Commerce Emperor - Chapter 6: Interlude: The Artisan

 

• • Six months ago, in the village of Sleepy Hollow.

The flames danced in the forge to the tune of her thundering hammer.

Shadows screeched when she hit their prison. Arcane symbols etched on the steel shield’s surface glowed with each blow. Simmering fumes of corrupted essence coiled in the air, carried by the surging heat.

“Almost done, ‘Ka!” Will roared as he stoked the heart of the forge with coal. The flames’ brilliance reflected in his pale blue eyes. “Keep going!”

Marika grunted. Shadows surged out of the shield whenever her hammer struck it, the evil infesting the metal fighting back with all its might. Her muscles strained from the repeated blows. As for the runestone used to capture the corrupted essence, it had almost turned blacker than a moonless night. She knew they should have purchased another before accepting this commission.

“Can you take over the metalwork, Will?” she asked her husband with sweat falling off her brow. “I’ll focus on the witchcrafting from now on.”

“Yes, of course.” Her husband grabbed a pair of pincers with one hand and a hammer with the other. He held the shield in place while beating down the steel with the other. “Benicio, bring your mother some fresh water.”

“Yes, Dad.” Marika’s son emerged from a corner with a cup full of liquid. He had been holding on to it for half an hour, waiting and praying for his parents to call upon him. “Here it is, Mom.”

“Thank you, Beni.” Marika set her hammer aside, grabbed the cup, and drank to her heart’s content. Such was the heat in the forge that the water did little to refresh her tongue. She was used to working long hours, but right now, she wanted nothing more than to complete this job and take a bath.

“Do you want me to help with the witchcrafting, Mom?” Beni asked with sparkling, hopeful eyes. “You look so exhausted.”

“Are you calling me lazy, Beni?” Marika teased her son with a smirk. “Fine.”

“You’re sure?” Will asked in surprise, and a slight bit of concern.

“He has trained well,” Marika replied with a chuckle. Besides, she had already exorcised most of the dangerous essence. Beni would be safe.

“Truly?” Beni held his breath, his happiness plain on his face. The sight filled Marika’s heart with warmth greater than the forge’s heat. Her son had been dying to practice weapon exorcism since his mother showed him the forge.

“But you must do exactly as I say.” Marika set her cup aside. “If you disobey, you will be grounded for a week.”

Beni bowed faithfully. “I will not disappoint you, Mother.”

She knew he wouldn’t. Marika was proud of her son. He was so dutiful, so wise for his years, that she considered herself blessed. “Focus with me on the flow of essence,” she said. “Once I separate the corruption from the healthy steel, guide the former toward the whetstone.”

Mother and son raised their hands above the shield, while Will kept hammering it. Witchcrafting, the process of manipulating essence, usually followed three steps: separation, transportation, and finally, infusion.

The first step was the most difficult, so Marika managed it on her own. Activating her special sight, she pierced the veil of the physical world to see the hidden truths unfurl. The shield before her no longer appeared to her as a rectangular sheet of steel laced with gold, but as a gleaming sea of silvery metal essence marred by black spots of darkness. The malice of dead monsters whose claws and fangs had crashed against the pavise took root in it like an infection. Though the corruption stood out from the metal, the two had intermingled for so long that they had become one and the same.

Her husband’s hammer’s blows caused the essence to ripple and weakened the shadow’s hold. Waving her hands to guide the flow of essence, Marika excised the last seeds of blackness. She heard hisses and growls of dead monsters echo in the back of her mind. Like ticks anchoring themselves into a host, the stains fought back against Marika’s attempt to excise them. They failed nonetheless.

Then came the second part of witchcrafting: transportation. Unleashed essence always sought to merge back with solid matter. Without guidance, it would anchor itself to the closest vessel. The corruption attempted to latch onto Marika’s hands, to possess her.

Beni immediately acted. Months after months of practice paid off as he expertly guided the stained essence away from his mother. Marika could only smile with pride; she had half-expected to need to intervene, but her son seemed more than capable of handling the corruption on his own.

The last step, infusion, was the easiest. Essence naturally sought to anchor itself to matter, so the corruption easily glided into the nearby runic whetstone. Infusing disparate essences into a coherent whole usually demanded great skill, but exorcists’ runestones were specifically prepared to absorb and contain evil power. The last specks of blackness were sealed at long last.

“I’ve done it!” Beni boasted with pride. “I’ve done it!”

“Good job, Beni,” Marika patted her son on the hair. “Now it’s your father’s turn to work his magic.”

Will’s chuckle rang louder than the clang of his hammer. His powerful strokes finished bending the shield back into its proper shape. Not a single scar marred its smooth surface.

“Done,” he said before tossing away the pincers and grabbing the shield in their stead. “How do I look?”

“Knightly,” Marika teased him. With a shield and hammer in hands, and his muscles rippling beneath his overalls, her husband truly appeared like a warrior of legends. His blonde hair and beard were already showing some gray, but it only added to his charm in his wife’s mind. “Would you like to squire for your father, Beni?”

“Nah,” Beni replied with a frown. “I want to learn magic!”

“Rejected by my own son.” Will laughed heartily. “And he’s already twice the wizard I am.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Will.” Marika kissed her husband on his sweaty cheek. “You’re a magician where it counts.”

To manipulate essence, a human needed to undergo the Awakening Ritual; a costly process only truly available to the wealthy or Witchcrafting Guilds. Marika had been lucky enough to be taken by the latter as an apprentice in her youth, but Will never had that chance. A decade of assisting his wife with her exorcism work gave him slight sensitivity to essence. Little else.

None had been more surprised than Marika when Benicio showed witchcrafting aptitude in his early childhood. She knew having a witchcrafter parent increased chances for a child to awaken naturally, but the odds were extremely slim. She often wondered if Will had a mage or two in his ancestry.

“In any case, I’m happy this is over,” Marika said while examining the shield. “I hate family heirlooms. They always carry so much baggage.”

“At least this shield saw use,” Will mused while putting it aside. “From what Ser Hugo told me, it first tasted battle at the Sea of Flames seventy years ago.”

“I can believe it,” Marika replied. Most of the corruptive essence came from monsters, but she had sensed human malice here and there. “Beni, would you kindly go to the inn and inform Ser Hugo that his shield is ready?”

“Yes, Mother.” Beni nodded dutifully and then bolted out of the workshop.

“What a little spitfire,” Will said. Marika shivered upon sensing her husband’s hand moving to her waist and pulling her into his embrace. “You were amazing, ‘Ka.”

“You’re not too bad yourself,” Marika replied with a chuckle as he kissed her on the cheek. “I daresay you’ve become the best blacksmith in the Riverland.”

“Second-best,” her husband pointed out charmingly. “You outshine me as the sun compares to the stars.”

“Good answer.” She briefly kissed him on the lips. They tasted of salt with all the sweat on them. “Want to take a bath with me? I’m exhausted.”

“I knew you had an ulterior motive for sending Beni away,” Will teased her. “I’ll heat up the water immediately.”

“Good, good.” Marika’s smirk faded away when her son returned to the forge with a serious look on his face. “What is it, Beni? Have you forgotten something?”

Beni shook his head. “There is a strange mister waiting outside. A customer.”

A customer? At this hour? The faint light through the forge’s only window indicated the sunset was upon them. Will and Marika exchanged a glance before following Beni outside.

A stranger waited for them on the house’s threshold next to a large wooden chest.

Marika had never seen a man so tall as this one. The stranger pushed nearly eight feet, forcing him to bend his neck to prevent his head from hitting the ceiling. Even Will, who was already a head taller than his wife, looked like a child in comparison. The stranger’s lean, lanky body reminded Marika of a scarecrow. From his elegant purple wool jacket, beige pants, rounded hat, and fine leather boots, he was probably a well-off denizen from Tradewind. A few of them often made the trip to Sleepy Hollow for special commissions.

“Fancy meeting you here, fellas,” the stranger said with a cheerful, jovial voice. His smile was almost infectious, though something about his golden, mischievous eyes left Marika uneasy. That shade was quite rare in the Riverland Federation. “How was the battle?”

Marika frowned in confusion. “The battle?”

“I could hear the thundering clang of clashing shields and weapons from here!” The gentleman chuckled. “The two of you look like great warriors back from a victorious campaign!”

“You could say that,” Will replied warmly. He was the one used to handling customers; Marika herself preferred to work rather than chat. “We blacksmiths shed metal rather than blood though.”

“And I’m sure the world would be a better place if warriors did the same!” The stranger laughed warmly. “The best battles are those waged on boards and theater scenes, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Sure,” Will replied with a grin. “Might I ask your name?”

“Oh, forgive my impertinence, I forgot to introduce myself.” The man raised his hat slightly. “My name is Jean Chastel. I am a humble merchant and servant to a fair lady of the realm. My employer heard tales that you were the finest weapon exorcists in our dear Federation.”

“Quite the flatterer, aren’t you?” Marika snorted, though the man’s outlandish behavior did amuse her a bit. “Have you come for a commission?”

“Straight to business? Fine, fine, I appreciate your bluntness.” The man sat next to his wooden chest. “My lady would like to hire you to exorcise and repair an inheritance.”

Curses swirled out of the chest the moment Chastel opened the lid.

Marika recoiled in surprise. A cloud of thick essence miasma erupted into the room, thicker than smoke and fouler than rotten flesh. She choked on a sinister stench of burning wood, on the taste of blood on her tongue. Benicio, who possessed the same essence sensitivity as his mother but little of her fortitude, turned pale and still. Marika instinctively put a hand on his chest and pulled him behind her.

Will frowned as he gazed into the chest. “What is this?” he wondered. “I can sense… I can sense it.”

“Terrifying, is it not?” Chastel mused. He alone appeared unaffected. “We call it the Chained Blade.”

Marika dared to peek into the chest. A two-hand claymore of black, stainless metal lay within. The blade was long enough to cut a horse in half, yet slim as a paper sheet. The cross-shaped hilt included dagger-like edges on the side, sinuous arcane symbols representing swirling flames, and an empty hole that probably used to house a jewel of some kind. Steel chains laced with runestones tightly bound the sword and they coiled around the blade and kept the evil within tightly shut.

Marika immediately recognized this contraption. When weapon exorcists failed to purge corrupted essence from a vessel, the next best thing was simply making sure it couldn’t spill out. Binding chains and seals could make a cursed weapon relatively harmless. These were the most complex she had seen in her career.

And they still failed to completely seal the corrupted essence.

“The chains are made of runesteel.” Will marveled as he examined the sword’s blade. It was dented in some parts and weathered by time, but still in a surprisingly good shape for a weapon so terrible. “The sword is made of soulforged adamantine too… Incredible…”

“Soulforged adamantine?” Marika could hardly believe her own husband. “That’s impossible. There isn’t enough of it in the world to make a dagger, let alone a sword.”

“There isn’t now,” Chastel said with a chuckle. “This weapon goes back to the Age of Wonders.”

The one that came before the Age of Sorrow. The forgotten time when ancient civilizations ruled Pangeal. Only ruins buried deep beneath the earth after the Demon Ancestors laid waste to them remained. This weapon was over seven hundred years old.

“It’s warm, Mother,” Benicio whispered in dread.

He’s right, Marika realized. When she dared to approach the chest closer, she immediately sensed the temperature rising. It wasn’t the comforting warmth of a hearth nor the searing heat of the forge, but something else. Something nefarious. This sword is infused with fire essence… but not the kind I’ve ever seen.

“This sword belonged to a great hero who cut down countless evil beings during the Sunderwar. Unfortunately, you can see the toll it took on the sword.” Chastel crossed his arms. “My lady has contacted many exorcists to return it to its former glory. A difficult task, I’m sure you’d agree. So far none has succeeded in fulfilling her wish.”

“I can imagine why,” Marika muttered to herself. For the sealing contraptions to fail in keeping the essence sealed, the evil within had to be unfathomably powerful. “This sword must have killed thousands…”

“It has.” Chastel closed the chest’s lid. The sinister pressure around the forge lessened, but did not entirely clear. “So, do you think you can tackle my lady’s request?”

Marika clenched her jaw. She wasn’t one to back down from an exorcism, but this weapon was dangerous. Draining away the darkness that infected it would be a long, arduous task, even with assistants.

“I’m not sure,” Marika admitted. “I can see why so many failed to purify that sword. To do so safely will take a very, very long time and a great deal of effort. Just the number of runestones required to drain the curses…”

“My lady understands that,” Chastel replied with a reassuring grin. “She is willing to offer an advance payment to both cover extra costs and ensure that you fully focus on the task.”

Will frowned. “How much?”

“Mmm, how about five thousand gold? Would that be enough payment?”

Marika choked at the number, while Will stood there in mute disbelief.

“F-five thousand?” Marika repeated, believing she had misheard. “That’s a fortune!”

“I have deep, deep pockets, and my lady will settle for nothing less than state of the art quality,” Chastel confirmed with an amused laugh. He searched inside his coat and brought out a clanging purse. “I can give you half of it now, and the other half will be given when the sword is restored. Can you finish the job in three months? My lady understands that good work requires time, but she isn’t too patient either.”

Chastel tossed the purse at Will, who caught it midair and swiftly opened it. Marika peeked inside to see her own reflection in more gold coins than she had ever seen in her lifetime. Husband and wife exchanged glances.

“Can you give us a minute to discuss your offer between us, Mister Chastel?” Will asked the customer.

“Of course, of course,” the grinning man replied with mischievous eyes. “Plot away!”

Will and Marika moved to the back of the forge. Her husband carried the coins and immediately tasted them. “They’re real,” he whispered in astonishment. “Five thousand…”

“It’s a kingly sum,” Marika muttered. Her mind struggled to comprehend what that fortune represented. The couple considered setting aside one gold a month an achievement; a lifetime of work wouldn’t let them accumulate more than a fraction of that sum. “This’…”

This was too good to be true.

Marika was a down-to-earth woman. After the mirage of greed came the skepticism. What kind of noble would pay such an extravagant sum to purify a single sword, even if it was a priceless artifact from the Age of Wonders? Chastel kept mentioning that lady of his without giving away her name. Anonymous patrons always hid something.

“This commission sounds shady,” Marika said. “Shifty.”

“I know,” Will replied with a deep scowl on his face. “But five thousand… even if we subtract the costs of reforging the blade, it would change so much for us.”

“Yes, it would,” Marika conceded.

The couple had long considered having another child, but the discovery of Benicio’s gifts changed their plans. Their son showed enough aptitude to become a true witchcrafter, the kind who could shape runestones, shape elemental essence, and stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the Riverland Federation’s elite. However, tuitions at sorcery academies cost a small fortune. The couple had decided to postpone their second child’s birth until they could accumulate enough funds and secure loans to pay for Beni’s education.

Five thousand gold changed this calculus. With such a sum, Marika and Will wouldn’t have to take any loans. They could already purchase a spot for Benicio at the nearest academy, invest in a larger forge and a bigger house, secure their retirement when they grew too old to work…

The risks were great, but even Marika struggled against the temptation.

“Can you even repair an adamantine sword?” she asked her husband.

Will bristled. “It’s true we don’t have soulforged adamantine lying around, but I can melt and rework the blade.”

“You’ve never tried with an alloy so complex.”

“Because it’s a once-in-a-lifetime occasion,” Will replied with a hint of annoyance. “Forging adamantine is every blacksmith’s dream. I know my job.”

I’ve wounded his pride, Marika realized. “I’m sorry, Will,” she apologized. “I’m not doubting your skills, I’m just… this is a big commission. There are challenges, and then there’s that.”

“I understand,” Will replied. “But we’ve handled tough weapons before. I’m sure we can deal with this one.”

“What if I fail?” Marika asked nervously. “We can’t repay the advance. What if I fail to complete the exorcism?”

“You won’t fail,” Will reassured her. His warm hands moved to her shoulders. “You’re the best exorcist in the world.”

Her husband’s trust in her reassured Marika. She glanced at Beni, who exchanged words with Chastel. She pictured her son dressed like a true sorcerer, crafting runestones that would adorn nobles rather than reforge weapons of war. She wanted a better future for him than the one she could offer him right now.

Maybe Will was right. Maybe this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. She nodded at her husband, and the pact was sealed.

“Very well, Mr. Chastel.” Will shook the customer’s hand. “We accept the challenge. You’ll have your sword in three months’ time.”

“Wonderful!” The man’s smile finally reached his eyes. “I’ll watch your progress with great interest.”

With half the payment available, the couple immediately went to work.

Repairing an adamantine weapon, let alone exorcising a sword filled with so much evil essence, required better equipment than they had. Will handled everything, as he usually did. He purchased better tools—though Marika kept her trusty sledgehammer for old times’ sake—and more runic whetstones, upgraded the forge with a water-powered bellow, strengthened the blast furnace, and brought lumps of raw adamantine. With all their new additions their little house in Sleepy Hollow started to look like a factory.

But the moment Marika started working on the blade, she immediately realized she was out of her depth.

Just touching the sword’s hilt and putting it on an anvil turned out to be a chore. The sheer malice radiating from the weapon infected Marika’s gloves within minutes of physical contact, forcing her to purify them in short order. Same with the anvil. A day of work was enough for the sword’s stray essence to grow screaming faces on the metal’s surface. They had to surround the anvil with four runic whetstone to prevent its complete corruption.

“I’ve never seen something like this,” Marika muttered. “It’s… almost like a Blight’s heart.”

Will scowled back at her, a hammer and pincer in hand. “I thought Blights only covered a location, not items.”

“They should,” Marika confirmed while chewing her lip. She’d never heard of a weapon that accumulated so much corrupted essence that it could infect inanimate objects. The main risk of cursed weapons was of them influencing their wielders, not mutating their surroundings. “I’ll need to drain away the corruption in the room before we can even start working on the blade properly.”

“Can I help, Mom?” Benicio asked. He tried to sound brave, but his mother could see the worry in his eyes. He too understood that this sword might prove more dangerous than any other cursed weapon so far.

“No, absolutely not.” Marika chewed her lip nervously. “In fact, go outside while mom and dad work.”

“But I can help!”

“Beni…” Marika squinted at her son. “Obey your mother, young man.”

“But–”

“Another ‘but’ and you’re grounded,” Marika gently scolded him. “No more hero bedtime stories either.”

Benicio gulped at the threat and quickly bolted out of the forge.

“Poor Beni.” His father chuckled nervously. “It’s that bad?”

“It is,” Marika admitted. She focused all of her attention on draining the leaking corruption into the runestones around the anvil. Foul blackness spread on their surfaces like oil on water. “Can you reforge the blade without damaging the chains?”

“It depends. Can they stand the forge’s heat?”

“They should.” From what Marika could tell, the ancient spells woven in the chains could resist almost anything. Though they failed to completely contain the sword’s corrosive essence, they still remained untouched by it. “But you mustn’t hit them. If you do, dark magic will spill out of the blade in a violent way.”

Will confidently grabbed the sword and moved the blade into the heart of the forge. Marika followed after her husband, draining away the leaking essence that threatened to poison his tools and flesh.

Watching Will forge weld never failed to impress her. After heating up the blade to critical temperature, he began to carefully reshape it with hammer blows. Since he deftly avoided the sealing chains, they safely kept most of its essence contained as he worked. Will straightened the blade, joined pieces of molten adamantine lumps with the cracks along the edge, and adjusted the temperature to ensure it would merge with the metal.

“They’re combining nicely,” Marika observed.

“Soulforged adamantine doesn’t differ much from normal adamantine,” Will replied. “It’s just that the former alloy is forged in specific places sacred to the artifacts. The edges will be slightly more fragile than the parts near the fuller, but so little it won’t make a difference. This thing will cut through diamonds when I’m done with it.”

Marika laughed at his boast. “You’re the real magician here.”

“Thanks.” Will smirked as he refined the edges. “It brings me back to the old days.”

Marika remembered it vividly. The two had been rival blacksmiths fighting over clientele once, each with a different style. Whereas Marika favored sturdy and practical designs like bastard swords, Will preferred to dabble in fancier weapons like rapiers. Marika always ended up second to her future husband in terms of sales, which annoyed her to no end.

“A weapon’s value is determined by how much you can trust it in a pinch,” Marika had argued once.

“You’re wrong,” Will had replied to her back then. “A weapon’s value is determined by how many want to wield it, nothing more. Still, I wonder what would happen if we combined our approach…”

What started out as something of an amusing collaboration turned into a long-term partnership, and then a romantic one. Eventually, Marika had to recognize her husband’s raw talent. Although she remained the only exorcist of the two, Will was by far the best craftsman she’d ever met. Her only equal.

“Though if you ask me…” Will smiled charmingly. “Beni remains the best thing we ever forged together.”

Marika laughed. “That one was terrible.”

“I heard you laugh though,” he teased her. “Cheer up, ‘Ka. We’ll get through this.”

His enthusiasm rejuvenated her. Marika went back to work. However, it became clear that there weren’t enough runic whetstones in the Riverland Federation to drain all of the sword’s malice. It held as much negativity as a centuries-old Blight, if not more. Even then, it would require breaking the chains, which was beyond Marika’s power. The spells woven into the runesteel were so ancient and potent that she doubted anyone except the Mage could unravel them.

Marika considered her options before coming up with a novel solution. “If purging the corruption proves impossible, how about infecting it with kindness?”

“You want to scold it with kind words and prayers?” Will mused.

“In a way,” Marika replied, much to her husband’s surprise. “I’ll charge runestones with essence full of good thoughts. If you mix them with the adamantine, the positivity will flow into the blade.”

“Would that purify it?”

“I don’t know,” Marika admitted. “I’ve never tried anything of the sort. I’ve got the feeling that tried-and-true methods won’t work with this blade.”

Charging runestones with joyful essence proved easy. Sleepy Hollow was a small, friendly community. Everyone participated in rituals and songs on Priestday at the local abbey, so when Marika asked permission to gather essence to purify a cursed blade, it was easily granted.

“This sounds like a difficult case,” Bishop Huguenot said, the village’s straight-laced priest. “I’m not certain our community’s wishes alone would suffice to purge a seven-hundred years-old curse.”

“I’ve considered traveling to Erebia,” Marika admitted. “I assume I would just have to sit and pick up holy fetishes off the ground.”

“Yes, yes, I remember.” Bishop Huguenot smiled warmly as he reminisced over his past. “When I trained for my initiation, we went on a journey to Highvalley, the city closest to the holy land. So many wishes and prayers gathered in this place that the local essence gathered into Sanctuaries.”

Sanctuaries were the rarer opposites of Blights: areas where so much fortune and positivity accrued that it compounded into a sacred land of prosperity. Its inhabitants lived longer, harvests were more bountiful, and good luck blessed the region in subtle ways. Sanctuaries were delicate things, however, and jealously protected.

“I could write you a letter of introduction, Marika,” the bishop suggested. “Access to Highvalley is highly regulated, but I have friends and students there. I’m sure they will let you charge up runestones at their Sanctuaries.”

“Thank you, your eminence.” Marika bowed in gratefulness. “I might take you up on it if my idea fails.”

A month into the commission, and Marika charged her runestones with enough happiness to put a smile on a penitent’s face. She came home one evening with a bag full of them to find her husband still at work at the forge, hammering the sword’s edges with relentless determination.

“I’m back,” Marika announced, startling Will; much to her amusement. “Were you daydreaming on the job?”

“Sorry.” Will let out an embarrassed chuckle. “Forging adamantine demands immense concentration.”

“I know.” Still, Marika immediately assessed Will with her essence sight. The sword’s chains and the purifying stones around the forge should prevent its power from affecting her husband, but it didn’t hurt to be careful. Thankfully, she quickly confirmed the leaking essence mostly moved into her husband’s tools rather than his person. “I’ll need to purge your hammer before the next step. It’s picking up a little too much malice for my taste.”

“Suit yourself, ‘Ka.”

After purging the tools, Marika took over her husband’s place. She mixed shards of her happiness-charged runestones with molten adamantine, and then prepared to apply it to the blade’s edge. “One, two…” Marika began grafting. “Three!”

The blade exploded in her face.

A burst of raging flames utterly consumed Marika, drowning the forge in red and yellow. A heat greater than anything she had ever experienced drowned her in a tide of warmth. She felt her skin and flesh torn off her bones. A surge of indescribable pain took her over, so intense she couldn’t even string two words together, let alone a scream.

Then came the fury.

A rage that burned hotter than a volcano erupted in her heart. Her world became a torrent of flames punctuated by screams of abject terror. Her humble forge opened into a burning corridor filled with maimed corpses. Her boots echoed on the cracking floor then shattered a door with a kick. She smiled at the smell of blood and revenge.

There was a woman in the room beyond, a lovely girl with an ash-ridden dress and a crown of gold. She knelt at Marika’s feet, weeping, begging, praying. Marika slowly caressed the stranger’s cheek, gently stroking her fair skin, delighting at the feeling of warm tears turning to steam on her iron glove. The fleeting joy almost soothed the berserk flame in her heart.

“Lord Belgoroth, please…” The woman’s hands moved to Marika’s legs, imploring mercy. “All I have done… was out of love–”

The word awakened the beast within like salt on a wound.

Marika hacked the woman’s skull with her sword with a roar, cleaving it in two.

The brain spilled on her metal gloves and the burning, sword-shaped mark on the left one; it seared her hand in exquisite pain. But one stroke wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. It didn’t dim the pain and the rage at all, not at all! So Marika kept going. She cut and cut and cut in her fury, until nothing remained of her victim but charred pounds of flesh and bones. Her black sword, her truest companion, gorged itself on the sweet, sweet blood. Bone shards and gray matter bounced off her face.

Marika stopped to look at her grisly work with a cold gaze, then put her hand in her victims flesh. She washed her own face with her bloodsoaked fingers, basking in the stranger’s perfume. That treacherous whore smelled good, even in death. How good it felt to have her blood wipe away the ashes on Marika’s cheeks… this warm shower washed away her sins.

Marika felt pure again.

But the fleeting satisfaction did not last. So Marika stepped over her victim’s corpse and glanced through the window. She looked at the shadows of a city whose towers were burning candles and its streets rivers of blood. The ashes rained on the corpses of thousands.

“They’re all dead now… the traitors, the betrayers, the fools and the wicked… all dead…” Marika muttered, though her voice was not her own. “At long last… everyone is dead, dead, dead…”

And Marika smiled.

“‘Ka?” The voice felt familiar, though she couldn’t name it. “Ka!”

Marika snapped back to reality. She had fallen into a corner of the forge, with her frightened husband shaking her like a tree. “What…” she grunted upon coming back to her senses. Her hand moved to her forehead, unburned and unarmored. “What… what happened?”

“You flew halfway across the room, that’s what.” Will gently helped her back to her feet. “Almost threw a bucket of water at you too.”

A bucket? Marika wondered what he meant until she took a good look around the forge. The bound blade burned on the anvil with a yellowish glow, surrounded by steaming puddles of water.

“The place nearly caught fire,” Will admitted. “Can’t extinguish the flames on the sword, no matter how hard I try. It doesn’t cool down.”

“That essence…” Marika focused on the yellow, unnatural inferno that reeked from the blade. “It’s not… fire essence.”

It was wrath.

This blade contained so much burning anger, so much searing hate, that its essence generated heat. Marika didn’t even know that was possible. Fire generated an elemental essence, one usually separate from emotion-based sorcery. Yet these two concepts had intertwined into the blade until they became near indistinguishable.

That sword was filled with a depthless hatred for all that existed. It did not want to shed blood to feed on the slaughter. It sought to burn the world and itself somewhere along the way.

What kind of atrocity could forge such a sinister weapon?

The one I witnessed, Marika thought. The memory was etched into the sword like a deep scar. Belgoroth… the woman called him Belgoroth.

“Chastel is either misinformed or misguided.” Marika crossed her arms. The more she worked on this sword, the more she regretted taking on the commission. “No hero wielded this sword.”

“Is your idea a bust then?” Will asked with a scowl.

Marika examined the room with her essence sight. Though the sword erupted with anger, the positivity-laced runestones encrusted in its edge did weaken the malice suffusing the metal. “We can try again,” she said, though with less enthusiasm than before. “You should stock up on water first.”

It didn’t work.

Marika’s method did dull the evil essence leaking from the blade to a point, but it violently lashed out each time she tried a runestone graft. Twice she repeated the procedure, and twice the sword nearly set their house on fire in a violent deflagration. The sword’s essence burned on its own for hours until the chains’ seal smothered them out.

At this point, Marika realized something that shamed her.

“I can’t.” For the first time in her life, Marika had hit a wall she couldn’t climb. “I can’t exorcise this blade. Not without removing the seals first, and if we do… I don’t think we’ll survive. There’s so much corrupted essence within that sword, it might very well kill everyone in its vicinity. Maybe even start a localized Blight.”

“We can’t back down from the job, ‘Ka,” her husband said. “We’ve burned through most of the advance payment already. We can’t repay it.”

“I could travel to Highvalley,” Marika suggested. “Purchase Sanctuary runestones there. They might be powerful enough to purify the blade, or at least weaken the curse to a manageable level.”

“A trip to Erebia? Are you mad?” Will scowled in distaste. “It will cost a fortune, as will paying for their runestones.”

“You want to cut corners on an exorcism, Will?” Marika glared at her husband. He could be such a fool sometimes. “It’s a recipe for disaster!”

Will glared back at her. “You want us to go into debt?!”

His venomous tone made Marika recoil. “No, I… I didn’t mean…”

“We can’t pay the advance back,” Will snapped at her. “We’ll have to sell the forge, even the house. We won’t be able to afford Beni’s tuition, ever. You have to purify that sword somehow!”

“How?!” Now she was shouting too. They never did that. “If you have any idea how to exorcise a seven-hundred years old cursed sword, be my guest!”

The look Will sent her… that hateful glare, that black scowl of pure fury… it only lasted a few seconds, but it shook Marika to her core. She immediately regretted her words.

“I’m…” Marika recoiled and looked away. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, ‘Ka, it’s fine.” Will put a hand on his forehead for a few seconds, and when he removed it, his terrible expression was gone. He sounded ashamed of himself. “I’m the one who’s putting too much pressure on you. I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

Will took Marika in his arms and held her close.

“I’m harsh because… because I care. Because I know you can do it.” He smiled ear to ear before lightly kissing her on the lips. “Maybe you don’t have faith in yourself, ‘Ka, but I do. You will succeed. I promise you.”

If only Marika could believe him…

They spent another month trying to purify the sword, and failed.

Again and again Marika attempted to infuse purifying runestones into the sword. She no longer had visions, mostly because the evil within the weapon had grown wise to her tactic and fought back with fire. Each grafting attempt risked destroying the forge in a destructive blast.

Will started understanding at first, but as weeks went on his patience grew thin. She caught him sending her that dreadful look more often, and after nearly a decade of peaceful coexistence… They started arguing.

“It’s been two months already!” Will snapped at her after yet another failure. “One more and Chastel will be at our doors with an unfinished commission and two-thousand and five hundred coins gone! Don’t you understand what’s at stake?”

“I know!” Marika was at her wit’s end. “We could have ten years and it wouldn’t be enough to purify that sword!”

“How hard can it be?” That terrible look came roaring back to the surface. “Why won’t you purify that damned sword!”

“Because I can’t!” Marika shouted. “I can’t do it!”

A tense silence fell upon the forge. Will clenched his fists in anger, while Marika looked down on the ground, ashamed. She was the best, but… this time, the situation was beyond her.

After so long, Will finally lost hope too.

“Chastel’s mistress paid us to exorcise and repair the blade,” Will muttered to himself. “I don’t like leaving a job half-finished, but… maybe we can negotiate with her if I’ve at least reforged the sword. Waive away the advance. We’ll say goodbye to the other two and a half thousand, but at least we’ll be in the clear.”

“Will–”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.” Will turned his back on her and grabbed the tools. “Just… go, ‘Ka. I need to focus.”

“Nothing you can’t handle?” Couldn’t he see the truth? “Will, that sword is dangerous.”

“Then get to work and purify it instead of complaining,” Will snapped angrily. “We can’t afford to fail this job!”

Marika clenched her fists, but said nothing.

Her husband’s clanging hammer resonated in the forge long after she left it.

Days stretched into weeks, each more lonely than the last.

Forging an adamantine sword proved difficult, even for a master craftsman like Will; especially when he had to work around runesteel chains. One night, he stayed awake until morning to keep up the pace. Marika thought it would be a one-time deal, but when he failed to join her in bed the next day, she realized he wouldn’t leave the forge until he completed Chastel’s task.

At first, she brought him food and drink, which he accepted with a grunt and scarcely a thank you. She eventually grew weary of him not leaving the forge and stopped doing so, hoping to shake him out of his obsession. Instead, he started stockpiling food and water so he could keep working continuously.

And when she tried to invite him to sleep—or even kiss him—he pushed her away. Nowadays, she only went down to the forge to extract leaking essence from the tools and anvil. Even then, Will blamed her for it. “Shouldn’t you work on the blade rather than my hammer?” he snapped at her once. “I would finish quicker.”

After nearly a decade of happy marriage, Marika had to admit she didn’t expect their relationship to hit such a rough patch. She understood the financial constraints and Will’s fears, but they could survive it. She hoped they could patch up once that damned sword was out of their life.

“Mom,” Beni asked when time came to put him to bed. “Why isn’t Dad coming up?”

“Because he cares,” Marika replied while kissing him on the forehead. The noise of steel clashing against steel echoed from below their feet. “He’s working on a very important job, but he’s always thinking of you.”

Beni didn’t believe her. “You say that, but he snaps and shouts at me whenever I talk to him.”

“Because your father is under heavy stress.” That was true at least, though it didn’t excuse Will’s behavior. Marika understood he needed to concentrate on the task, but Beni was his own flesh and blood. “He does not mean it.”

“He cares more for that sword than us.” Beni looked so much like his father when he scowled. “When is the smiling man coming back to pick it up?”

“Tomorrow.” Then they could put that madness behind them; if they could negotiate a deal. “Tomorrow, sweetling.”

Dawn couldn’t come quicker.

When Beni finally fell asleep, Marika traveled down into the forge. To her surprise, she found her husband taking a pause. He held the sword’s hilt with metal gauntlets, reviewing the blade. The sharp edges let out a whistling sound when they cut through the simmering air of the forge.

“You’re done,” Marika whispered.

“Not yet.” Will had lost a few pounds in the last week, and his skin darkened from the constant heat of the forge. He appeared to have aged by ten years. “Something’s missing.”

Marika glanced at the strange hole on the hilt. “Will, there’s no jewel in the Riverland that can fit here.”

“No, not a jewel. Something else. The spot’s meant for something else.” Will shook his head in frustration. “Can’t tell what.”

“It’s not our concern,” Marika reminded him. She put a hand on her husband’s shoulder, but he pushed it away. “Will, stop…”

“The job’s not done,” Will grunted, his eyes surrounded by black circles. “It was always you. The talented one. I knew the moment I first saw one of your swords that I would never equal you.”

“What are you talking about?” Marika frowned. “You sold more than me, remember?”

“Because I worked my ass off to charm customers. They didn’t buy my work, they bought my words.” Will set the sword on the anvil. Blackened runestones surrounded it like a throne of darkness. “You’ve got magic. Beni too. I’m the only one in the family who can’t see essence. The mundane.”

“Will, don’t say that,” Marika pleaded. “You’re the best blacksmith I know. You can work wonders.”

“Can’t anymore. Too many distractions.” Will snorted in anger. “Like that boy, constantly mewling at me.”

“You don’t mean that, Will.” Marika’s heart hardened when her husband wouldn’t answer. “Benicio is your son. You said it yourself, he’s the best thing we forged together, and right now, he needs you.”

“I don’t need him.”

Marika’s blood boiled in her veins. “You don’t need your son?”

“He’s a distraction,” Will muttered, much to her horror. “All he does is eat away at our food and budget. Can’t hold a hammer right, costs us a fortune to send to school, keeps interrupting the job…”

“Beni is the reason we took that job, Will!” That riled up alright. Marika clenched her jaw and grabbed her husband by the shoulder. “And if you don’t stop–”

His hand tightened into a fist and flew straight at her face.

Marika saw it coming, but failed to dodge. Her mind simply couldn’t believe what her eyes told her. The blow hit her right on the nose with enough force to send her stumbling back. She nearly fell, although mostly from the shock and surprise rather than the hit. Her hand moved to her mouth, though it did nothing to dull the pain.

To his credit, Will appeared shaken for an instant; as if he couldn’t believe what he had done. He stared at her with wide eyes. “‘Ka–”

Marika punched him back harder.

Will tried to avoid it, but years of blacksmith work left her quick and strong. Her blow sent her husband falling to his back and against the anvil. His eyes glared at her with such venom and anger that she struggled to recognize him. His hand moved to the sword’s hilt, though he thankfully didn’t turn it against her.

A warm liquid dripped from Marika’s nose and filled her mouth with a metallic taste. Blood. “Will…” she rasped in anger and fury. “Once this is over, we’ll have a serious discussion about your behavior.”

Will didn’t apologize. Far from it. “If you had never existed,” he said with a hateful glare. “I could have been the best.”

Once again, Marika activated her essence sight to check on her husband. For the first time since they took the commission, she prayed that the sword’s malice corrupted his mind. At least it would explain his change in behavior.

She detected no hint of foreign essence infecting him, no outer darkness invading his mind. Her runestones protected him well enough. These words were all his.

“Fuck you.” Marika left for the room upstairs without a second look, while struggling against the urge to shed tears. “Fuck you!”

Will didn’t hold her back. By the time she retreated back into her bedroom, he was already back at work.

Alone with the sword.

The next day, Marika woke up sweating.

Her awakening was slow and laborious. Shadows blurred her vision, and a foul stench made her nauseous under the sheet. The whole bedroom was choked with infernal heat. Her mind struggled against tiredness and slumber as her eyelids slowly opened.

“‘Ka.”

Her husband was standing by the side of the bed. A shadow looming over her. It would have been comforting once, and a welcome sight. Instead, Will’s silhouette felt ominous in the dim light of the candle nearby.

“I’m going with Chastel,” he said with a happy, happy voice. “The job’s not done. I need a bigger forge.”

“What…” Marika coughed. A rancid stench filled the room. “What are you talking about…”

“Lord Belgoroth is pleased with my work so far.” The name sounded familiar, like an old forgotten curse, but Marika was still too drowsy to remember why. “He offered to become my patron.”

His patron? Marika pinched her nose to cover the smell, her eyes slowly acclimating to the luminosity. Her nostrils still hurt from their fight yesterday.

“I don’t need you anymore,” Will said joyfully. “I thought with you at my side, I could become the best. That everyone would remember me. But I was wrong. All you had over me was the magic sight—your only edge—and now I can see too. Without it, you’re nothing special.”

“What the… you’re not making any sense…” Marika sat against a pillow and looked up at her husband. “Will, you’re starting to creep me–”

She froze at the sight.

Will held the sword in his hand, its blade drenched in blood, its edges releasing heat and smoke into the room. A bloody bandage covered his left eye. Marika wondered if he had hurt himself, until her gaze acclimated to the darkness enough to see the terrible truth.

The hole on the hilt had a new occupant. A wriggling, bloodshot red eye staring at Marika with a malevolent intelligence.

“Will…” Marika’s hand moved closer to her pillow. She slept with a dagger last night after their fight, just in case she needed to protect herself. “Drop the sword…”

“Can’t. Don’t you remember? You said a weapon’s worth is determined by its reliability. I thought it depended on how many people wanted to wield it.” Will applied his finger to the sword’s sharp edge, drops dripping from the cut. “Lord Belgoroth says a weapon’s worth is determined by how many lives it takes. His sword, it’s the most precious one in the world. A kingdom’s worth of blood and pain and hate.”

There was blood, yes. The chained blade was drenched in it. It couldn’t all be her husband’s.

“Will…” Marika gulped as a terrible thought crossed her mind. “Whose blood is it?”

He smiled. “A burden’s.”

Marika drew the dagger and stabbed her husband in the chest. The blade entered him all the way to the hilt right between the ribs. Yet smoke erupted from the wound instead of blood.

Will snarled in bestial fury, and the sword shrieked to echo his wrath. Marika bolted out of the bed and tackled her husband out of the way before he could recover. Only thought occupied her panicked mind.

“Beni!” Marika shouted while rushing into her son’s room. “Beni!”

He was in the bed, bleeding out.

Marika screamed in anguish at the horrific scene. Her son, her baby boy, trembled in his bed, pallid and gasping for air. A gaping chest wound protruded from the side, a red ravine from which his very life escaped him.

“Beni!” Adrenaline surged through Marika’s veins as her hand reached out to her wounded son. Her poor child was conscious enough to try reaching out to her with trembling fingers and tearful eyes full of fear. His breath was short, and his life hung by a thread.

Fumbling in a haze of panic, Marika pressed her hands against the wound in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding. She was no medic, no healer. All she knew was how to exorcize evil and forge metal. She’d never tried to use her gift to save another.

Marika forgot her own inexperience in her panic. She poured out her own essence, her very lifeforce, onto her child’s wound. “It’s alright, sweetie,” she whispered with trembling lips, trying to reassure her child while fighting back her own tears. “Mommy’s here… I’m here…”

Marika heard her maddened husband lumbering behind her. She looked over her shoulder to see Will raising that damned sword at her, his loving face twisted into a deranged expression of utter hatred.

“Will, snap out of it!” Marika shouted. She grabbed her son and backed away, leaving a crimson trail on the wooden floor. “Will, that sword is corrupting you! Fight back!”

He heard her words, but did not listen. “I should have killed you years ago,” he rasped, his last eye devoid of pity. “You were just holding me back!”

He lunged at her in a flash of speed and fury.

Marika would have died here and now if she had been alone. The noise of her son struggling for his life in her arms, desperately clinging to her for safety, filled her with determination. She sprinted towards the only exit in sight.

Glass shattered as Marika jumped out of the bedroom’s window. She grunted in pain as she sheltered her son from glass shards, letting them cut into her flesh rather than her son’s. Bedrooms were on the first floor, so she managed to land somewhat softly on the earth below.

“Someone!” Marika cradled her son and looked up, her maddened husband glared down at her from his elevated point. “Someone help!”

But no one answered.

Clinging to her son, Marika glanced at Sleepy Hollow. Smoke rose from the houses of her neighbors and Father Hugenot’s church on the hill, alongside the stench of charred meat. Chastel was here too, standing still near the house’s threshold, overseeing the devastation with hands in his pockets.

“Miss Marika.” The man grinned at her with unblinking eyes. “What a pleasant day, don’t you think?”

Marika ran. She ran towards the nearby woods as fast as her legs could carry her, each labored breath of her son another reminder that she needed to find a healer.

Jean Chastel didn’t chase after her.

He just laughed.

Marika ran for hours until she reached the next village over.

She pumped her son with her essence all the way to the church’s doorstep, trading pounds of weight and flesh to knot out Beni’s wound. When healers came to take him away for treatment, Marika collapsed in exhaustion. The last thing she remembered before falling into unconsciousness was the inquisitors’ questions.

Marika woke up two days later sick in bed, in a white stone room with a couple of knights at her bedside. A blond woman with pale icy eyes and three prominent scars on her face, and a giant of a man in plate armor equipped with frightful spikes. Marika couldn’t see anything past his frightful bascinet helmet and visor.

“Marika Lunastello-Costa?” The woman sounded cordial enough, though Marika had learned to fear what her purple plate armor represented. “I am Inquisitor Gunndra. My companion is Inquisitor Cortaner. We would like to ask you some questions about the Sleepy Hollow incident.”

“Is… is my son alive?” Marika whispered, coughing in exhaustion. “Benicio… he was with me when…”

“Your son is alive,” Inquisitor Gunndra reassured her. These four words filled Marika with immense relief… for a time. “Your essence transfusions saved his life, albeit at a cost.”

“A cost?” Marika’s heart pounded like a war drum. “What… What cost? I don’t understand.”

“Human-to-human essence transfers are dangerous, even between kin,” Gunndra replied with a look of sympathy. “The healers informed me that his body will recover, but his mind might suffer from long-lasting trauma.”

Her Beni… he wanted to become a magician so dearly. “I… I don’t understand…” Marika muttered. “I checked Will every day. I should… I should have seen it coming…”

“Will is your husband’s name, is it not?” Gunndra took Marika’s naked hand into her armored gauntlet. “Can you recount what you remember from the start? The more you can tell us, the better.”

It took Marika a few minutes to fully remember everything, and half an hour to recount her tale. Gunndra listened with a sympathetic expression, alternating between asking questions and offering Marika water to drink. Inquisitor Cortaner simply crossed his arms in silence. Marika might have mistaken him for a statue if not for his occasional breathing.

“Belgoroth.” Inquisitor Gunndra frowned in alarm. “Are you sure?”

“I… I heard the name. In the sword’s memories.” Remembering that terrible vision alone caused Marika a headache. “Will also mentioned him in his… his madness.”

Inquisitor Cortaner, who had listened in silence so far, muttered to himself with a deep and terrible voice. “Fear Belgoroth, lord of the berserk flame, who sets the land ablaze and sails upon a sea of blood; for his fury cannot tell friend from foe.”

“Belgoroth is a name only inquisitors and high-ranking members of the Abbey are allowed to learn; for to speak it alone stains the unwary soul with sin.” Inquisitor Gunndra scowled. “Belgoroth is the Lord of Wrath, one of the Demon Ancestors.”

A Demon Ancestor? A chill traveled down Marika’s spine when put two and two together. “The sword…”

“Belgoroth infamously massacred an entire city on his lonesome, using a single sword,” Inquisitor Gunndra confirmed. “The Blight that arose from this atrocity lingers to this day north of Archfrost. We thought the weapon was sealed and destroyed.”

“Do you understand what you have done?” Cortaner looked down on Marika, black eyes peering through the slit in his visor. “You and your husband helped repair a demonic treasure of tremendous power.”

“Enough,” Inquisitor Gunndra scolded her colleague. “Her only sin was naïveté, which she will commit no more.”

“No… he’s right…” Marika gulped in shame. She knew that commission was fishy from the start, and she still let Will convince her to take it. “I… I took that job.”

“You have done nothing wrong, Marika,” Inquisitor Gunndra tried to comfort her. “Chastel has tricked people far smarter than you. If you had refused to help him, he would have found another victim.”

The memory of that frightful man’s grin vividly came back to Marika. “You… you know him?”

“He has used many names over the years, but yes, we know Chastel.” Inquisitor Gunndra’s lips twisted into a hateful expression, one that made her three scars all the more prominent. Now that Marika looked at them more closely, they closely reminded her of claw wounds. “We suspect him to be a messenger and enforcer for a demonic cult dedicated to Belgoroth. We’ve linked him to dozens of murders and disappearances across the continent.”

A cultist. Marika took a commission from a demon-worshiper. “I still… I still don’t get it,” she muttered to herself, her hands clenching on the sheet. “I… I checked Will each day for signs of corruption. I’m an exorcist. I know my job. If the sword had taken over, I should… I should have seen it coming.”

Cortaner snorted. “One of the first things we learn as inquisitors is that no one can force someone to become a demon. One must choose to be damned, and thus pay the price.”

“I don’t think the sword poisoned your husband’s mind, Marika,” Inquisitor Gunndra said. “Rather, I suspect it drew out what was already simmering beneath the surface. It put coal on his anger’s embers and cultivated them into an inferno.”

I don’t need you anymore, Will’s words echoed in Marika’s mind. I thought with you at my side, I could become the best. That everyone would remember me. But I was wrong. All you had over me was the magic sight—your only edge—and now I can see.

Was that how her husband always felt deep down? Marika couldn’t believe it. It had to be a trick of some kind. “Is he…”

“Your husband is gone, along with the sword,” Cortaner replied bluntly. “The cultists murdered everyone in the village before leaving. You and your son were the only survivors.”

Marika froze in shock. “Father Huguenot–”

“Is dead,” the inquisitor replied. “Alongside ten families.”

“Enough!” Inquisitor Gunndra glared at her colleague. “That’s enough!”

“She must never forget, Gunndra.” The man held his ground. “The cost of letting a demon live.”

Everyone is dead… Belgoroth’s wicked voice echoed in Marika’s mind. Dead, dead, dead…

“Marika? Marika?”

Gunndra’s words became a distant echo. Marika’s eyes wandered to the cold stone wall opposing her bed, focusing on every tiny detail. The cracks in the rock, the slight brown spots left by removed mold… they reminded her so much of bloodstains…

“We will come back later,” said Gunndra. “We’ll arrange for you to visit your son as soon as he wakes up.”

Her son.

Yes, she had to live for her son… Beni needed her.

More than he ever did.

A man visited her after the inquisitors.

Marika didn’t recognize him. He was portly and small, with a black hat and a bag full of paper. His silk handkerchief helped him remove the sweat off his brow.

“First of all, Miss Lunastello-Costa, allow me to express my sympathies for your loss,” the man said with a pleasant, insincere smile. “I understand that considering your current state and the tragedy that befell you, it will take time before you start paying my employers back. Thankfully, some agreed to waive the interests, and we can arrange a delay–”

“I’m sorry,” Marika interrupted him. “You… Do I know you?”

“No, I don’t believe we’ve met.” He shook her hand warmly. “François Marcello. I am a professional debt-collector.”

“A… debt-collector?” The more Marika listened, the less she understood. “I don’t understand… whose debts are you after?”

“Yours, Miss. And your husband’s, but since he has disappeared, I can’t exactly track him down.”

He wasn’t making any sense. “We… we don’t have debts.”

“These documents say otherwise.” The man opened his bag and showed her scrolls. “Your husband contracted these loans in both of your names.”

Marika was too exhausted to hold the papers, so Marcello moved them onto her lap and read them out loud for her. She recognized her husband’s handwriting, and his signature at the end, right beneath the ones and zeroes: Will Costa.

I always let him deal with customers and suppliers, Marika thought in utter despair. She never questioned her husband’s business trips to Tradewind. Sometimes he came back with commissions, sometimes not. He always smiled when he returned, and that had been enough for her. “Some… Some of these loans are over three years old.” Three years. Three years before the sword. “I never saw this money.”

“Your husband usually paid back older creditors with new loans. Your business had a reputation for quality and efficiency, so most of Tradewind’s banks were more than willing to accept the gamble.”

That was why Will had been so insistent on taking that commission. Five thousand gold would have covered everything and then some. Marika would never have noticed a thing.

“Where… where did the original money go?” she asked.

“A mistress in Tradewind, from what I understand.” The words cut deeper than a dagger. “She had no idea you existed, if that can reassure you.”

It did not. At all.

“My husband tried to murder our son,” Marika whispered emotionlessly. She would have cried if she still had the energy for it. She didn’t have strength left for anger; only emptiness. “My entire village was wiped off the map. This… this is too much right now.”

Mr. Marcello’s eyes widened slightly, and a fleeting flash of sympathy appeared on his face. It lasted only a few seconds. Perhaps Marika imagined it.

“All institutions are made of men, Miss Lunastello,” the man said. “I think most creditors will waive away the debt once they learn what happened. I will do my best to lighten your burden. But your husband borrowed from a few disreputable people. Some of them will demand payment in full.”

Marika held her breath. “My son–”

“If all goes well, he won’t have to pay a single copper.”

He lied poorly.

It took three months of recovery and endless questioning before the priests agreed to let them go.

Beni hadn’t said a word since they left the hospital.

In fact, he hadn’t said a word since he woke up. The doctors said his throat and tongue worked perfectly; but he might remain voiceless for the rest of his life nonetheless. The wounds of the mind healed slower than those of the flesh.

Marika had to sell everything. Most of her tools, the house—it astonished her that Mr. Marcello found anyone willing to buy the forge; exorcists hadn’t yet managed to completely clean the Blight that took over Sleepy Hollow after the massacre—her savings, everything. She could only keep the clothes on her back, her sledgehammer, and tools to work.

True to his word, Mr. Marcello managed to reduce the debt to a fifth of its original amount; kind priests and strangers donated funds, including Will’s mistress. She even visited Marika at the hospital, professing her ignorance and giving away the jewels her lover bought her. Marika thanked her for the gift and prayed never to see her again.

Goodwill had its limits, however, and Will saddled his wife with hundreds of gold to pay back. The creditors agreed to a delay, but insisted that she sign magical documents that would allow them to track down her essence in case she decided to skip town like her ex-husband.

Lunastello, Marika had signed on the document. Never Costa. Never again.

Benicio squeezed her hand with a tight grip. Her son had grown paler in the hospital, his eyes alternating from staring at the ground to their surroundings. He reminded his mother of a rabbit searching for any hint of danger.

He still expects his father to jump out of the shadows and finish him off, Marika thought bitterly. Will is going to haunt us both for a long time.

He and Chastel were still out there, plotting and killing. A part of her wanted to go after them for revenge, but Benicio came first. She needed to find work, any kind of work. Her son would never go to a magical academy as she had hoped, but if she played her cards right, he wouldn’t have to suffer for his parents’ mistake.

So long as Beni lived, Marika would not give up. She would keep going. She would work, buy him toys, and do everything to make him happy. And then one day… one day, she might hear her son’s voice again.

That was all Marika wanted.

They need exorcists in Archfrost, according to Mr. Marcello, Marika thought as she and her son walked away from the church. The night was fresh and cool, as befitting the end of winter. I hope it’ll be spears and axes. I’ve had my fill of swords.

A flash of light illuminated the night.

Marika and her son froze in surprise as a spear of light arose in the west, setting the horizon ablaze. She immediately thought of the Chained Blade, but there was nothing ominous about that radiance. It inspired awe instead of dread.

“What the…” Marika held on to her son to protect him. The light came from distant Erebia, the holy land where the goddess once descended upon the world. “Could it be…”

The pillar of light vanished in a shockwave that shook earth and heaven alike. Over a dozen stars flew out of Erebia in its wake, a third shining like gold and the rest glittering like silver. The miracle amazed Marika, but not as much as the next scene.

For the first time since that terrible day, Benicio’s eyes widened in hope and wonder.

“Look, Beni!” Marika pointed at the lights. “It’s like the stories! The heroes are coming back!”

A silver orb flew in their direction like a shooting star. Marika wondered which mark it belonged to; and who would be the lucky winner.

When the star’s trajectory curved in their direction, she could only blink in shock. She raised her left hand–the one she once stabbed her own husband with–to protect her eyes from the radiance. A divine warmth enveloped her, stronger than a forge’s fire and gentle like a mother’s embrace. When the light died out, Marika found a silver hammer drawn on the back of her hand.

The Artisan’s mark.

Marika stared at it in mute amazement, her mind struggling to accept what her eyes saw. Such was the nature of miracle; even with the evidence in front of her, she simply couldn’t believe it.

But her son… her gentle son observed it with the most beautiful face Marika had ever seen. A look of pure amazement and childish wonder. The expression of someone who had witnessed a fairy tale come to life. He gazed up at Marika with the most wonderful things of all.

A smile.

That was the true miracle.