“Eh?”
“You say Carlotta is disguising herself as the count’s niece. Well then, what happened to the real Charina? There was one, after all ...”
The Dark Elf shuddered as though a sudden cold draft had hit him—”I think I know what happened,” he said at last. “I...just could not bear to ...” Naitachal turned sharply away. “I was afraid to cast this spell. Afraid that I might find myself instead tempted to drag Eliathanis back from—I didn’t dare, do you understand?”
“I do,” Kevin murmured. “But Naitachal, what are you saying? That—that the real Charina is ... that Carlotta ... that Charina ... Powers, what if her spirit’s enslaved?”
“I thought of chat.” The Dark Elf slumped in resignation. “So be it I will do what I must—Berak, I will need a clear, sheltered place this evening, and as few distractions as possible.” The White Elf nodded. “You shall have that”
The night there in the forest grove was very dark, the only light coming from the single small campfire built between the vee formed by the two wagons. The troupe was hidden in those wagons, or out in the forest, but when Kevin and Lydia would have gone with them, Naitachal called out:
“Wait You, as well, Berak. Say nothing, do nothing, only sit where you are until I signal you to leave. I will need your presences as an anchor.”
An anchor to what? To life? Kevin felt a cold chill steal through him. What if Naitachal was dragged over the border into death? How could they possibly pull him back?
But the Dark Elf didn’t seem particularly worried, though his face, picked out in stark relief by the dancing flames, was grim and his stance tense. Without warning, he began a chant, so softly Kevin almost couldn’t hear him. Berak heard, though; the bardling could feel him shudder.
Somehow, soft though the words were, they weren’t quite obeying natural law. They weren’t fading. Instead, like so many layers of woven doth, each new phrase fell atop the one before it, never fading, slowly filling up the night, slowly filling up the very air, calling, demanding, summoning ...
And suddenly they were no longer alone in the clearing. Kevin was only dimly aware of Lydia’s gasp, only dimly heard his own sharply drawn in breath. Lost in a mix of amazement and terror, he stared rill his eyes ached at a pale glow all at once there above the fire, slowly condensing into the figure of a girl ...
Charina’s ghost ... She wasn’t as extravagantly lovely as her counterfeit Her hair was pale yellow, not spun gold, her face merely pretty rather than beautiful. And yet she was so much the more charming for not being perfect that Kevin felt his heart ache as though it would break, felt his cheeks suddenly wet with the loss of What Might Have Been.
“Who are you?” Naitachal said in the human tongue, his voice the essence of gentleness.
“I ... was ... I am ...” The ghostly blue eyes widened in fright. “] don’t remember ... Why am I here? Where am I?”
“You must remember. Who are you?”
“I...I...can’t ...”
“You must—Who are you?”
“I can’t’”
Kevin ached to shout out, “Leave her alone! Can’t you see she really doesn’t know?” But somehow he managed to keep from making a sound, and Naitachal continued relentlessly:
“Who are you?”
“Charina!” the ghost screamed all at once. “I am Charina!”
The Dark Elf’s head drooped, and Kevin could hear him gasp for breach. After a moment, Naitachal continued, his voice gentle once more:
“Where are you, Charina?”
“I... don’t know ... It’s so dark ... dark and cold ... so cold ... I don’t want to know!”
“Never mind,” the Dark Elf crooned. “Go back. Back. See the day as it was. The day before the darkness. Do you see it?”
