Epilogue

When Martimeos and Elyse left their room in the apothecary's shop early the next morning, they took everything they had with them.

It was early enough that Minerva was not there yet; the cold light of the quiet dawn dimly illuminated the sleepy village, not a single soul in sight on the cobblestone streets. They debated simply leaving Silverfish without a word, but decided to go to Kingfisher inn to at least talk to Ritter one last time.

The old innkeep was there, half-dozing behind the bar as usual, scratching his scraggly black cat King behind the ears, brightening up when they walked in. But when they told him they were leaving, he looked crestfallen. “Ah, really?” he said sadly. “I was sort of hoping you’d settle down here. Be our new witch and wizard in residence, and all that.”

“Not a chance, old man!” Elyse scoffed. “Those with the Art travel when they are young.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Ritter replied sullenly. “’Twas what Zeke did, after all." He ran a hand across his head, where his hair had once been, looking at the two of them wistfully. "I suppose I just want to see young couples moving back in here right away. Silverfish won’t survive without new blood.”

“Send out letters. You’ve got plenty of free houses.” Martimeos shrugged. “Maybe you will get some of your old neighbors to move back. I think this village could thrive again.”

“Aye, perhaps,” Ritter replied. “But maybe not in my lifetime.” He glanced up at them, still looking disappointed. “At least let me fix you a farewell feast.”

“Not necessary. And no time. We plan to be miles away by midday.”

But still, they stuck around so that Ritter could give them rations of dry fish and hard bread, attempting to load them up with so much that Martim said they’d need another pack to carry it all, which Elyse steadfastly refused to bear the burden of. While they were waiting in the inn, Minerva joined them, having gone searching for them after opening up her shop and finding them and all their things gone. When she heard they planned on leaving, she sighed forlornly – Elyse wondered whether Minerva had been hoping they’d stay as well – and then rushed back to her shop. When the stout old shopkeep returned, she had a leather satchel, handing it to Elyse, which was full of herbs and different apothecary ingredients, along with a few notes about the kinds of plants she might find in this land. She whispered in Elyse’s ear about the uses of some of the plants, and Martim watched curiously as Elyse went beet red. “That’s not necessary!” the witch snapped at the older woman, but Minerva just laughed.

As they stepped out of the inn, they took one last look around Silverfish. Few other villagers were up – just one lone rowboat out on the lake, with two men casting for fish. Winter was coming on, and the lake’s banks were now thickly crusted with ice, and the few houses that were occupied had smoke coming from their chimneys from the warming fires lit inside. Martim tried to imagine what the village might look like one day, if it recovered – all the roofs brightly painted again, the debris cleared away, the streets once again filled with laughing children. It seemed like it would be a cheerful place. He wondered if it would ever come to pass.

And so they said their goodbyes to Minerva and Ritter, and took the road north out of town, the same one they had come in on. As they passed it by, Elyse waved goodbye to the little sapling with blue leaves.

They took their time strolling along, their legs a little unused to the road after such a long rest, walking past the empty farms. It reminded Martimeos a bit of his home, now that he knew the people who occupied the village. When he had come in, the empty farms had all felt eerie. Now it just seemed a bit sad.

It was well past midday when the last farm had disappeared behind them, and they stopped when there was still plenty of light left, opting to set up camp before they drew near the crossroads – neither of them wanted to camp anywhere too close to that place. The memory of the dark rider they had seen on their way into the village still sent chills through their blood. It was not like they had any plans on where to go, anyway. They opened up Zeke’s book of sigils, huddling together, their familiars at their side, trying to make sense of it until the light faded and darkness fell, and they decided to go to sleep.

Martimeos was awoken, in the middle of the night, by Elyse urgently calling his name. He groggily awoke, and glanced over at her. In the dim light of the moon, he could see her huddling against a tree, her face pale, her eyes wide with terror. Then he felt something pawing at his belt.

He glanced over, and there was a huge, hulking figure standing over him, making strange snuffling sounds, clawing at him, its form hidden by the darkness. Whatever it was, it had made its way past his warning sigils. He shouted, scrambling back, feeling something tugged from his belt as he did so, and clapped.

The campfire roared back to life, illuminating the creature, who rose as the fire’s dancing light was cast over it and grinned at him.

It was the Dolmec. The same one he had spoken to, which had told him to go to Silverfish, its foxlike head full of snarling black fangs, those gleaming dark eyes boring into him, its tattered and dirty robes dragging along the leave-carpeted forest floor, obscuring its misshapen body. Now, out of its hunched back, extended two – no, four – arms. Pale, human-looking arms, of dirty white flesh, looking dead and rotten, the fingernails talons of black metal, and where the flesh was torn away, Martimeos could see the bone beneath was made of gleaming black metal as well. In one of those arms, it clutched the dagger of Dolmec iron he had taken off of Zeke.

“Bastard!” Martimeos cried, lurching to his feet, trying to draw his sword. But the Dolmec merely laughed, an awful, rattling sound, and then Martimeos found that his bones turned to jelly and he fell to the ground, unable to even lift a hand. To his side, he could hear Elyse collapse as well, cursing under her breath in panicked, frightened gasps.

The Dolmec laughed again as it shuffled towards them, its arms moving oddly, disjointedly as it did, the shadows from the campfire dancing over its hunched, wicked form. Martimeos felt his heart freeze with fear as the daemon stood above him, regarding him hungrily with glinting black eyes.

“Well, well,” it said, in its strange, echoing, musical voice. “A mageling and a witchling in my power. What shall I do with you? Flay the flesh from your bones? Tear out your throats and drink the blood like wine? Carve out your hearts?” As it spoke, it loomed over Martimeos. With a flash, one of its four arms extended, talons poised directly over his chest, as if it were about to do just that, its fox head hungry and drooling. But then it laughed again, stepping back. “But why be so rude, when you have done me such a great service? Finally, I can leave this land.” The Dolmec waggled the dagger, still in its sheathe, at the two them, and then drew the blade out. The foxhead settled its jaws around it eagerly, and with a snap, the blade was gone, cleanly sheared from the hilt, as the foxhead slowly chewed and swallowed it.

“Bastard!” Martimeos cried again, feeling the fury rise in him despite the danger he was in. “Thief! That was my brother’s blade!”

“Never yours nor his,” the Dolmec answered as the foxhead was still chewing. It idly tossed the now-useless hilt to him, where it landed on his chest. “And besides, mageling. You have all that you need from it, do you not? You know now you are on your brother’s trail.”

And with that, it turned, laughing, rattling, to walk off into the darkness. “Wait!” Martimeos cried. “Wait! You owe me a favor! For the blade!”

The Dolmec did not turn around, but it did pause. “My favor is your life spared, fool. But long have I waited for this, so consider yourself blessed. You will not find my kindness a third time.” The Dolmec continued shuffling, disappearing into the shadows, but as it did, its voice called out to them, strange and echoing through the night.

“Go west, young Martimeos. Go west.”