Ordinary Joe and the Mark of Four

After their torturous trek across the never-ending moorlands and the attack by the winged wolves in the forest, Joe was sure the Wastelands were going to be an improvement. He was wrong. It was cold and wet and made him wish he was dead. How he lasted three days in the mist soaked swamps he didn’t know, but he was sure he wouldn’t last three more. His fever was worse, and the weaker he became the more obstacles the wastelands threw in his path. On dry land he struggled but wading through the freezing water was like forcing his way through treacle. He barely had the energy to lift his feet. Thick vines covered with fat leaves rose from the mire, creating living archways over their heads, and gas bubbled up through the water; so putrid he had to breathe through his mouth to keep from retching. The sky was hidden by a blanket of overlapping leaves and their guide, Avis, was gone. Few creatures could survive the harsh environment of the swamps, Maven told him, and the unstable flashes of Majia would have killed her. He sent her away and Joe wished he could have gone too. Now they travelled blind.

Since Joe told them he could control the Majiak, Reece became unpredictable in his moods. That night he wrapped himself in his blankets and fell into a sullen sleep, though the next morning he was back to his old self, annoying Kinga with his awful jokes and pestering Maven for more training in the use of Majia. He carried Joe for most of the day, but by late afternoon his face darkened and he fell silent, leaving Kinga to support Joe and trudging behind. Joe tried to ask him if he was okay, but he shrugged, as he did at school when teachers tried to coax him back into class after he’d stormed out. Some nights he joined them for supper, but more often he took his food to his bed and ate alone. Maven suggested they give him space. No matter how brave Reece was trying to be, coming to Antigol was a shock, and he needed time to adjust to the new world. The only thing certain to break him from his black mood was the chance to practise Majia with Maven.

It was slow and painful work, Reece trying to keep the energy stable, watching it flow over his fingers with intense concentration, but often he would lose control and in a flash be on the floor, howling in pain with curls of smoke drifting from his hand. He was covered in burns, but he kept at it. Every time it knocked him from his feet, he got back up and started again.

Kinga watched with disdain. She begged Maven to let her leave. The Majia was hard enough to control in Antigol, but in the Wastelands it was torture to her. Even at the swampland’s fringes the white energy snarled around her. Her clothes were covered in small burns and in places it seared her skin, raising small white sores. She walked with her head down and her fists clenched tight at her sides, muttering grimly. When the wolves attacked she lost control again and only blind luck saved Joe from more serious wounds. Worse still she woke the Majiak and if Joe hadn’t found a way to control it they would all be dead. Maven listened to her arguments patiently but his answer was always the same. She made a pledge to the King to protect Joe, and besides, they needed her. She would have to control her power as best she could. She cursed and glowered at Joe. She hadn’t liked him much before, but now she knew he could control the Majiak she was furious he wanted to give it away.

“Avarat holds three,” she said, “But not control. He can.” She stabbed a finger at him accusingly. Since they met she made it clear she thought he was a fake and he totally agreed. But now she didn’t seem sure. Could she believe he was the chosen one who would stop Avarat? He could barely walk; what sort of hero was that? She was wrong, he wasn’t the chosen one and he didn’t belong in Antigol. He belonged in Cardenfield; this horrible place wasn’t his home. All he wanted was to find the King and give him Majiak. Let them fight without him.

On their first night in the Wastelands Joe barely managed to stay awake long enough to eat. The further south they travelled, the longer it took Maven to find them food and when he returned his catch was often small and barely edible. No-one complained; without it they would have starved. The grey frogs he plucked from the water tasted like meat jelly, but their plates were licked clean and they thanked him and the frogs for the meal; even Reece. Maybe it was his new connection to the Majia, but his attitude to Maven’s customs changed. Joe even caught him thanking the stream when they found water at the edges of the swamp, though it was little to be thankful for, and even after Maven boiled it up it still tasted like ink.

That night Reece joined them for supper. Maven told them they were close to the mines, though how he knew without Avis to guide them Joe didn’t know. No-one questioned him. They needed to believe it was true. Each day they travelled less distance than the last and before long they would have to carry him to make any progress at all.

“What are the dead mines?” Reece asked as they ate.

“Myth,” said Kinga, “Not real. Like Mire Lord.” It was amazing how much she knew about Antigol.

“Some people think it’s a myth,” Maven agreed, “Though I don’t. As for the Mire Lord, well he definitely exists.” Reece leaned forwards, his eyes eager. He loved to hear stories about the creatures of Antigol. Unlike Joe, he clearly never wanted to go home.

“What’s a Mire Lord?” Maven finished his meal and sat back against a tree. Amazingly he looked no different than he had in the Ice queen’s palace; his skin clean and not a hair out of place. Kinga looked the same as ever, hair tied back in a tight knot, and her skin spotless. Perhaps the Majia jumping around her burned away the dirt. Reece and Joe looked like cavemen. They washed in the swamp water as best they could but a terrible stink hung on them for hours afterwards and even a sweet smelling juice Maven squeezed from the bright yellow leaves in the undergrowth couldn’t mask it completely. Reece’s hair was wild, bits of twigs sticking out of it, and his clothes were caked in mud. Joe was no better.

“The Mire Lord is a creature of legend, as tall as these trees, and the deadliest beast in Antigol.” Maven smiled and Joe guessed he was exaggerating for Reece’s benefit. “It prowls these swamp lands and devours any living thing it finds.” Kinga tossed her plate down and shook her head,

“Just scary story,” she said, “See, he smiles.” Maven laughed,

“Well, alright, maybe not the deadliest creature, but a close second.” Reece leaned in, hanging on every word,

“What’s the deadliest?” Maven jumped up and pointed behind Reece in terror,

“That!” he screamed. Reece flipped around, tripping over his own feet and collapsed to the ground. Of course, there was nothing behind him. He turned back to Maven with a scowl,

“Idiot. That’s not funny!” Maven apologised, but soon made it up to Reece by agreeing to practise Majia with him. As usual Kinga went to her bed and sat in silence, watching the edges of the camp.

After finishing the meal Joe crawled into his sleeping bag and was instantly asleep .He woke several times through the night, covered in a cold sweat and shaking fiercely. The fire still burned, fed fresh wood through the night by Maven, but Joe barely felt its heat. He rolled, turning his back to the camp, with tears of frustration in his eyes. Get out he hissed, get out, get out, get out! But the Majiak ignored him, burying itself deep in the darkness, refusing his commands. It seemed afraid.

“Where is everyone?” Reece asked. It was early morning, and they had been walking for a few hours through the swamp. Thankfully they reached a part of the mire where dry land appeared more often and Maven led them from island to island, avoiding the icy water as much as he could. They travelled further than the whole of the day before. Eventually they came to a rise of land much wider than the others, and through the mist the walls of a settlement appeared; tall metal sheets fastened with wire and coated with black tar. It seemed deserted.

“Maybe the Mire Lord got them,” said Joe and Reece looked around nervously.

They entered the village through a large metal gate and made their way along its single street. The buildings were ramshackle and spattered with dirt, but the first shelter they had seen in weeks and Joe hoped they could stay for a while, if only to remember what it was like to have a home, a room; somewhere safe. Rags flapped in windows and loose metal panels clacked in the wind but there was no-one to be seen. At the end of the street they stopped before a larger building, bolted together from scrap like the rest, but somehow grander. The street curved past it into the mist, through which they made out the high curved walls of another building towering over the village.

“How many?” Maven asked quietly. Joe realised he was talking to Kinga whose bright eyes scoured every shadow.

“Twelve. More maybe.”

“Are they armed?”

“Bowmen.” Maven nodded and stepped forward from the group, raising his hands as if welcoming an old friend,

“Beil Flint?” he called out. His voice rang across the metal walls and echoed inside the empty buildings. From the rooftops all around figures rose, bows primed and arrows trained on the strangers in their village. Reece gripped Joe, helping him stay up, but he was starting to shake himself,

“Oh, I don’t like this,” he muttered, “Aren’t there any nice people in Antigol. Where’s the village where they give you chocolate?” He turned to Kinga, who tensed herself ready to move, “Spark’ em Kinga!” he hissed. She gave him a cold glare,

“No. Be quiet.” He ran his gaze across the rooftops,

“Fine ! Let ’em shoot us then!”

“You could glow at them,” Joe offered and Reece pinched his arm.

From the larger building a small bald man appeared. He raised a horn to his lips and blew it twice. The curtain hanging across the doorway drew back and a tall man stepped into the light, flashing them a broad smile.

“High lord Maven,” he said with a deep bow, “You haven’t visited us for a while my friend.” Maven looked round at the archers. Only Flint was smiling.

“I’ve been a bit busy,” he said. The King of the scavengers nodded thoughtfully. His eyes danced with amusement,

“Indeed you have! Word has it Avarat hunts the four realms for you and your young friends.” Joe closed his eyes and sighed. Avarat had eyes everywhere, even in this barren land.

“A misunderstanding,” Maven said with a smile.

“I am sure,” Flint said, “But I am asking, what profit would I make if I handed you over to him? Why, they might let us return to Hatriila, to live again like men.” Maven stepped forward, only a slight movement, and Kinga slipped quickly behind him, taking hold of Joe’s arm.

“This boy has the mark of four,” Maven said, “He carries the Majiak.” Flint’s smile wavered,

“Not for long by the look of him,” he decided, “Better to let Avarat have it. Then he might live to see his father.” Joe’s head snapped up and Flint smiled, “He paid us a visit; asked me to help you if you should chance by.”

“Where is he?” Joe cried, trying to push past Maven, but too weak to fight Kinga’s grip. Flint shrugged,

“Probably dead by now. The fool went into the mines.” Joe looked at Kinga, but she kept her eyes on the Scavenger King. Had she heard what he said? The mines were real. “He offered us our freedom,” Flint went on, “but I am thinking he hasn’t the gift to give.”

“If Avarat takes control of the final Majiak, you know the power he will hold,” Maven said, “He will enslave Antigol, destroy the world of the shades.” Flint gave a short contemptuous laugh,

“What concern is that of mine? We have nothing to lose here.”

“Do right,” Kinga snapped and the King eyed her suspiciously. “Not just for you. Not selfish.”

“Selfish?” he shouted back at her, “What do I owe Antigol? They abandoned us. Drove us out; left us to rot. What should I care if Avarat grinds the whole world to dust? We have already been ground to nothing!”

“I can control it,” Joe said, and though his voice wavered, it was loud enough to be heard. On the rooftops the guards shuffled uneasily. The place was suddenly quiet, as if even the wind held its breath at his words.

“Really?” Flint said, “Then why haven’t you cast it out. Clearly the power is killing you.” Joe grimaced, remembering how the Majiak sank away inside him when he called it. “Bring it out then. Destroy us all. Of course, it will take your companions as well.” He was right. Even if Joe managed to control the Majiak, there was no guarantee he could steer it away from his friends.

“You know the Prophecy Beil,” Maven said, “The bearer of four will save the two worlds.”

“The prophecy has no words for us,” Flint said, “We pay it no heed, though seeing the state of the boy, I am thinking its words may be true enough. I wager he will die today.” Joe looked at Maven,

“The prophecy says I die?”

“Haven’t they told you?” Flint laughed, “Such fine friends you have. It is the curse of the mark boy. The bearer of four will save the worlds but it will cost him his life.” Joe stared at Maven, who glanced at him with a look of guilt on his face,

“Nothing is certain Joe,” he said.

“Well, enough talk,” Flint decided and clapped his hands together, “Hand over the boy and I will ensure Lord Avarat receives him in one piece, though of course, it may be cold.” Kinga growled and flashed a look at Reece,

“Keep safe,” she hissed. Reece locked arms with Joe and nodded.

“I had hoped we could settle this without violence,” Maven said to the King.

“Often those outnumbered do,” Flint answered and waved to his guards, “Kill them, take the boy.”

The archers let loose their arrows into the street; a shrinking circle of iron in which they were trapped. Maven drew his wand in a flash and waved it in the air. The arrows were on them but at the last moment they splintered, falling away to the ground. A shimmering blue barrier surrounded Joe and his friends.

“It won’t last long,” Maven said, “Reece, take Joe, find cover. Kinga..” But Kinga was already gone. She slipped under the hovering shield and sprinted towards the King with her sword drawn back and her body low.

A second volley of arrows shattered against the shield, but already it was beginning to flicker.

“Go!” Maven shouted and then he too was moving, flashing his wand up at the rooftops and sending the soldiers flying into the mist. Reece half dragged Joe to the edge of the street, still open to attack from the archers on the roofs opposite, but at least shielded from those above. Another line of arrows bit into the ground where they had stood. Reece was pulling him towards an open doorway. Once inside they would be trapped, but it was safer than staying in the open. Joe forced himself to move. There was no pain in his chest, but now a different sensation burned inside him, warm and powerful. Maybe the Majiak was their only hope, but he held it at bay. Reece was closer than any enemy, and it would most likely attack him first. They reached the doorway, but before they could escape inside the heavy sheet hanging across it was thrown back.

A tall man, clad in ragged armour, stepped out in front of them, raising a long, dull sword. Joe stumbled, pulling Reece with him, and cried out. The soldier moved quickly, others spilling through the doorway behind him, and lifted his sword to strike at Reece.

A flash of silver lifted him from his feet.

The soldier flew backwards, cannoning into his comrades, and they tumbled back into the building. They would be on their feet in seconds, and Joe pushed Reece up, dragging himself to his feet by gripping the wall and hauling with all his strength.

His eyes tore across the street, trying to find Maven, who had surely fired the blast which saved them, but the Warlock was nowhere to be seen, only the still bodies of Flint’s soldiers lying in the dust.

Kinga left a trail of bodies in her wake and advanced on the King of the Scavengers. She moved less gracefully than usual, fighting to control the Majia crackling around her, but she was still incredibly fast and the soldiers foolish enough to step into her path quickly fell to the ground.

The sheet tore aside and the soldiers reappeared, red faced with anger. There was nowhere to run and Reece muttered quickly, trying to call the Majia to his fingertips. Nothing was happening. Suddenly Maven was at their side. He flashed his wand at the soldiers, sending them sprawling, and grabbed Joe’s arm.

“Time to go,” he said.

An arrow thumped into his back.

Reece screamed, letting Joe collapse against the wall, and ran forward to catch Maven as he fell. The sorcerer squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, fighting to stay on his feet, but the pain made him stagger. The arrow’s point jutted from his coat, dripping blood. Already the soldiers were back on their feet, cautious against Maven’s attack, but they would soon see he was wounded.

They needed Kinga, but she was locked in battle with Flint. He was fast, clearly a stronger swordsman than his soldiers, but still no match for her. She pressed forward again and again, driving him back, but he laughed, no sign of fear on his face. Then her sword flashed, finding a gap in his defences and she struck a deadly blow. Her sword cut through empty air. Flint was at her side, almost catching her with his sword, but she countered quickly and his face registered surprise and even a little admiration. Again she flew at him, feigning a lunge and then flipping her blade up to his exposed sword arm when he moved to block her. Again the steel cut through air. Flint had vanished. Kinga heard his laughter behind her but before she could turn his arm locked around her throat and pressed a dagger against the skin, drawing blood. Majia snarled around her worse than ever, biting into Flint’s flesh, but he bared his teeth and ignored it.

“Control your power little girl,” he hissed. For a second it looked as if she might fight, but the King spun her around to look into the street. A group of soldiers surrounded Maven, Reece and Joe, their swords raised, waiting for orders. Kinga sagged and let her sword clatter to the ground. Flint smiled but the dagger stayed against her throat,

“Good. A wise choice my little friend,” he whispered in her ear. He raised his head and called out, “A trade, the boy for her life.” Maven still held his wand and even wounded he could surely scatter the soldiers. But he lowered his weapon.

“Don’t!” Kinga screamed at him but Flint drew the blade tighter, sending blood trickling down her throat and choking off her voice. Suddenly Joe knew what he had to do. He stepped out from the side of the hut and began a slow, struggling walk towards the King. Reece made a move to grab him but was forced back by the soldier’s swords. Kinga struggled, ignoring the blade scoring her neck. Her eyes pleaded.

A howl, long and low, suddenly blew around them, rattling the walls of the buildings, and a deep tremor shook the ground. Behind Joe the soldiers moaned, stepping away from their prisoners and glancing around in terror.

“Hold your positions,” Flint roared, but his voice was nothing more than a whisper against a second long howl sweeping through the street. The soldiers stepped out from the shelter of the huts, backing away to the southern gate.

“The Mire Lord!” one of them cried out, “The Mire Lord comes!” Maven struggled to his feet and staggered over to Joe, taking hold of his arm. Behind them Reece slipped into the shadows along the edge of the street. The soldiers lost all interest in their prisoners, creeping back, swords limp at their sides, eyes scouring the mist. A third roar, louder and closer, broke them into a run. Flint cursed,

“Where are you going! Wait!” For a second he was distracted and it was all the time Kinga needed. Her fingers flung his arm aside and she scooped to grab her sword. The King was faster than she predicted and flashed his dagger down, too quick to be dodged. Reece cannoned into him with a scream, knocking the strike wide, though it caught Kinga’s side and she rolled into the dirt with a grunt. Reece was no fighter and the King flung him off easily, his face twisted in fury. He stepped forward with the dagger raised, and Reece felt his breath lodge like a stone in his throat. His fingers flexed.

There was a bright flash of energy.

Flint staggered back, blind, and Reece jumped at him. What he lacked in skill he made up for in effort. His fists flew, barely half hitting their target, but a lucky blow broke the dagger from Flint’s fingers. The man was still in a daze and Reece barrelled into him. Both lost their footing, and they fell, thrashing to the ground. For a few seconds they rolled in a knot of flying limbs, but Flint was easily the stronger, and with a roar he cast the boy aside and jumped to his feet. Weaponless, he clearly intended to squeeze the life from Reece with his bare hands but Kinga blocked his path, her thin, deadly sword raised. Another roar broke the silence, and he flinched. His left hand flicked across to his right, fingers searching and then he stared down in horror, for the first time looking afraid. He turned his hand over in front of his eyes and let out a moan. In a panic he dropped to the ground, searching in the dirt,

“Where is it!” he screamed. Kinga watched him in confusion.

At the edge of the village a large veil of mist darkened and the roar came again, almost upon them.

“Kinga! Here!” She turned at Maven’s call. At her feet the King scrabbled in the dirt. She stepped away, sword still pointing at him, and withdrew to her friends.

“I thought you said it was a myth!” Reece hissed at her, “It’s a bloody loud myth!” She rolled her eyes at him and looked to Maven. His face was pale and the arrow tip made the steel soften in her eyes.

“Hurt!” she whispered. Maven managed to smile,

“Doesn’t matter now, the Mire Lord is going to eat us anyway.”

Flint found his feet again, cursing. His eyes widened at the dark shadow pressing through the mist. He snarled at Maven,

“Farewell Warlock. Give my regards to the Mire Lord.” Then he was gone, slipping into the mists, and they were alone. Joe hung onto the wall, breathing heavily and looked over his companions. Maven was shivering, held up by Reece, and only Kinga was on her feet. They couldn’t run. Kinga glanced at the approaching shadow and dropped her gaze to Maven,

“I slow it. You go!” A roar crashed around them, forcing Maven to his feet. Before he could argue with her, Kinga turned and strode towards the mist. She stopped in shock.

From the grey swirl a figure emerged. One hand drew back a hood, revealing a woman, pale skinned with long dark braids hanging around her slender face. In her other hand she held a long, curved horn, which she lifted to her lips. When she blew, a deafening roar shook the buildings. She glanced around, checking for movement, then smiled at Kinga,

“Help your friends girl, and hurry. The scavengers will soon find the courage to return.”