light, barely a hair's width away from my neck. I was short of breath, and swallowed in fear. Just from a simple glance at its edge, and I could tell that the thing was almost aware; it desired to cut, to draw blood with the highest capacity, and there was a perfect target just barely out of its reach. I could almost feel it trying to pull my body closer, to release me from this world. This weapon, which was alive in the most unsettling way, was undoubtedly an extension of that demon.

"Hólmgeirr." I gasped.

The blade protruding from the inky darkness shivered once, and then remained still.

you were my friend

you have hurt me

I gathered all of my aplomb into my next words. There is no time for jokes or subtleties anymore. "You imprisoned and enslaved my friends within your heart. You have no right to cry to yourself like a child with a tantrum."

The blade wavered slightly, but only by a micrometer.

I only gave these human souls what they want

what they need

what they deserve

"That man... what had happened was your doing wasn't it?"

of course

"Why? Why involve him into this?"

he was just as alone and broken as his sister-

"Don't!" I spat, almost frothing at the mouth in hatred. "Don't you dare believe you can say a thing about Kjellfrid!" This Spøkelse was ticking me off increasingly. My cheeks were colored scarlet in my rage, and my jaws hurt from tensing so much. My hand was just aching for the opportunity to behead this monstrosity once and for all, at the risk of suffering the same fate by the spook's blade.

you have hurt me

you attacked me first

you nearly erased me

"A great shame that I failed," I muttered.

it is only fair that I do the same

That's it. I was having none of this Spøkelse's garbage. I jutted my chin forward in resolution, and waved a hand behind me, gesturing at the mass of spectral smog encompassing Ravendall. "Then why must you do this?" I proclaimed, glared at it with absolute loathing. "Why must you involve my kingdom in this, you great sniveling louse? Why must you hurt them, instead of killing me right now?"

I cannot

I have to break you first

humans detest loneliness after all

The heat of my anger dissipated immediately, replaced by the intense chill that only dread and overbearing gloom can bring. I predicted the Spøkelse's words before his discordant voice carried them out for real.

I will just have to take your kingdom away from you

"No!"

when will you finally give in

will it be when you have seen your hard work crumble to the ground

will it be when you can no longer share a drink

will it be when children no longer play and cheer by your side

will it be when you are abandoned by all

will it be when no one will ever remain to love you

"Please, just end this farce! Just take my life, at least leave Ravendall alone! They don't deserve any of this!"

I understand your wish

but your heart still desires the opposite

you still have hope

I gaped, taken aback by his choice of words. "Wh-what?"

hope is deadly

poisonous

abhorrent

treacherous

it entrances with sweet promises

raise you to greater heights

only to drop you without a care to the dangerous depths below

when the world inevitably yanks you back down

your hope is what keeps you alive

The iron auburn blade descended, and my vision flashed white with pain. With a simple flourish, the Spøkelse had cut a shallow slit in the side of my neck, barely nicking a layer of my skin. I covered it with a hand, wheezing and wincing in pain. I fell to the pavement, suddenly weak in the knees. I no longer had the strength to stand, or even lift my head up to glare. Rather than just leave an open wound that stung, the spot where the dark blade struck emanated a mind-numbing sensation that seeped into my muscles and heart, oozing like a chill venom that threatened to stop the flow of my blood.

so I ask you one question

before I leave you and your repugnant hope here to rot

The blackness obscuring the alley paled, now developing into a mass of grey smoke that whirled in a tornado of raging wind and ash. The dusty clouds coalesced into an apparition, a vague silhouette of a towering man that possessed two orbs for eyes. It leaned forward, so close that I could see it without even lifting my eyes. The orbs flashed a deadly color, a mixture of stormy iron and rust. Just from being in its mere proximity made me feel threatened to throw up.

how much will you have to lose

until hope finally abandons you to the inescapable depths below

I closed my eyes in what I believed was defeat, and looked back up at Hólmgeirr the demon.

The Spøkelse vanished. It had completely disappeared without a trace, as if it was nothing but a simple night terror to laugh away. The alley was no longer suspiciously pitch-black, but a simple passage again, a harmless space between two houses, and nothing more. The only menacing quality that was left behind was a heavy, suffocating silence.

Something in the distance fell with a dull thud. A piercing scream resonated through the haunted streets of Ravendall. The scene was too far, and too obscured by the ghostly ash clouds to be seen. And yet, I knew what just happened.

The Spøkelse is now targeting people, all because I was too afraid to stay in the forest and finish the fight.

Another soft thud, and a fresh wave of screams.

...I led it here.

I did this.

And that is why I had to leave Olaf out of the picture.

If you too would like to be a beta-reader for Have Courage, Elsa, just gimme a shout, a message, or something.

You know the drill: Follow, fave, and/or review.

See you guys soon, fans of Frozen.