Epilogue
Everything had changed on that one fateful day, when the loveliest oracle announced Leon as a child born of the gods.
He was son to Apollo, she’d told him, and he would never have believed the message save for her insistence, and for the desperation he’d seen in her eyes.
Of course, immediately after that Leon had shot a horde of harpies right out of the sky, putting the demigod debate to rest before he’d even had a chance to doubt it.
So many things had happened so quickly on that day.
That pretty oracle was dead now, he remembered—slaughtered before his eyes.
Leon could still picture the acceptance of death on her familiar face, a face he’d grown up with and seen all his life.
She was the first, but not the last, of the blood that had spilled—that would spill—in his wake.
So many others had been taken alongside her, stolen together with the frivolous hopes and dreams he’d once entertained.
When the dust settled after the battle, Halieis hadn’t known what to think of him.
Sure, he’d delivered its people from their sudden attackers, but would the attack have happened at all if Leon had been far outside their walls?
The elders were right in saying that this outside was where he must belong for now.
Apollo hadn’t descended from the skies to claim him, so there was no telling whether Leon still bore a harpy-summoning curse, or whether he would attract other beasts to strike from the depths.
More terrors were not what the civilians needed, so he had accepted his city’s halfhearted praise and left his life there behind him.
His journey had been spent in years of roaming from place to place in search of understanding.
He’d explored his powers. He’d trained, he’d prayed, and he’d even pulled off heroic feats, but still no resolution had come to him.
Now, Leon was done messing around; it was time to force Apollo’s attention.
And an opportunity had arisen that could, just maybe, give him the chance he needed.
It was a lost legend that might wash all of his problems away, a story long protected: whispers of a gift of nature, supernatural and ever-moving.
Its location remained always illusory, guarded by enchantment, but Leon knew now that with the performance of the correct magics, the gateway to this sacred place could indeed be opened.
He knew because he had finally done it. He had broken the barrier and crossed the threshold.
In this spirited wood, in the hidden refuge of the nymphs and the naiads, grew a tree that was older than remembrance.
It was said that life itself flowed up from its roots, a font of the rarest magic.
Here, the nymphs collected this radiant power piece by tiny piece.
Over decades they waited, harvesting all they could, until at last there was enough gathered to craft the ultimate tonic, the medicine to cure all ills.
Panacea. And in a turn of favorable events, an ill-stricken lord of considerable influence had promised Leon his aid in return for delivering this poultice.
The trouble, of course, was that this grove had been expertly concealed, and just making it this far had already caused him no small amount of trouble.
The cuts and bruises that covered his skin were a testament to his hardship.
But perhaps his path was clear at last, because he had finally found his way to the very heart of this enchanted place.
Only a curtain of hanging leaves blocked his way.
He reached out a hand and brushed it aside.
A clearing opened up before him, ringed by the vibrant greenery of even more silent trees.
And right ahead, across the stepping-stones of a small pond, he spotted the base of a massive tree trunk.
It was enormous in circumference, and so tall that he could only see a few branches of its lowest-hanging foliage before the rest was obscured by the canopy of the companion trees that grew nearby.
The only leaves he could see from the main branches shone like silver-painted greenery, radiating with obvious power.
Leon came to the edge of the pond and began to traverse by way of the flat stepping-stones.
He had never been especially in tune with nature, but even he had to admit there was a captivating beauty to this place.
Too bad it was still somewhat creepy, as he was fairly sure that some of the trees were watching him approach.
The soft breeze that blew through the clearing whispered hints of almost-words.
Arriving at the opposite side of the pond, Leon had only a short way to go before he would reach the base of the great tree.
On his approach, he saw that a figure awaited him near one of its gigantic twisting roots.
At a closer look, he recognized it to be a dryad: a tree spirit.
This one was humanoid in silhouette, but its body was composed of bark, moss, and leaves that had twisted into the shape of a man.
It had no proper eyes or mouth, yet Leon was nevertheless certain that the spirit was watching him.
He gritted his teeth, gathered his courage, and walked up to converse.
“Welcome, young pilgrim,” the dryad said. The voice that came from within its bark was that of an old and understanding man. “You have done well to reach our grove. Surely your spirit is relentless and undeniable. Tell me now: for what purpose have you come?”
Leon took a deep breath. “Thank you,” he said carefully. “I have journeyed here from afar to take of this magic, to retrieve from you the poultice which cures all ills.”
“I see. And what would you do with this power, were you to receive it?”
“I would bear it to the Lord of Sunderlin, that he might be made well again. His recovery is of paramount importance,” Leon stressed. “He is a good man, and this a just cause.” With any luck, he wouldn’t be made to beg.
“A worthy goal,” the guardian responded gently. “But though that may be, its merit cannot change the fact that you are too late.”
“What do you mean?” asked Leon, a sickening feeling gathering in his stomach.
“I mean that the draught of life is gone from here, for you are not the first in recent memory to arrive seeking its power. Another has claimed the gift before you, and thus many years must pass before the magics can coalesce once again. Maybe come back in forty? That will probably do it.”
“Forty?” Leon gasped. “No—no, that can’t be true.
No one else could know how to make it here, I’m certain of it!
I mean, I communed with the satyrs for a year before they let me in on their secrets, and even then they did not know the way!
No—who could possibly have made it here before me?
” The pitch of his voice rose as his resolve edged ever closer to panic.
“Does it matter who it was?” the dryad asked him. “Truly, I regret to hear of your troubles, young pilgrim, but the boon that you seek is now gone from this place.”
But Leon shook his head, still disbelieving.
“There was never any news of its discovery or its use, nor reports of any miraculous recovery! Even the spies of the great cities have never heard of such a happening—and I know, because I spoke with them! If the medicine is gone, why has no one heard about its effects?” He was starting to babble now, for despite all the troubles he’d already been put through, the thought that he wouldn’t be the first to arrive was one he’d somehow never even considered.
No, he told himself: it couldn’t be true.
He had endured great pain to steal the enchanted map from a nigh-impenetrable vault, where it had been collecting dust for centuries.
He was certain that no living man could be privy to the precious directions he’d found and deciphered there.
Besides, even if someone had made their way to this place, Leon had just fought through the terrifying trials of a hostile magical forest, and that, he was sure, was a feat only a demigod could manage. Shit—were there other demigods around?
“No way,” he repeated. “Who claimed it? Who was here before?”
At this, the gatekeeper offered a grunt of quiet sympathy. “Death flew the gauntlet some years ago to claim its prize,” it explained. “Thanatos,” it clarified further, in response to Leon’s baffled stare.
“What? Why the fuck would Thanatos need this?”
“His favorite mortal got punched in the face, I think.”
“What?”
“He could not stand for her to hurt, even over so tiny a thing,” the dryad said, chuckling softly. “Immortals, am I right? They do all sorts of stupid things for love.”
Leon’s chest tightened. Rage bubbled beneath his bewilderment, and he clenched his fists to contain a more vulgar outburst. “That’s what it was used for?” he demanded. “To patch up some random girl’s face?”
The guardian shrugged and let out another short laugh. “Well, I heard he married her, so I’d imagine the trouble was worth it for him.”
“…Fuck!”