Maebus and the other escapees had ridden through the night and were now a significant distance from the castle. Arriving at the gentle waters of the Northwest River, they stopped along its edge, allowing their horses to drink. It was nearly morning now, and the sun was filtering its first rays of light over the tips of the mountains, casting a golden illumination across the banks of the river. So far, no one from the Legion had pursued them into the night. Perhaps the Warlord felt it unnecessary. Such arrogance.
While washing his hands in the river water, Maebus noticed Fable sitting upon the shore nursing her wounded head. The rock that hit her had left a large purplish bruise on her temple. He quickly dried his hands on his robe and wandered over to help the injured woman.
“How’s your head?” he asked, placing a comforting hand on her arm.
“Not so great,” Fable replied. “It’s pounding and I feel dizzy.”
“I can help you with a healing spell,” Kelm said, joining them. Maebus stepped back as Kelm pressed a hand upon the wound and began meditating.
Instantly, Fable smiled. “Thank you. That’s already starting to feel better.”
“The injury isn’t as bad as it looks. But you’ll still want to take it easy for a day or two.”
Fable nodded, yet her smile faded. Sitting upright upon the ground, she ran her fingers slowly through her hair as her eyes suddenly began to tear.
Maebus stood silently, as Kelm gently touched her cheek.
“I know why your soul is burdened,” Kelm said to Fable.
“No ... no, I don’t think you do,” she replied, staring into his eyes and removing his hand from her face.
Kelm bit his lower lip. “I’m sorry if my comment was a bit insensitive. I only meant that I sympathize with the pain you must feel right now. I know how it feels to lose your home. But, no one but an Archivist could truly understand the significance of what was lost in the fire.”
Fable grabbed Kelm by the hand. “Dear friend, it’s not the loss of my home that pains me at this moment, for I still possess its vast collection within my mind. However, I dare say it is the magnitude of our current situation that troubles me. For we’ve lost the Realmsic Crystal and are now in dire straits.”
“Indeed,” Maebus said, approaching them. “But thanks to Leoden, we’ve managed to escape imprisonment.” He turned briefly to acknowledge the young warrior who stood alone by the water’s edge several feet from them. Leoden looked up, giving Maebus a weak smile.
The King continued, “While I sincerely appreciate our good fortune, I must also remain objective. Despite being free, we haven’t escaped the Warlord’s wrath. As Fable stated, we are indeed in a much worse situation. The one hope we had of defeating Damian is now in his very possession.
“Our Council, who now hides near the Hellish South Plains, will inevitably be found and captured—if they haven’t already. Our army—those who survived the first battle—has been dispersed throughout the Realm, waiting for a signal that, at this point, may never come. And we, having escaped Damian’s clutches, are powerless against him. We’ve no plan, no weapons, no course of action. We’ve lost.”
Maebus could tell by the perturbed expressions of Fable, Normandy, and Kelm that his words hit them hard and heavy, perhaps more so coming from the Realmsic King. But Maebus was drained, both physically and mentally. He’d grown sick to his stomach of the emotional highs and lows they’d endured over the past weeks, and he could take it no longer.
Kelm seemed to rebound quickly, replacing his hunched shoulders and long frown with a straight back and hopeful gaze. “Come now, we must maintain hope,” he said.
“Hope is my enemy,” Maebus quickly snapped. He watched Kelm’s head drop disappointedly upon hearing his words, yet he continued. “Hope fills me with false notions. It distorts my perspective of reality.”
“But it also shows you what reality could be,” Kelm interjected, keeping his eyes low towards the ground.
In addition to his hope, Maebus was beginning to lose his patience with Kelm.
“What reality could possibly exist other than this hell? We still have no resources. We still have no plan.”
“Actually ... that’s not true,” Fable suddenly said. She swiftly rose from her spot on the sand to address the group. “Our initial discussion in the Ancient Lands was to locate the Hero of Legend. You yourself said it would be advantageous to search the remaining ancient ruins for clues. I see no reason for us not to continue pursuing that direction.”
Fable’s words further infuriated him. “No,” he began, “I’ll not gamble what little opportunity there may still be on a vague, speculative, two-thousand-year-old prophecy!”
“But Maebus, you said it yourself. We have nothing else!” Kelm sharply stated.
• • • • •
From a distance, Leoden watched the exchanges between Maebus and the others. He sat by himself, still in utter disbelief over what had transpired. Kings. Wizards. Warlords. “What have I gotten myself into?” he muttered to himself.
He walked further away along the shore. Kneeling down by the water’s edge, he removed his soiled shirt. He washed it thoroughly, quietly ignoring the raised voices.
“Leoden!” Someone shouted.
Immediately, he lowered his shirt, turned and found Kelm nearly sprinting towards him. Leoden was unsure what to do. Had he done something wrong? Was he supposed to be listening and contributing to their discussion?
“Young man, how did you get that tattoo?” Kelm panted, stopping just before him.
Leoden shook his head, “What tattoo?”
The Wizard jerked suddenly, surprise widening his eyes. “The one on your back,” he pointed.
Leoden’s face scrunched. “I’m sorry, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve never gotten a tattoo.”
Kelm’s excited smile was replaced with a vacant expression. After thinking for a moment, he asked, “Does your village brand a symbol upon its warriors?”
Leoden slowly shook his head again, beginning to feel uncomfortable. What on earth is he talking about?
Fable suddenly gasped. Quickly, she joined them, followed by Maebus and Normandy.
“Leoden,” she said excitedly, “I can assure you that there is indeed a branding of some type upon your back. Would you mind please turning around so I can see it better?”
He shrugged and pivoted on the ball of his foot. Staring out over the water, he listened to the others as they analyzed whatever they thought they saw on his back.
“I can’t believe it,” he heard Kelm exclaim.
“Believe it!” Fable replied in a high pitch.
What was she so excited about?
“Are we really staring at...” Kelm paused, unable to get out his next words.
“Yes ... it certainly is,” she responded.
Leoden giggled as Fable’s thin fingers unexpectedly touched his back, the tips seeming to trace over some kind of pattern.
He’d had enough of the suspense. “What’s going on?”
“Young man,” Fable began. “Upon the length of your back, you have a tattoo. It’s called the Mark of the First Wizards.”
“The mark of the what? How’d it get there?” He pivoted back around to face them.
“I honestly don’t know how it got there,” Fable replied. “But it’s right there.”
“I’ve never seen a mark on my back, and no one has ever told me of it. What does it look like?”
Kelm took a half step forward, his smile as wide as a child given a gift. “It’s a large triangular shape made of several smaller triangles. This is incredible! I’ve only seen the symbol illustrated in books.”
Normandy shook his head, “I don’t see it.”
“Neither do I,” Maebus added.
“Really? It’s right here!” Fable spun Leoden around again, and outlined the contours of the design with her finger once more.
“Obviously, I can see it,” Kelm said. “But why can’t anybody els
e?”
Fable rubbed her chin, then her wounded temple. “My goodness, it’s a magical mark! Meaning that only Magicals can see it. Leoden, that would explain why you never knew it was there. If I’m remembering your village’s history correctly, Cyperus is Laymen. So in your village, there was nobody who could see it!”
The young man was unsure how to respond. All of you, gather around, I’ll draw the mark here in the sand for you to see.”
With her finger, she began sketching the image in the soft sand of the shore. Each person stared curiously as she worked. Upon completion, she smiled.
“Behold, the Mark of the First Wizards!”