Wander West, in Shadow

5.

“What’s a glimmerling?” Minerva asked, huffing, drawing her skirts up around her to travel quicker, as they began their walk back to town. “I’ve never heard of one of those.”

“Neither have I,” Elyse muttered, eyeing Martimeos suspiciously.

Ritter, though, was quiet, waiting for an answer, simply staring at the wizard. Martimeos walked along, quickly making large strides back to town, lost in thought. Finally, he spoke. “A glimmerling is...something that can happen when a wizard goes Outside, and...comes back the wrong way. A passage to Outside….it isn’t just like a door, see. It’s like….” he drew his sword halfway from its scabbard, and then slammed it home. “When you come back, it’s like putting your sword in its sheathe. You miss by a bit, and your sword is still going to be in the same general place it should be….but it’s still obviously wrong.”

“So are you saying he’s halfway Outside and halfway here?” Elyse asked cautiously, but Martim shook his head.

“No. He’s all the way here. He’s just here wrong. And that can be very dangerous.”

They traveled in silence for a bit, digesting this.

“What happens to them...think of it this way,” Martim spoke again. “You can play your favorite song on the flute. But it’s going to sound very different if you play it on the harp, or the fiddle. And more different still, if you keep the tune, but change the strings. A glimmerling might see the world, changed just a bit from how it actually is. Or it might see the world entirely different from the way we do. So much that it walks upside down. Or,” he added, after a moment, “kidnaps children without even knowing what it’s doing.”

“So you’re saying it really was Zeke, stealing those children?” Ritter asked, astonished.

“I’m saying we don’t even know if that’s what he thinks he’s doing. Zeke could have thought he was hunting rabbits. Or fighting bandits. Zeke might think he’s walking along a beach, picking up pretty seashells. But he’d actually be making children disappear.”

“But that’s awful,” Minerva gasped. “To do such terrible things and not even know you’re doing them.”

“That is why glimmerlings are dangerous.” Martim replied grimly. But then, he shrugged. “Though glimmerlings also tend to attract Outsiders. It could be that he is not responsible, and his presence attracted an Outsider here that is. Or, an Outsider might be controlling him.”

“I know a few Outsiders who might be interested in children specifically,” Elyse muttered beneath her breath.

“Can he be...bought back? Put right?” Ritter asked quietly.

Martimeos considered his answer, and whether or not to be perfectly honest. “No,” he said finally. “That is, they can, but...only with great difficulty, and experience, which none of us have. Your best bet is to simply kill him.”

“But what if ‘twas not Zeke who took those children? We’d be killing him for no crime.”

Martimeos sighed in frustration. “Glimmerlings are always dangerous. It does not matter if he did not take those children. In the state he's in, Zeke might pluck off your head thinking he was merely picking a flower. Even if he is not responsible for the disappearances, he is attracting attention from Outside. Things that might do much worse than simply steal children might eventually find him. No, he must die.”

Ritter seemed taken aback by this for a moment. But then he sighed, and nodded, putting his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Right. I understand. But slaying a wizard like Zeke…”

“A glimmerling is often easier to kill than they might be in normal circumstances,” Martim replied. “You might walk right in front of them without them realizing you are even there. But you can still put your sword in them.”

Minerva and Ritter looked at each other, and silence followed the group as they made their way back to the village proper. As they returned, the forest surrounding them giving way to empty streets and quiet, dark homes, the first gentle lappings of the lake reaching their ears, Ritter spike up once more. “So...will you kill him?”

Martimeos did not answer. He merely continued striding through the village. Elyse, by his side, looked up at his face. She did not think the wizard had even heard the question. Martimeos seemed lost deep in thought. She tugged at his arm when Ritter asked the question again, snapping Martimeos out of his reverie. “What?" he replied, absent-mindedly, glancing around himself almost as if surprised. "Oh. Hm. Yes, I plan to. On the condition that I get to keep what I choose from what I may find in his home. No exceptions for sentimentality on your part or the part of anyone in the village, mind you. What I want from his home, no questions or protests.”

“I can’t expect that there’d be much in his home we’d particularly be attached to...” Minerva muttered. Then her eyes flashed. “Except, of course….if you find the remains...of the...”

“I am not a ghoul. I would not want to keep those.”

“I could accompany you,” Ritter said, patting the blade strapped to his side. “I may be old, but I can still swing a sword as good as ever. And...it would only be right for me to help put him down.”

Martimeos glanced over at Ritter, looking the man’s lean form and soldierly bearing up and down appraisingly. But finally he shook his head. “No. I think either we take Zeke by surprise and kill him before he speaks, or he would kill us both with a few words. It would not matter how many of us there were. And if I do not make it back, it would be best if you were here to evacuate the village completely. Living near a glimmerling is dangerous. You have been lucky.”

“Lucky!” Minerva swore. “Lucky to have our children taken away!”

“Yes,” Martimeos replied simply.

They passed now in front of Ritter’s inn. Through the window, the curious eyes of King, the inn's black cat, watched them, two green, wary dots in a patch of featureless black fur. The candles in the inn's windows cast long, strange shadows into the cobblestone street. They stopped beneath the sign, the silver paint detailing the fish upon it gleaming in the moonlight. “Tell me,” Martim asked, glancing about the shadows of the night surrounding them, “What was Zeke’s familiar?”

“A snowfox." Ritter rubbed his bald head, frowning. "But it hasn’t been seen since the time of the troubles.”

Martim nodded, then pulled out his pipe. He was about to pack it with his own tobacco pouch, when Ritter offered his. Martim smiled at the innkeep as he took a generous portion of brown leaf from it and packed it into his pipe's bpwl. Minerva and Ritter watched uncomfortably as the wizard focused, and the end of the pipe began smoking without the aid of any flame. “When will you go?” Ritter asked, to fill the silence.

Martim blew smoke into the air, then coughed. “Tomorrow. I ask the use of your mare. ‘Twill give me time to scout his home.”

Elyse remained uncharacteristically quiet as Martimeos made plans with Minerva and Ritter, plucking at one of the tatters of her robes, watching the conversation with large, curious eyes. When the two villagers said their goodnights and headed off – Minerva to her home, and Ritter heading in to his inn – Martimeos did not go back to the apothecary shop. He walked down the cobbled streets to the pier, where the moonlight reflected off the calm waters of the lake, ice just beginning to form at its banks, puffing at his pipe, lost in thought. Elyse followed him silently, standing just a bit behind him as he blew smoke rings into the air. Finally, she said, “Martimeos.”

Martimeos gave a small jump, then glanced backward at her, as if surprised to find she was here. “Oh! Elyse. What is it?”

Her face was unreadable in the moonlight, her eyes large, glimmering, as she stared curiously at him. “How is it that you know so much of these...glimmerlings?” she asked quietly. “I have never even heard of them. And my mother was no stranger to the Outside.”

“’Tis not so surprising. They are rare. I simply got my hands on a book documenting them.” Martimeos yelped as Elyse reached out swiftly and pinched his arm, hard.

“You are lying to me,” she said softly. “Didn’t you ever learn not to lie to a witch?”

“Didn’t you ever learn not to draw the ire of a wizard?” he snapped in return, glaring at her.

Elyse laughed derisively at him. “Go on then, mighty wizard. Set me ablaze or make me vanish in a puff of smoke. Turn me to stone. Show me that wizard’s wrath.”

“Hmmph.” Martimeos frowned at her, chewing on the stem of his pipe. But his frown turned into a bashful grin. “Alright. Just so you know, I was not lying about the book. But I have...seen a glimmerling before.”

“When?”

Martim had turned back towards the lake, thoughtfully watching some ripples spreading across its mirror-like surface from where some creature had disturbed it some distance out from the pier. He was strangely quiet, and Elyse had begun to wonder if he was actually going to answer her when he spoke again.

“My first tutor,” he said eventually, “had a knack for stepping Outside. And sometimes he would come back as a glimmerling. Never a very….crooked one. He would step Outside into worlds that were close reflections of this one; perhaps how badly changed you come back depends on how far Outside you go. We thought it was harmless, because we knew how to fix it – he would simply step back Outside, and come back in, until he had returned properly. While he was a glimmerling, he still saw the world as it was…mostly. He could only ever tell me what he saw. Sometimes he said the world was full of colors that he did not think he had ever seen. Sometimes he saw the dead walking among the living, and interacting with the world as if they still were alive. One time he came back and he said he could see, across the plains, a strange city, with thousands of lights everywhere, with towers of gleaming metal, impossibly tall. One time he came back and he said Flit spoke with my voice, and I with his.” Martimeos chuckled, lost in memory.

“He must have been...quite the unusual wizard to travel so easily back and forth to the Outside.”

“He was a fool.” Sighing, Martimeos looked out across the lake as he puffed on his pipe, quiet for a moment. “We both were. We did not know the dangers. It...” he paused, blowing smoke, the clouds swirling into strange shapes in the pale moonlight. “We were lucky. We got our hands on a book that documented glimmerlings and stopped immediately. There were tales in there to chill your blood. Even the slightest of glimmerlings ended in tragedy. In one tale, there was a man who came back only slightly wrong. He could….see poetry, you might say. When he looked in his wife’s eyes, he saw stars. When someone was sad, he saw rainclouds above their head. People thought it was romantic. Until he buried his infant son alive, outside of town.” Martim growled around the stem of his pipe. “When he looked at his son, you see, he saw the greatest treasure he could ever imagine. And he didn’t want anyone to take it from him.”

Silence fell between them. Martim did not look at Elyse, as he stared out over the lake. But he could sense her burning with a question as she beside him, and waited for her to speak up about it. Finally, she did. “Why did you speak as if you were going alone to face the glimmerling?" she asked, her tone suspiciously light-hearted. "Did you not want me to help?”

“It makes sense. Either I manage to put my sword through Zeke before he can say anything, or he kills me. I am confident I can do so; a wizard is still just a man, and a glimmerling a half-blind one. But more people coming along would just mean more people dying if I fail.”

But it was as if Elyse had not listened to a word he said. She was slowly working herself towards anger. “You think I am too small and delicate to be of use, is that it?” she snapped. Martimeos suppressed an impish urge to immediately reply 'yes'. The witch was fairly small, after all. She glared at him, as if she knew the jab he had been temptd to make. “Or you want to keep what you may find for yourself?”

Martimeos sighed. “I would share whatever I find, fool witch. Did you not listen? ‘Twould be pointless for others to come along and risk themselves. I did not want Ritter along either.”

“Then it should be no problem if I go alone myself then, should it?” Elyse replied, her tone mockingly agreeable. “No need to wait until tomorrow. I will go right now. You can stay here. Do not worry, I will share whatever I find.” She tossed her long, dark hair defiantly over her shoulder at him, and turned to as if to leave. Martim shouted and caught her arm, and the witch looked back at him with dangerous eyes. But with a sly smile upon her face. “Oh? Did you not want me to go alone?” she asked, innocently.

“Fine,” Martim snapped, releasing her arm. “You may come along if you wish.” But Elyse was not satisfied with this. She stood on the pier, her arms crossed, tapping her foot on the worn wood, staring at him, until he threw his arms up in frustration. “Fine. Fine. Elyse, would you please come along with me?”

Elyse made a great show of deeply considering his request. “No,” she said finally, then laughed delightedly when Martim growled in frustration. “I am teasing you. Yes, we will both go tomorrow. I am curious to see what a wizard’s home looks like.” Suddenly she yawned, stretching until her body shook. “I think I will get some sleep. Do not stay out here all night smoking, I want you to be able to keep up with me tomorrow. And, Martimeos.” She grinned sharply, teeth glinting in the moonlight. “If you even think of sneaking off without me, I will track you down and live up to the witch reputation as man-eaters.”

Martimeos’ eyes widened, and he pushed back the half-forged plans he had already been formulating in his head for sneaking off tonight after she had gone to bed. Elyse laughed at him, walking away, shaking with mirth, leaving him there to puff on his pipe, watching as she went.

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~

It was early the next morning when they met outside of Kingfisher inn, the pale light of dawn just barely peaking over the horizion, dimly illuminating the streets and homes of Silverfish.

Most of the village was still asleep, but there were a couple of fishermen out on their rowboat in the middle of the lake, casting their nets. No matter how much Minerva swore, Elyse refused to wear the woolen dress the apothecary had given her, staying instead in her rags and pointed hat. “I cannot move in that thing,” she snapped at the old woman. “It itches too much. And barely anyone is awake to see us now anyway.” Nevertheless, Minerva kept glancing nervously at the fishermen out on the lake, and looking worryingly up and down the streets, fretful that she might spot an approaching neighbor, who would see Elyse in her suspicious garb.

Ritter had Bela, his lone mare, gray with age and yet still a plodding, steady horse, saddled, brushed down and waiting for them, shaking her mane idly, in the street before the inn as they approached. She looked to be a very gentle, agreeable beast – which was good, because while Martimeos had some experience riding, he was no expert horseman, and Elyse had never ridden before at all. The witch was a bit intimidated at the prospect of being so high up off the ground on a beast she had no control over; she was short enough that she had to be lifted into the saddle, and clung to Martim’s waist with wide eyes as he took the reins, though her tattered robe parted at the sides enough to allow her to straddle the beast.

Minerva and Ritter wished them luck, and Martim told them that if they were not back by tomorrow to assume they were dead. “I do not expect to fail, but if it happens, I beseech you to move the remaining villagers,” he emphasized to them again. “Abandon the village and post warning signs. Do not stay living by a glimmerling.” Ritter and Minerva just exchanged skeptical looks, and Martim growled, taking the reins and directing Bela away from them, down the path eastward out of the village.

The path, Ritter had told them, ended at Zeke’s lair; they would not miss it. When they were out of sight of the village, their familiars joined them, Flit a red streak coursing down from the sky, and Cecil strolling out of the woods, yawning lazily and stretching, his tail flicking back and forth. Martim told Flit to fly ahead, high above, and keep a look out for the glimmerling should he be somewhere on their path; Elyse, on the other hand, told Cecil to stay nearby, and to keep an eye out for Zeke's snowfox, on the off chance that the wizard's familiar was still lurking somewhere in these woods.

The countryside here was the same dense, autumn-bare forest, though the land broke into more rolling hills and rocky outcroppings, the wind blowing cascades of red leaves across their path. Though they might have reached their destination in a few hours at a gallop, Martim took Bela more slowly, which kept Elyse’s curse-laden mutterings about the wildness of the beast to a minimum. It was not for her sake that he traveled slowly, though. His eyes constantly scanned the path and the forest around them for signs of sigils; a wizard like Zeke may well have laid protective runes upon the ground that could very well spell their doom. They did not stop for a meal at midday, both feeling too nervous to do much more than nibble on some bread in the saddle, though they did stop to stretch out their aching limbs to prevent themselves from going saddlesore.

It was a couple hours past midday when they came upon the first oddity.

On the side of the road, a pyramid of bones had been erected, as if making a small shrine. Rib, leg and arm bones were stacked delicately, interlocking with each other, and the top was crowned with a circular arrangement of six skulls – three human, and three horse. Beyond being merely macabre, the shrine made them uneasy to look at – something about how the bones locked with each other did not seem natural, and Bela whinnied and would not approach it.

When they saw this, they dismounted, Martimeos leading Bela some distance away until she calmed down, to tie her to a tree. Best to go now on foot, he said. They must be drawing near. Elyse readily agreed, glad to be down off the beast’s back.

Flit warned them of the next oddity before they saw it, after they had been walking for barely long enough for the numbness to go out of their legs, fluttering down from a treetop to chirp fiercely in Martim’s ear. The wizard's eyes widened to hear what his familiar was telling him, but he barely had time to be surprised at the message before they crested a small hill and saw the strangeness for themselves.

It was a garden of skulls.

In the dirt path, as if they had sunk into the earth itself, nine corpses stood upright, most of them with just their skulls peaking out above the ground – though some had skeletal hands peaking out above the dirt as well, and one was buried only up to its chest. Martimeos told Elyse to stand back, and cautiously circled the area, giving the corpses a wide berth. The yellowed, cracked bone peeking out of the dark earth made him think absurdly of cabbages. This was sigil work, he was sure of it – but any evidence of the sigil once traced into the ground here had long since faded, its power gone. Cautiously, he stepped into the circle of corpses. When nothing happened, Elyse joined him. “What happened here?” she asked, wondrously, prodding at a skull with her foot.

“A protective sigil, if I had to guess,” Martimeos muttered, eyeing the bones. They were most likely the remains of the couples Minerva had told them had gone to face Zeke. “I don’t think it was meant to be fatal in itself. Just to sink any enemies that might be approaching him into the earth. Though once that had happened...who knows what the glimmerling saw when it looked at them. Or what it did.” He grimaced, crouching down to examine a skull. It bore thin, straight lines in the bone in a strange geometrical pattern, the unmistakable sign of a knife having been taken to it. He thought of Cassie, the only woman to have escaped, struck deaf and dumb, with a burlap sack over her head to cover her mutilation, and shivered.

It was not far past this that the path ended.

It came to a winding stop, eventually being overtaken by weeds, leading to the ruins that the glimmerling lived in. Upon spotting them, Martimeos and Elyse ducked behind a tree, and peered around its side cautiously to examine.

The ruins themselves were built into the side of a hill, the entrance being concrete brick forming an arched wall cut into the side of the slope. The bricks had apparently once had a metal door set into them, but age had left nothing of it but a few rusted scraps of metal staining the gray concrete, leaving a yawning hole into utter darkness. The bricks themselves were well-worn too, crumbling in many places, revealing rusted metal supports holding them up within. Water-stained and rusted and decayed, the ruins lay dark in the midst of the wood, the wind rustling the carpet of leaves around them as they stared uneasily.

They watched that dark entrance with baited breath, looking for signs of a blue glow, or the lilting hum that had accompanied the glimmerling, but saw nothing, no signs of life. Eventually, Martimeos stepped out from behind the tree, and they approached the ruins cautiously. They peered deep within the entrance, but the light of day penetrated only a few feet within. Martimeos broke off a crumbling chunk of concrete brick and tossed it into the darkness.

An echoing clack answered them, and nothing more.

Martim whistled Flit down to him. No matter how frightening the ruins were, Flit was not afraid to approach – he would have considered it an insult to his honor if he were. Martim whispered to the furious little bird to fly around and warn them if it saw the glimmerling approaching.

After his familiar had taken off, he took out a dry torch from his pack, and worked his Art until it was blazing bright, casting flickering orange light into the entrance. He also unslung his crossbow from his back, already winched and loaded with a bolt, and handed it to Elyse, who nodded when he asked her if she knew how to use it. And then, holding the torch high above his head to light their path, they made their way cautiously into the dark.

The ruins themselves were cold; from somewhere in the darkness they could hear the sound of trickling water. Within, it smelled musty, old, of mildew and rot. Shortly beyond the entrance, they encountered a set of crumbling concrete stairs that they descended, cutting off the light of day behind them, plunging them into utter darkness, except for the light of the torch. These stairs ended in a long, dark hallway that yawned before them, the end of it not visible from their little circle of dancing torchlight. Neither of them had the knowledge of who may have once built this place. The floors were a black and white checkerboard pattern of some material they could not recognize, warped and cracked in many places, the tiles disjointedly separating from each other, though in other areas they seemed to fit together seamlessly. The walls, too, were made of concrete block, though layered with thick off-white paint – at least where they were not stained with rust or thick black mildew, or rot from some plant that had once grown down them.

About ten feet in, to their left, was a window; Martimeos thought it strange that there should be a window inside, at least one that was not stained glass or decorative in some manner, and even more curious that it should not have shattered with the ages that lay thick about this place. He was surprised to find that when he held his torch close to peer through the glass, he could see that thin silver wires were worked into the window, in a diagonal pattern. The room beyond had a ceiling that looked like it was on the verge of collapse, roots dangling from it as it buckled under the assault of plant life from above, but was otherwise bare. Martim was thankful for that; he did not want to risk even stepping into the room with the ceiling looking as it did.

They made their way cautiously past the buckled entrance of this room, stepping carefully where the floor had warped as tree roots forced their way beneath it, moving within the small circle of light cast by the torch. The flickering flame danced shadows off the walls of the ruins, causing their eyes to play tricks on them; they felt fire rise in their veins with each step, wondering what was a shadow and what was something that might leap out of the darkness at them.

About twenty feet further down, there was the entrance to another room on their right, the door once again rusted away into oblivion. Martimeos cast his torch high to illuminate the room. It was smaller than the first, its white walls covered almost entirely in roots and black water stains. But in the corner of the room was a bed that looked at least relatively recently constructed; its posts made of carved wood, polished, that had not yet rotted with age. As he stepped into the room, Martimeos noticed that another, similar bed lay in the corner closest by the door. The sheets of both were filthy, and covered in mildew, as if they had not been washed in years, but they had not yet rotted away. And in the center of the room, on the cracked tiles, was a small, carved toy horse, with wooden wheels for feet. He cast an eye about the room, searching for signs of anything else, as Elyse stayed at the entrance with her crossbow at the ready, but found nothing.

Moving further into the ruins, they came to a pair of rooms at once; one, a small doorway straight ahead of them, through which they could see the gleam of torchlight reflecting off of water, and another, a small room to the left, almost tiny. They moved into the room on the left, first. It was small enough that it felt cramped with the both of them in there – in one corner there was a rusted pit in the floor, as if something had long ago stood there but had been torn out, filled with stagnant water.

However, there was a small table in this room as well, again carved from polished dark wood, and not nearly so worn with age. And on this table sat a large book, broad enough that it would have been cumbersome to carry it in two hands while open, with many hundreds, perhaps thousands, of thin pages filling it. It was bound in rich black leather, and carried no title, but a complex geometrical pattern of overlapping circles and lines was painted into its front with a golden pen. Martim and Elyse prodded at this – it was unmistakably a wizard’s grimoire – but it could be dangerous to open, or even to touch. In the end, without opening it, Martimeos hefted it off the table and placed it in his pack, barely able to squeeze the tome within.

The other curious item on the table was, of all things, a sapling, in a wooden bucket built of slats and buckled together by iron rings. Despite living in the darkness, and it being autumn, it looked to be very healthy – though it was small enough to only have a few leaves, they were there. Elyse looked curiously at this plant as Martimeos struggled with fitting the book in his pack, nudging it with the tip of the crossbow. She squinted at it, peering closely in the dim torchlight; it looked as if the sapling's leaves were an almost bluish color. Suddenly, eyes going wide with shock, she stepped back and declared: “There is a human soul in this tree.”

“What?”

“There is. He speaks, in tree-speech, though it seems he barely knows the tongue. And ‘tis hard for a tree to speak where there is no sun and wind, and harder still when it it is so young with so few leaves to rustle. But he speaks, I am sure of it, and he….” she peered at the tree, and then paled. “I...think ‘tis a child. I cannot know more, it is hard to know what he says.”

“Is that what was done with the children?” Martimeos asked, voice hushed, as he stood. “The glimmerling turned them into trees?”

“One can hope.” When Martimeos cast a sharp glance at her, she frowned at him. “What? ‘Tis not a bad life being a tree, I think. A long life of casting shade for travelers. And ‘tis better than what might have happened to them.”

The tree and its pot being too heavy to carry, they left it for the moment, and returned to the dark and ruined hallway, going now to the room at the end of the hall. Here was a small room that housed a stairwell made of concrete – or at least it once had. Only a few steps down, the stairs descended into dark water. Whatever lay on the lower floors of the ruins, it had been flooded long ago. And that was the end of it.

“I was hoping there might be more to the ruins than this,” Martimeos muttered, disappointed.

But Elyse, staring at the water, gasped. “Martimeos,” she said, her face a look of horror, “the water.”

Martim lifted his torch high, so that it might cast more light over the water. It was surprisingly clear. And the orange light of the torch, filtering down through the water that had drowned the stairwell, revealed…

Bones. A large pile of bones at the bottom of the stairwell. Small skulls – children’s skulls – dotted here and there amongst the pile, deep within the water, as the orange light of the torch danced lazily over them. Elyse put a hand to her mouth to muffle a string of curses as Martim shook his head grimly. It looked as if the glimmerling hadn’t turned the children into trees after all.

That was all to be found in the ruins; there was nowhere else to go. They stood in the stairwell for a moment, talking quietly to each other, about whether it would be easier to set up an ambush here, within the ruins, or exit and wait for the glimmerling to approach and assault it outside.

But time made their decision for them. With a series of angry chirps that echoed off the ruin’s walls, Flit fluttered into the darkness, expertly navigating it until he found Martim, and told him in his bird-speech that the glimmerling was coming. Martim cursed, and ordered Flit to fly, fly out of the cave and wait for him.

As his familiar flapped quickly out of the ruins, out into the dimming light of day, Martimeos and Elyse quickly devised a plan. Elyse would wait in the stairwell with the crossbow, and Martim in the room where they had found the grimoire and the potted tree. They would hide and wait for the glimmerling to approach – Martim felt quite certain that it would go to the room that held its grimoire – and then Elyse would shoot it with the crossbow, and Martim strike with his sword. If all went to plan, the glimmerling would be dead before it could even open its mouth. As it had best be, for a wizard like Zeke may well have the power to kill them both with a few words.

By the time they had agreed to this, they could already hear the haunting, lilting hum that had accompanied the glimmerling the last time they saw it, drawing ever closer to the entrance to the ruins, echoing faintly down the water-stained hallway.

Martim quickly dashed out of the stairwell and into the room beside it. With a whisper, the flames on his torch died down enough so that it still glowed red-hot, but cast no light. This he gently set leaning against a wall, careful not to place it in a damp spot, and then drew his sword, and waited in the darkness.

They did not have to wait long. That strange, eerie hum grew louder and louder, as they waited with baited breath in the dark; only a few moments later, and they could see a dim blue light playing off the walls, glistening off the water there. From his position, Martim could see Elyse crouching in the stairwell, clutching the crossbow to her chest, looking at him with wide eyes, waiting as the hum grew louder and the light grew brighter. He could feel his heart pounding, his muscles tensing.

He risked a glance around the corner as the glimmerling approached. It was, as he expected, headed for them, already halfway down the dark hall, blue light a soft nimbus against the damp and water-slick walls. This close, he could see the swirling floral designs in the glimmerling’s robe, the buttons on his ruffled blouse and pants, even the ring he wore on his finger, in fine detail, even as its form faded in and out, first crisp, now indistinct, first almost solid, now translucent. The one thing that was never clear, however, was the glimmerling’s face – it was always a blur – except for a pair of wide, staring eyes. It still walked upside down, and at an angle, its feet almost as if it were walking on the upper corner of the hallway , while its head dangled along near the floor.

Time seemed to slow down as it drew closer and closer; that humming seemed to drill itself inside their heads. Martim felt like a coiled spring. Finally, it reached the end of the hallway, standing right in front of the room Martim hid in, almost close enough for him to touch. This close, they could hear, beneath the humming, a strange buzzing sound. And they could see, around the edges of the glimmerling, a faint, crackling outline, as if the air itself struggled to resolve this thing that should not be here. Just as the glimmerling began to turn towards the room Martimeos hid in, Elyse ducked around the corner and fired the crossbow point-blank at it with a twang, and Martim leapt forward, blade-first, and sunk his sword into the glimmerling’s chest up to the hilt.

Martimeos did not see where Elyse had struck with the bolt, but he had his sword buried in the glimmerling’s chest where he was certain the heart would be, and he thought the wound must be immediately fatal. But they heard a man scream, a long, warbling scream as if through a great distance, through many tunnels – and then a word that shook Martim to his bones.

And then he felt as if he was being crushed.

His head felt so heavy it seemed as if it might snap his neck, his pack seemed like it weighed a thousand pounds, his arms far too heavy to lift, even his fingers felt like they were made of lead. He stumbled forward, toppling like a statue, clawing at the glimmerling to keep himself from collapsing into the floor, where he was sure his bones would shatter under the weight. To his side, beneath the humming buzz, he could hear Elyse struggling to breathe. He felt like he could barely draw breath into his lungs himself. He tried desperately to raise an arm to grab his blade stuck into the glimmerling’s chest, to twist it and finish it off; but he could not lift his arm that far. All he could do was claw with fingers that barely had the strength to respond at the place where the glimmerling’s face should be, to prevent it from speaking again.

He was slipping down; the hum was filling his head, the blue light of the glimmerling felt like it was cutting into his skull. Desperately holding on to the glimmerling’s robe as hard as he could, he lost his footing. The world spun wildly around him. His heart leapt into his throat as the floor loomed before his vision; he knew with this terrible weight pressing down upon him that he would be crushed against it.

Martimeos forced his numb and heavy fingers to claw and tear at the glimmerling's robe's, frantically trying to find purchase, until his fall slowed and stopped. He would have sobbed with relief, had he the breath to do so. He was still holding on, but was now flipped upside down, leaning against the glimmerling as he grasped it. It felt like it vibrated and hummed beneath his touch as he held on to it, and beneath the drowning hum of the thing, he could still hear a long, echoing scream of pain.

He was staring at the ceiling, now, as he struggled to maintain his grip, where the glimmerling’s boots met the corner edge of the hallway. His vision blurred as he fought to remain conscious; his compressed lungs failing to draw any air, feeling his bones creak under the strain. As Martimeos held on, he noticed that the glimmerling was actually slowly sinking away from the ceiling, being pulled down by his weight. And as his eyes focused, he saw something black and serpentine coiled around one of the glimmerling’s boots. Something alive, and twitching like a tail. And as the glimmerling sank away from the ceiling, whatever was attached to his boot was pulled with it – pulling something long and writhing, covered with black feathers, torn from the very air almost as if it was drawn out from the wall of the hallway itself.

Suddenly, the glimmerling’s robes tore, and Martimeos sank down even further. Gritting his teeth, groaning against the strain, he summoned all the strength he could muster, desperately reaching for the hilt of his sword stuck in the glimmerling's chest. His muscles screamed as he reached upward, struggling against the invisible weight pressing down on him; his arm trembled and shook. Just before his vision went dark, he felt his fingertips brush against the hilt. With all his might, he grasped it, and gave his blade a twist.

And suddenly, he was no longer crushed under his own massive weight, as the glimmerling shivered and went still. The hum went discordant, and quickly faded away, the last echoes of it drifting off into the darkness. He crashed to the ground with the glimmerling's corpse, as, all at once, it stopped being held up in mid-air.

As he did, he looked upwards. In the moment before the glimmerling’s glowing blue light faded away, he saw, illuminated, the creature attached to its foot. It looked like a long, thick snake made of jet-black feathers. As he watched, it twisted to face him, revealing a large, sharp black beak, at least a foot long, like a crow’s beak. It opened this, and there was the thundering cacophony of heavy ringing bells, the tolls echoing off the ruin walls. He heard Elyse scream in terror. And then they were plunged into darkness.

Martimeos tried to move, but became tangled with the glimmerling’s corpse. Those bells grew louder, maddening, and then he felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his shoulder as the creature struck him with its beak, punching straight through his leathers. He howled in agony as he felt its beak clattering, tearing at his flesh; he tried blindly to grab hold of whatever it was in the pitch black, but his hands passed through it completely. It was as if it was made of nothing but feathers and a beak.

Suddenly, there was light again. Elyse was waving the still red-hot torch somewhere above him, trying to hit the creature; as she did, the fanning movements rebirthed a small flame upon it, giving them at least some light to see by. He heard the creature’s call of tolling bells once more, and felt its beak leave his shoulder. As soon as he did, he rolled away, pushing the glimmerling's corpse from himself, and clapped.

The small flame on the torch leapt up higher. Now he could see things much more clearly. The creature was turning, twisting in midair, undulating as if on some unseen wind, aiming that sharp, bloody beak at Elyse now, who swung the torch at it again. It was perhaps six feet long, thick and tapering at the end, its feathers all ruffling as it reared high as the torch passed right through it, as if it had made no contact at all, leaving just some smoking, smoldering feathers. It opened its beak at the witch, and the bells drowned the world. She screamed in panic, scrambling backwards, nearly dropping the torch, as it coursed in the air towards her.

Martimeos clapped.

The smoldering feathers in the creature’s length left behind by the torch burst into orange flame. A small patch of it was on fire, but it did not seem to notice yet, still coursing through the air after Elyse, that bloody beak aimed squarely for her head as it streamed forward -

Martimeos clapped again.

Suddenly, flame raced up and down the entire length of the creature, alighting all its feathers at once. Now it stopped pursuing Elyse. And it screamed. Screamed like humongous bells cracking and shattering, a thousand of them all at once.

Struggling to his feet, Martimeos clapped one more time.

The flames on the creature grew bright and hot, sinking into its core; it began to spin in the air, desperately trying to put the flames out, shedding stinking, burning feathers everywhere, causing Elyse and Martim to back away lest they be burned. Its cry grew shrill and reedy, as its form grew smaller and smaller, until finally, it disintegrated completely, its beak and a burnt black tongue falling to the floor with a thunk as the last of its feathers drifted away to ash. There was nothing else solid to it.

Martimeos and Elyse paused, catching their breaths, as they watched the last remaining feathers of the creature burn away. They looked upwards at each other, panting, their eyes gleaming in the orange torchlight, as the last echoes of the creature's dying cry faded away. Martimeos swore. “What was that thing?” he breathed, raggedly.

Elyse was about to answer him, when she noticed the blood coursing down his arm. “Did it bite you?” she asked, her eyes wide, face hidden in the shadows of her hat.

“Nowhere important,” Martim muttered in reply, not noticing the alarm in her voice. But before he knew it, Elyse had swept towards him, holding the torch to light his face, her large, dark eyes filling his vision. She apparently did not like what she saw, for she gave a small gasp and a curse, and the next thing he knew, her hand was on the side of his face.

“Martimeos,” she said urgently, “Stay with me. We have to go. We have to get back, right now.”

“Should we not at least-” Martim protested, but she hushed him.

“You are poisoned, and if we do not hurry, you will die. You must stay awake to ride Bela back to town, for I cannot, and if you fall unconscious you will surely not survive.” She slid her hand to his neck in an oddly gentle manner. “Feel my hand, Martimeos; I am your anchor to the world of the living. Do not slip. Let us go.”

She dragged him from the ruins, ordering him, as she did, to remove his gloves. After he did so, she twined her hand in his, tightly. “If you feel yourself slipping, focus on the warmth from my hand,” she told him. She abandoned the torch as they exited the ruins, tossing it back behind her into the darkness. "And listen to my voice. As long as you can feel and hear me, you live, wizard."

Martimeos did not feel poisoned, at first – he felt fine. The wound was not numb, as might be expected of poison, and he did not feel like he could feel it working through his veins. But by the time they had made their way past the garden of skulls, past the odd shrine – which seemed now to have collapsed of its own accord – and back to Bela, he knew that Elyse was right; something was wrong. He felt sluggish, weak, and the corners of his vision had begun to darken. His fingers fumbled as he untied the old mare, and he had trouble hoisting himself into the saddle, and even more trouble lifting up Elyse behind him. He felt cold, much too cold for autumn.

As he guided the horse back onto the dirt path, he felt Elyse hugging him tightly from behind. She slipped her hands beneath his leathers, beneath his shirt, to press them against the bare skin of his chest. He would have protested, but they felt like the only warm things he could feel right now. In fact, they almost felt too warm, they almost felt scaldingly hot. “Ride, Martimeos,” she whispered into his ear. “As fast as you can. Be strong, wizard. Concentrate on the warmth of my hands. Even if you can feel nothing else, do not let that slip from you.”

Martimeos raced Bela down the dirt path, pushing the beast until it frothed at its bit. Behind him, Elyse closed her eyes in terror as the trees whipped past, far too quickly. She cursed herself a fool for getting on this beast and telling Martimeos to push her as fast as he could while he was in his condition. Her mind raced with visions of just how badly they might crash should he lose consciousness while he had the reigns. But nevertheless she urged him on.

As they raced back to Silverfish, Martim’s condition quickly worsened. Feeling unseasonably cold quickly progressed to feeling colder than he had ever felt in his life, and then so cold that he felt numb, the feeling going out of first his fingers, then his hands, then his arms and legs. Then his vision began to fail. Darkness crept in at the corners of his vision, then it blurred, and then he felt as if he were nearly blind. He sunk into a dark, numb stupor, slowly feeling as if his senses were being cut off from the world.

It did not help that as they rode back, the day progressed first to twilight, and then to darkness itself. He did as Elyse bade him, and concentrated on the feeling of her hands wrapped around his chest; they now felt like two bars of iron heated red-hot pressing into him, but when he could feel almost nothing else, he was glad for the pain. The witch whispered encouragement to him as they galloped along. “You are strong, Martimeos, very strong. You are doing very well. Think of the things we will learn from Zeke’s grimoire, eh? Enough to impress any pretty girl, I am sure. Think of that, Martimeos. Think of kissing pretty girls. Does that start a fire in you?” Elyse paused. “I’d give you a kiss myself, were we not on this horse. Think of-”

But her words faded away. As if from a great distance, Martimeos heard the long, mournful toll of bells, large iron bells. “I hear them,” he muttered. “I hear bells...”

“Do not listen to them, Martimeos! Listen to my voice! Look ahead, it is the village! We are nearly there! Do not listen-”

But Martimeos could no longer hear her. He slipped away, into a world of cold, dark numbness, and the endless tolling of thousands of bells.