Delphine Inland

The group of kids is influenced by Crisante's narration. Initially hesitant, once darkness fell, their opinion changed. Left in the sole light of the nocturnal stars, every rustle of the forest, of the pond, and the nocturnal creatures becomes a harbinger of dark threats. Those are crackling sounds, owls singing, and rustling sounds, which travel through the foliage to the wall behind which they have taken shelter.

Stars still provide enough light to distinguish the dark blue shapes. But Crisante is trembling. It is the first night he has spent outdoors in his entire life. It is away from electric, oil, or candle lights.

Maybe it is the last night of his life. There are no escape routes in the dark. He hopes the demon does not see either.

But he doesn't need to see. He can smell me.

“And what do we do when he arrives?”

Ersilia, the little girl's name, is rubbing some sticks with Cris, the big one. Even though he only sees the silhouette, Crisante understands she is talking to him.

“If you can start a fire, we can try throwing rocks at it.” Crisante stretches out his hand next to where he sits, feeling the pile of pebbles prepared with the help of the four.

“If, if, if. If you help me and Cris, we can light the fire.”

“I don't understand. Why are you pursued by a demon? I mean, it's not something that happens by accident. I mean. It's unlike when you bend a metal sheet on a lathe and misplace it.”

The speaker is Jonah, the earless. Crisante hears him to the right of him. But he cannot see him. He does not know what a lathe is, but he understands the meaning of the conversation.

“I do not know. The other evening, Cipecipopù appeared in my room. But he was different. Looks like he wants to eat me.”

“Hm, my grandmother always said that. Or gold or blood. Have you tried offering him gold to send him away?”

“That's an old legend.” Matte's voice is tired, coming from the left. “Demons eat children because they are good. That's all.”

The smell of smoke reaches Crisante, distracting him from the conversation.

“I'm rather skinny.” Jonah lets out a laugh.

“Me too,” adds Matte.

“And I'm a bundle of muscles!” Cris intervenes.

“HA! I won! I turned it on!” Ersilia exclaims as an orange jet lights up her hands.

A generalized chorus of exclamations and exultation ensues. The fire takes a few moments to catch. Fortunately, the harvest season is hot, and the weeds catch fire.

In the warm orange light, all the faces finally become visible again. Crisante studies them. They are a united group. They do not even seem scared. Maybe they do not believe the demon story?

It doesn't matter if they're ugly and dirty and poor. I'm glad. I'm not alone.

Bowing his face to his crouched knees, Crisante wonders what to do in case of survival. It is a stupid thought. But after all, there are five of them. The demon is one and small. As fearful as it is, there must be a glimmer of hope.

“It won't last long. There is little wood.”

“Ho, listen. Miss Prince, why don't you bring us more wood?”

Crisante ignores Matte's provocation. He might reply that he also did nothing, but perhaps without three fingers, it is impossible to light a fire.

Crisante has no idea. He has never needed to light a campfire.

“Look, you're so calm. I would like to know how you do it.”

Ersilia stands up and sweeps her trousers on her knees.

“Well, there's a good chance you made the whole thing up. Maybe you're being chased by an animal. It might have given up at this point.”

“No.”

“Whatever you say, animals can be dangerous. There's no need to exaggerate things to feel ashamed.”

“Yeah, my cousin—”, a chorus rises: “Stop it, Cris. Let her finish.”

“Hm, thanks guys. I was saying, maybe it's an animal. The rocks should be enough to scare it. United, we are stronger than a wild bear or foxes.”

“Damned foxes.” Jonah spits out a loud rant.

The girl offers a hand to Crisante. The boy accepts her and gets pulled on her. It is a dirty hand, rough to the touch. It is the hand of unexpected help. Looking at the face of that little girl with short, messed brown hair, the boy notices some moss-colored locks. Her eyes are also dark green, and the scar is just a long white line.

There is something about that girl. Something that suddenly makes his heartbeat and pushes him to lower his gaze and move away.

When the hands drop, Ersilia smiles.

Crisante lowers his gaze in embarrassment, catching a glimpse of a reflection under the collar of his shirt.

A jewel?

“Ho, are you enchanted? Look at that—”

Ersilia's words are interrupted by a Shrink! It is a slow rubbing, like two knives being sharpened. A second screech comes from the darkness, further down the ruins.

The group runs to the ruined stone wall, leaning over to see. There is darkness, darkness, and nothing but darkness. Only the trunks and the foliage near the ruin are illuminated.

That sound continues. Crisante starts to tremble. He clutches his arms while the kids run to get the rocks.

“Stay back, Princess. We'll think about it!” Matte laughs as she holds up a block of stone the size of a cow's heart. Crisante is impressed by the boy's strength but also irritated.

Let's see how funny you will be soon.

In reality, the former prince hopes he is wrong. Call him what they want, as long as they manage to save his life. Dignity is a noble thing, and he is no longer noble. He was not even in the church anymore. He is helpless. He feels helpless.

Impotence is proof of the new social state.

“There he is!”

Jonah points a finger over the parapet.

“Where!? Where!?”

“There, a hairy thing with long legs.”

The demon stopped approaching. Crisante understands this from the fact that the noise has stopped.

“He must have been hiding behind some tree.”

The kids turn to look at him.

“View? What a demon and demon. It only took four of us to scare him.” Cris turns back towards the woods. “Imagine if—HAA!”

Cris falls backward. With his strong arms, he is holding the furball with thin legs. It kicks, scratches the ground, and pushes to bite it. He fights the creature but is struggling.

Crisante screams in horror in chorus with Jonah. Matte holds the stone with both hands, swinging at the furball.

“HA! You crushed my finger!”

Despite the pain, Cris must have felt, the furball out a high-pitched scream, shedding strands of fur as he slips sideways from the grasp. An ink-like liquid, smelling like sour cream, bleeds into the strands.

Crisante is on track. He could bend down and pick up a pebble, even a small one, to do his part. But his legs are petrified with fear.

Cipecipopù screams again, hit by a stone from Ersilia. A third follows of Jonah, having recovered from his fear.

Cris stood up. He holds his crushed finger in his mouth, while with his free hand, he has picked up a large fragment of masonry with jagged edges. He throws it, but the shot is inaccurate, and he breaks the creature's thin leg.

Seeing him in pain, Crisante takes courage and grabs a burning stick from the bonfire. The group cheers him on, and he gives the creature a sharp blow. The stick breaks, and Cipeci extends his remaining paw to impale his prey.

Crisante understands it immediately. It is instantaneous as time freezes.

He is about to die.

That fatal shot is about to hit him in the throat, and he cannot do anything about it.

“Stay, monster!”

Ersilia's cry paralyzes the creature. Crisante turns around, noticing steam coming out of the leather pouch that the girl has on her belt.

“You are…”

He does not finish the sentence before the demon breaks the spell and returns to the attack. But a shadow attracts Crisante's gaze.

Something is falling. More shadows.

Cipecipopù ends up skewered by a stiletto falling from the sky.

The being cries out. A second stiletto falls, then a third, then a fourth. The being becomes a doily until the stilettos nail it to the ground.

Cipecipopù writhes and screams but has no way to free himself. Crisante realizes that his mouth is open. He would say something, but a new shadow from above distracts him.

An impact.

Crisante finds himself on the ground, painly. The first thing he sees is the stunned boys near the wall. In front of him stands an ancient armor complete with an orange crest. The mussel-owl emblem is on the iron breastplate, and a girl in pink and black robes straddling her shoulders.

The pink hair, the wide-brimmed hat with a floppy tip…

“Hurray! I told you it would be fun to solve this!”

“I say again. We should have notified the gendarmes, Your Holiness.”

The armored knight stands up, making the Witch wobble, and clings to his helmet to avoid falling. Below him is a steaming, smelly mess. The stilettos are gone.

“A-a… Witch!”

Cris speaks, impressed, and portrayed with his back to the wall.

The Wall Witch and the knight turn to the boys. They return to focus on Crisante. The kid still has a beating heart, and the adrenaline that is draining away makes him feel exhausted.

The knight raises his mask, revealing his mustache, badly curled by his helmet.

“Massimiliano!?”

“What a coincidence, Noble Prince. Oops, I should say little Crisante by now.”

The Witch taps her slipper on his chest plate, making it jingle.

“What a villain you are.” She giggles. “Well, I'd say our work ends.”

“Your work, Your Holiness.”

“Yes, yes. So, shall we go to my rooms?”

“I would remove this joke you have made me wear.”

“Then my rooms are perfect. And then you're fine. You look like you came out of ancient times.”

“I'd rather look like I came from the barbershop. This helmet ruined my mustache.”

The two are indifferent to the surrounding world. The four kids approach Crisante. Jonah tugs at his sleeve.

“Hey. Who are they?” He whispers, and all four heads surround Crisante's.

Meanwhile, the two are moving away. “Come down, Your Holiness.”, “Do you want to hold me in your arms?”, “You're heavy.”, “And you're serious. Are you sure you're not a gendarme?”, “I thought I was your knight…”, “An unpleasant knight…”, “If you continue…” …

Once the rumors have dissipated, Crisante breathes a sigh of relief.

Didn't they take me with them? Is it a good thing? Bad?

“So, who are they?”

“Ah, right. One is Your Holiness the Wall Witch, Marchioness Fantini, and the other is just a butler.”

There is a glimmer of sudden admiration in their eyes.

“So, you are truly noble!” Ersilia and Cris speak.

“After you saw the demon. Did you think I was still lying?”

“Former nobleman, I would specify.” Matte is not at all impressed, on the contrary.

“Guys, look.”

Jonah moved away from the group, approaching the pulped pile of fur and liquids. The group approaches him.

“Gold…” in chorus.

“A huge nugget!” adds Ersilia, taking it. “How many lire will it be worth?”

The metal block is dirty with that smelly ink, but there is no doubt that it looks like gold.

“What if it's fake?” Matte is skeptical. “Why would there be gold in a demon's digestive system?”

“I guarantee. It's true.” Ersilia cleans the nugget in her clothes. “Demons also feed on gold, especially gold. But they can't eat it in solid form. Gold must be sublimated by magic.”

“And how would you know?” Crisante is admired.

Ersilia is referring to the theory regarding where the gold burned by magic ends up. It is common knowledge that the Imperial Lira works on the gold system. And it is a mystery where the gold that sublimates when magic is used ends up. Gold is also the only entity indifferent to magic. Witches cannot create it, manipulate it, move it, etc., using magic. But they know how to recognize it.

The gold, the steam released from the bag, the demon immobilized for an instant...

“You are a Witch.”

The four faces goggle her eyes.

“No.”

Ersilia's reaction transforms the expressions of her companions.

“Tell him, Ersi, he understood anyway.” Jonah sighs.

“No, I don't want to end up in one of those places where they breed them. They're horrible and…”

“Ersi, where do you want this one to take you?” Matte shrugs.

“Yeah, even if he tried to tell the authorities…” Cris punches his palm.

Crisante raises his arms.

“Calm down, calm down. I swear on my honor that I have no intention of suing anyone. I don't even know what I want at the moment. I have no home. I no longer have a family. I don't know what to think, I…”

Crisante would like to hold back the tears, but they come out. But that is not the only thing that comes out. At that moment, he is happy to have seen a Witch. He is alive thanks to a Witch and all of them. He looks at them crying, his eyes misty. He senses their expressions of discomfort, and then he bows.

“Thank you. I thank you, and I owe you a lot. Please take me with you until I find my way.”

“Um… eh… here…” Ersilia is embarrassed.

“Can you do anything besides cry and talk funny?” Matte scratches his chin with the index finger of his missing hand.

“I know how to read. I know how to write. I know how to do arithmetic… I know how to deal with people from other estates, and I also know how to hunt and some other things. I know how to play the harpsichord and things like that.”

“I don't believe you much about hunting, but what do you guys say? If he teaches us to read and write, maybe we could…”

“Ersi, what are you saying? You know well that we are all wanted. Furthermore, if they find you, they will take you away. You are a Witch. Your role is with the lower nobility.” Jonah shrugs while Cris lowers his gaze.

“Plebeians, listen.”

A group glare makes Crisante tremble.

“Sorry, sorry. I meant, my saviors… comrades? In short, let me repay myself, at least for the nugget. Merchants may cheat you if you don't know how to do math. I will help you get the right compensation.”

The group thinks about it for a few moments. “Can we trust him?”, “What do we have to lose?”, “But what if…”, “Maybe…”, “Consider his nobility!”, “But it's useless. You've seen him…”, “Yeah… and if then…” …

Crisante notices the furtive glances and the changes in expression. From happy to scared, from doubtful to hopeful. In the end, it is Cris, arms folded, who speaks.

“And so be it. Crisante. From tonight, you will temporarily be part of the Eel Brotherhood.”