Afterword

It was evening on Candlemere Island. After cleaning the dishes and putting them away, Marquand left his house and walked down to the dock to meet the monthly mail boat, which was scheduled to arrive this evening. With him he carried a package of letters for the outside world. In the twilight, he saw that the wisps were out, like fireflies. Over the years he'd come to terms with them, as had the small community of Erastil and Milani advocates that huddled along the bay.

With satisfaction he saw that the boat had just entered the bay. He'd arrived just in time, which was a good thing as he needed to rest before he greeted them. Ten minutes later he waited at the dock as the sailors tied up the ship.

“Hey, Little Bub,” he called to the postman as he stepped onto the dock.

“Marquand, brutha man!” They slapped hands. “We've got about eight boxes for you.”

“Do you have a boy to carry them home for me?”

“No man,” he laughed. “We got a real purty girl!”

“Oh, ah,” he looked up the ramp and saw a woman standing there observing them sourly, carrying a large carpetbag. “Hey, uh, Lily.”

She stalked down the ramp but wouldn't let him take her bag. “You know where to send my packages,” he called over his shoulder as he hobbled after her. “Lily!”

She stopped under the town's lone streetlamp. “I didn't know you were coming back this month,” he said.

“Of course I was coming back,” she replied, angry. “Especially when I heard about Junior's little hobby.”

“Oh, you mean climbing down under the tower into the center of the earth? How much trouble can he get into down there?”

She stopped walking to give him an incredulous look. “Rovagug? You've heard of him? The end of the world? One of the dozen or so places you can reach him?”

“Oh, Junior's got more sense than that.”

“Like his daddy? Like his uncle?” she spat furiously.

“I think so,” he replied, taking her arm. “Let me walk you home.”

“Don't you want to get back to your young delivery girl?”

“She'll wait,” he sighed.

The night was dark and there was only starlight to walk by, the road scarcely visible to their aging eyes.

“Do you ever think of the old days?” he finally asked.

“Oh, at night sometimes, when I can't sleep.”

“I feel like I've done so many things wrong,” he began. “Yet, I've managed to hand something off to the future that they'll be able to use.”

“Oh, Marquand,” she said with an exasperated tone. “You're a foolish old man.”

He laughed. “So, I haven't changed.”

“Not at all. Thanks for walking me home,” she patted his hand and went inside, stopping at the door. "Tell Junior to see me when he gets back."

"All right."

He waited until he'd seen that she'd lighted a lamp, and then he walked back towards town and a little tavern there called the “Monkey's Uncle.” There, he went through his mail, stopping when he came to a letter with familiar handwriting. Trembling, he tore it open and in the quavering light of an oil lamp and read:

Dear Uncle Marquand,
I can't tell you wonderful it was to hear that were you are doing well. Junior sounds like he's worse than Little Billee could ever be. Chrrllee says hi. We're still trying to train the rebels, you know how it goes. The Sodden Lands are, well, wet and I think we're going to move on as soon as our contract is up. There are many other—drier—places to carry the word of Erastil.

Tell Mom hi, and enjoy the coffee I sent.
I love you,
Pino

PS: Yeah, Chrrllee and I are married. There's no reason to put it off any longer. I'm hoping for a girl.

The old man sighed. Then went to the door, passing into the night, will-o-wisps lighting his way.