The Last Apprentice: The Dark Arts

Chapter VIII: Setting Out

We all woke up early the next morning and started getting our things ready for the journey to my brother's farm. While Grimalkin and Judd were still inside gathering their supplies, I stayed outside, already finished, and practiced throwing my silver daggers. I’d only started working with them not too long ago, but already I had far exceeded the expectations of both Judd and myself, contrary to what I’d previously thought a day ago. I was kind of a natural. Well, almost. I was still bad; that’s why I wanted to practice some more before we left.

As I continued throwing one silver dagger after the other, I started thinking about James, one of my older brothers. He’d gotten an apprenticeship to a blacksmith and had set up shop at my oldest brother’s farm where he currently worked.

In the past, I’d asked him to help us—us being the Spook, Alice, and me—on several occasions, which he’d eagerly accepted. Even whenever I’d asked him to help us fight the Fiend—the Devil himself—he’d come along with us. He’d been through a lot—enough, I’d say—but I needed the help. The whole County needed it. But I just felt so wrong even thinking about going to ask him to risk his life again. It wasn’t right.

But I had no choice. We were kind of short-staffed; there was no one else who could help us.

My thoughts started to drift towards Alice, and I quickly banished those. There was no way Alice would help us. It was very likely she was in league with the Alchemist. Alice was gone, lost to the dark. She would be no help.

After the final dagger left my hand and struck the tree at the edge of the yard, I decided that I should probably take a break. I needed some time to think for a bit, so I started walking.

With no destination in mind, I soon rounded the Spook’s house and came upon the lean-to.

I stopped, remembering something.

Kneeling, I pinched a blade of green grass and rubbed off what felt like dried crust. I held up the remnants of it, inspecting it.

Dried blood. Witch blood, to be exact. I looked inside the lean-to, towards the floor, and saw patches of long since dried blood—big and small—scattered about the floor.

Memories flooded into my mind.

This had all started when I’d first visited Pendle, where I'd start dealing with the witches there.

Later, in a nearby forest, I’d faced several witches. I’d captured one, capturing her with my silver chain that'd restrained her. Then another had appeared. I’d killed her.

Soon more witches appeared. I’d killed those too. Eventually, I’d returned to the Spook’s house with the captured witch in tow and had set her down in the lean-to, leaving to go find the local surgeon.

The next day, hundreds of witches, thousands, it seemed, had swarmed the gardens. In the fighting, I’d lost Kratch, the boggart, which had left the Spook’s house unprotected, and had come face to face with the Alchemist. That’s when he’d set his curse on me.

And that’s when I’d died.

In the afterlife, I saw my Mam. She encouraged me to live, to fight, again. I soon awoke, three days after the curse had begun, and had set to working on my plan for defeating the Alchemist.

All of that flashed before my eyes in a single instance. I blinked, staring blankly down at the lean-to’s floor. That witch had escaped. The one I’d captured. Why was her getting away striking me as so important? Was she somebody of value? Was I missing something here?

Searching through my memory, I found something. When I’d fought through the line of witches to get to her, I’d found her unbound from my silver chain. She’d uttered a spell at me, one that hadn’t had a single effect, or had done anything apparent. That one detail seemed important to me than all of the rest for some reason. Why, though?