Chapter 3: The Mark’s Mocking Grin

The memories whirled in his head.

Half formed images: Forests he’d never seen. Towering old men standing on altars. Landscapes blasted by war and teeming with monsters. A floating mass of dark.

Scents came next: scorched meat. The rusty, sour stench of blood. Others he could not decipher. Then sounds completely alien to his ears: cries from beings that were neither mortal nor animal.

Time held no meaning.

His mind spun faster and faster, teetering on the edge.

And then, it was over.

The pain disappeared, leaving him gasping for breath as the golden glow dimmed, wavering like a candle in the dark. As soon as he could think again, his mind began to race. Confusion and fear threatened to overtake him, but he pushed it down.

“Think,” he gasped. “Adapt.”

He had a sinking feeling.

Your mother…she had a hard time bringing you into the world.

That’s what Mrs. Lu had said; maybe that meant his mother had taken a long time in labour birthing him. If so, then by law, he might have been eighteen by sunrise, but he wouldn’t have lived a full eighteen years until sometime late in the day.

Or, late at night.

And if he had really just passed into manhood, then logic would mean only one thing could have happened to him. Dread filled him. He didn’t want to look, but he had to. With a trembling hand, he reached up on his desk and fumbled for his knife.

It clattered to the floor.

Shaking, he picked it up and slowly hacked at the shoulder of his shirt.

“Please be nothing, but if it has to be something, please be The Sage, please be The Sage,” he muttered.

With one eye closed and one eye squinting open, he held up the knife to catch the reflection of his shoulder in the steel.

“No,” he gasped. Both eyes flew wide open.

Reflected back was a glowing mark. A Hero’s Mark, but not the staff of The Sage, nor the horned helmet of The Champion. What stared back at him was a mocking grin from the twisted face of a jester with bulging eyes and a belled cap on its head.

The blade fell from his fingers.

The Fool.

He’d worked so hard. He’d pushed himself to get into the greatest school of wizardry in the entire world. He’d lost his parents. He’d taken care of his sister. He’d endured a bully of a boss for more than a quarter of his life.

And for what?

Uldar had reached down from his ‘oh-so-mighty’ place above and branded him as The Fool?

“Oh go to hell,” Alex growled.

The rage hit him with full force. He stopped thinking.

Think. Adapt.

Think. Adapt.

Think. Adapt.

His mantra brought him back, but he had no idea how long he’d lain on the ground, throwing out every curse word at Uldar he’d ever heard. But, it was pointless: it wasn ‘t like the god was around to hear him. Only he heard his own protests.

And maybe that was a damn good thing.

“Okay.” He clutched the desk and dragged himself back to his feet. “Okay. Let’s think about this. Let’s think about what we know.”

His heart was thudding as he threw himself down in his chair. He wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.

“Okay. So. You got the Mark of the Fool. Worst mark you could get.”

He talked to himself; it helped him focus.

“That means some church officials are gonna drag me to the capital and make me fight monsters with a bunch of strangers. Each of them are gonna be hand-picked by Uldar and have damn crazy powers. So, where does that leave me?”

He needed to write this down. The glow of the Mark had faded until it was only a dull outline on his skin. He needed some light. Concentrating, he began constructing another spell array in his core to conjure another force ball.

Then his brain exploded.

Memories flooded him, cramming their way into his mind like wild dogs on a piece of meat. Every mistake he ever made while practicing magic came back along with every single setback and moment of frustration. They destroyed his concentration and the array began to twist.

“Ah shit!” he grabbed his head. The spell array warped. Panic surged through him: if the array formed with its shape so twisted, then the mana feedback might blast him unconscious. Even worse, the circuit might form wrong and make some wild magic erupt out of him. The image of blowing up the Lu’s inn and watching a second home burn down, nearly made him pass out in panic. He abruptly shattered the array before it could do any damage.

As soon as he let go of his mana, it all stopped.

He puzzled at the sudden silence.

“What the hell?” He slowly brought his hands down. “What was that?”

Frowning, he tried to speak words of power.

The flood returned.

Every mis-pronunciation. Every wrong word. Every stupid mistake he’d ever made shoved their way into his mind until his words were a stream of useless gibberish.

Grimacing, he stopped speaking. The flood stopped, leaving his mind calm. It took him a few moments to organize his thoughts. Then a terrifying possibility hit him. “Oh no…no, no, no.”

Quickly, he dug out one of his candles and lit it; when the tiny flame caught on the wick, he dragged a book from his bag and slammed it down on the desk.

A History of Our Heroes and their Opposition of the Ravener, by Finnius Galloway.

Alex flipped to the second appendix: each generation of heroes was listed with their originating towns, where they’d died, and their most important deeds. At the back of that was a definitive statement on what each mark did, compiled from the descriptions of multiple heroes of previous generations.

Alex flipped to the Mark of the Fool’s entry and began to read out loud:

“The Mark of the Fool is a useful, but pitiful mark. While The Champion is granted incredible strength, speed and the martial skill of all his predecessors, The Sage’s mana pool expands many times, and The Saint gains a divine connection to Uldar himself, the Fool gains no great gifts. In some ways, it is the opposite of the greatest mark: The Chosen. The mighty Chosen gains lesser versions of the three preceding marks and the ability to synergize them all, but The Fool gains nothing. In fact, the Mark of the Fool actively interferes with any action related to Combat, Divinity-”

“No, no, no.” Alex’s blood turned to ice.

“or Spellcraft-”

His words trailed off. Interferes with spellcraft!? He was going to Uldar-damned wizard university! He glared at the thing on his shoulder. The thin, glowing jester’s face seemed to cackle at him while it utterly destroyed his life.

Trembling, he forced himself to finish reading. If he didn’t, he might’ve lost his mind right there and then:

“-but in return, The Fool gains vastly accelerated learning of any skill unrelated to these areas. Thus, The Fool can become the Heroes’ guide through the wilderness, learn to operate watercraft, scout enemies, repair equipment (though they cannot craft great weapons), and take care of horses. Such things are needed on every adventure. Previous Fools have also become fine painters, jugglers, musicians and mastered other such skills. And yet many parties have defeated The Ravener even after their Fool has been killed, betrayed them, or is otherwise absent. Uldar, however, is infinite in his wisdom: Fools serve as the heart of the Heroes’ Party, which is perhaps why such marks find their way to young folk of good nature and good humour. Perhaps that is also why the deaths of previous Fools have motivated Heroes’ Parties like the deaths of no other members have. Thusly, even absent, a Fool can bring a Heroes’ Party to greater heights. If a Fool is reading this now, I encourage you not to despair, for though you might not be greatly rewarded by history, fulfilling one’s duty is a reward on its own.”

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“Yeah, that’s easy for you to say. I wonder how many of The Fools thought that Uldar’s wisdom was ‘infinite’, Mr. Galloway.” Alex slammed the book shut and shoved it away in disgust.

So that was it? Alex Roth: big brother, revenge enthusiast and future wizard forced into the role of nanny, clown and sacrificial lamb? No matter what he wanted to be before he got some Mark he didn’t ask for?

“Oh sure,” he muttered bitterly. “I’ll just give up my whole life so that writers can pity me, I might die and in the end they’ll just build a statue of me that makes me look like the guy parents think about when they tell their children not to talk to strangers.”

“And while I’m off risking my life, I’m abandoning Selina and giving up all hope of attending Uldar-damn wizard university! Wait, speaking of risk… let me check something.”

He dragged the book back toward him, flipping through the records of previous Fools and counting the amount of entries that read ‘disappeared’ or ‘tragically killed while-’.

He shuddered when he’d gotten to the end.