Mark of the Fool 5: A Progression Fantasy Epic by J.M. Clarke

Author:J.M. Clarke [Clarke, J.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aethon Books
Published: 2023-10-10T16:00:00+00:00

The evening feast would be their last meal in Crymlyn Village, at least for now. And witches had clearly set out to give them a grand send-off.

Sturdy woven tables of magically animated woody vines called hadwovhas were placed in rows in front of the elder’s hall, well within sight of the standing stones in the centre of the village. Professor Jules had returned to the encampment—saying she would feel “like a sponge” attending a feast she did nothing to contribute to—and Carey was back at Generasi—not feeling great, which Alex could understand—everyone else had seats of honour at the largest table.

Unfortunately, the table had been positioned in such a way that it faced the symbol of Uldar emblazoned on the witches’ standing stones, a matter of pride for Elder Blodeuwedd. Her ancient eyes had crinkled with pleasure while she explained that they’d been placed in view of Uldar’s symbol in consideration of the guests’ faith in the god.

“Well, this is awkward,” Alex whispered to Theresa as the glyph—illuminated by bonfire light—sent an uneasiness seeping into everyone who’d visited Ffion’s cottage earlier.

Everyone, that is, except Baelin and Hart. The pair were thoroughly and enthusiastically enjoying themselves. They watched, loudly laughing and clapping at the witches’ displays of light and sound using illusionary magic. Conjured pixies fluttered overhead, spreading glowing dust through the air.

Musicians played stringed crwths and pibgorn pipes, while dancers performed ancient steps offering praise to the spirits in the land. Alex’s mood was subdued. On another day, he would’ve been joining Hart and Baelin, enjoying every new sight, sound, and magic the witches had to offer. Today was not that day; he wasn’t in the mood to celebrate. He simply tucked into his herbed fish, washing it down with a mug of elderflower and herbal brew set beside him.

The Heroes and Theresa did much the same while Brutus begged her and Alex for scraps.

Alex’s eyes drifted to Claygon standing nearby—silently watching—while the celebration continued.

The Thameish wizard’s eyes traced the damage on the golem’s body.

‘Cracks,’ he thought. ‘Just like the cracks in all of us now. Cracks in faith. Cracks in purpose.’

Looking around at the witches celebrating their lives and freedom, he wondered how they would react if they knew the truth. Would they think Uldar had given them a gift against their enemies? Would they think that he was in league with the Ravener? Would they think something else?

Such thoughts plagued Alex throughout the meal, and the more he wrestled with them, the more confused he became.

His eyes rested on Theresa. She was likely having similar thoughts. Her eyes were downcast, her face was pale, and she paid little attention to anything around her.

One of her hands hung by her side.

Alex squeezed it. “It’ll be okay,” he whispered. “We’ll figure this out.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Theresa whispered, meeting his gaze. “What… what if all of this is for nothing? What if we could’ve been rid of this thing generations ago, but the priests… or someone, or something else…

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