Ordinary Joe and the Mark of Four

Wounded and weak, driven from the Scavenger’s village by the threat of their return, they had no choice but to follow the strange woman into the swampland. She examined Maven’s wound and broke off both ends of the arrow, leaving the splintered shaft where it was, until she had the tools to treat it properly. Though wounded, Maven regained some of his former zeal and kept pace with their rescuer through the mist. Reece and Kinga followed close behind, carrying Joe between them, wondering who the mysterious stranger was and why she saved them from Flint and his soldiers. She slipped silently through the swamps, reminding Joe of the way Kinga moved through the landscape of Antigol. Not once had she led them into the icy waters, guiding them from island to island, stepping carefully across pathways hidden in the mist. Finally they came to a vast lake filled with thick thorny bushes, barring their path.

“Step where I step,” she said, and picked her way carefully across the water’s surface. Her feet seemed to float on the lake’s surface, and they followed nervously, winding through the maze of thorns, until it parted like an optical illusion, revealing a pathway to dry land. It was littered with bones and skulls, tall coils of thorny vines blocking the way forward like barbed wire, but again she led them safely through the labyrinth, until they arrived before a thick, wooden door.

“Welcome honoured guests,” she said, “You are the first to visit my home.”

The woman’s hut was small but blissfully warm and Joe felt the ice in his blood begin to melt. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt real heat; Maven’s campfires offered only enough warmth to keep them from freezing to death. The room danced in the flickering orange light of the hut’s fire, burning brightly in a hollow in the far wall. Above it hung a strange metal bowl, like an upturned witch’s cauldron, from which dozens of small metal pipes spread out across the walls and ceiling like fat veins. Tiny jets of steam escaped from their joints. Cluttered shelves, bowed with bric-a-brac, hung from the pipes and many pots brimming with vegetables and fruit were strung from the ceiling. A low table took up most of the floor, piled with books and papers.

The woman led Joe to a small cot at one edge of the room and helped him onto it, covering him with a thick blanket. The others sat against the walls, tension slowly easing from their aching muscles.

Joe sank into his bed, feeling like he might cry at the sudden comfort. After nights curled in his sleeping bag on the cold hard floor of the Wastelands, he would gladly have pledged his life for another five minutes.

The woman sat Maven against the table, clearing a space to work, and warmed some water over the fire. Joe couldn’t watch when she pulled the arrow’s shaft from his shoulder and he shuddered at Maven’s groans. She washed the wound and prepared a paste from a selection of colourful leaves, thankfully mashing them in a bowl instead of chewing them in her mouth like Kinga. After applying the paste she fastened it over with a long bandage. Eventually she sat back to admire her handiwork and gave a satisfied nod.

“Thank you,” Maven said, “We owe you our lives.” She shrugged,

“Not for the first time. I suppose you’re all hungry.” Their eyes lit up at the mention of food and she smiled, pulling a long bow from a hanging rail. “Stay here, you will be safe enough. I will find you some supper.” She reached up and unhooked a hanging basket of long yellow vegetables; tossing it to Reece. “Make yourself useful and chop those while I’m gone.” Reece scrabbled to stop the basket spilling its contents all over the floor and nodded dumbly. “I won’t be long,” she said, the door closing behind her, and she was gone. All eyes turned to Maven and Reece said what they were thinking,

“Who the hell is she?!”

The woman’s name was Petraya Eyrie Jok’Lik, the first born child of King Ferrand Jok’lik, ruler of the Kingdom of Lotun. At first, looking around the battered hovel, they thought Maven was joking but he insisted it was the truth. Petraya, no matter how she looked, was a Princess, second in line to the throne of Lotun; though a decade had passed since she last saw her homeland.

Her father, known to many as Ferrand the Wide, on account of his constant feasting and impressive girth, was a popular King and his subjects a happy people; glad of the years of peace Antigol enjoyed since the Parting. Lotun was prosperous, its people devout to the Majia, and with his Queen, Joga, the King enjoyed a reign free from the trials of war.

As a young girl, Petraya was adored by her parents, but it was well known the King longed for a son to succeed him on the Throne. Soon she had a brother, Prince Herge Guttrard Jok’Lik, and from the day he was born she found herself caught in his shadow.

The King paraded his son wherever he went and though Herge was well liked by the citizens of Groll, they loved his sister more. She had her mother’s beauty and grace, but also her father’s charm and joy for life, where Herge only seemed to inherit his father’s appetite and soon had a belly to match.

Although his father provided him with the Kingdom’s finest tutors, Herge struggled with his studies, and even the King’s finest blades failed to raise his skill with a sword. Practicing in private, with hired swords from the village, Petraya had the better arm. Herge, to his father’s immense relief, was at least a capable bowman, but privately the King’s archers knew Petraya had the better aim.

Though the King knew nothing of his daughter’s prowess, Herge was not blind. He would often challenge her to duels, and though she refused to save his embarrassment, he pestered her more, taunting her until in a temper she agreed. She always won.

“It’s because you’re older,” he sulked, though the difference was only three years, and ran to his father, complaining about his sister’s meanness. Often the King scolded her and sent her to the Queen to be punished. The Queen was wise to her son’s tantrums and the punishment would usually consist of lying on her bed eating strawberries and cream, listening to her mother read tales from her favourite books. Petraya loved stories of knights and beasts and captured Princesses, though she would often jump from the bed in anger,

“Why doesn’t the Princess have a sword?” she would shout, waving a pretend sword in front of her, “She could stab the dragon herself and keep all the gold!”

The Queen would laugh at her and shake her head,

“You are a princess Petraya, and one day you will be Queen to a neighbouring Kingdom, or the wife of a Lord. Ladies do not swing swords or shoot bows. They tend house, look after the children and manage the home. Your husband will be your protector, you will have no need of a sword.”

Petraya grumbled. She didn’t need protecting, she could fight for herself. She listened to her mother’s stories without argument but continued her training in secret.

By the time Petraya was thirteen, the King had carried the Majiak for twenty five years and the burden pressed heavily on him until he no longer had the strength to bear it. That summer he announced his intention to pass on the rule of Lotun to his son and with it the power of the Majiak. Petraya was furious. Her brother would not rule as well as her. In every aspect she was the better choice and she knew the people would support her as Queen, but it was custom across the four realms for succession to fall to the King’s male offspring. Petraya knew her brother had neither the wits nor the strength to take her father’s place and she feared for the realm, praying her father would always be there to counsel him.

When Herge was crowned and her father passed the Majiak to Lotun’s new King, the city held a week-long festival of feasting, with music and dancing filling the streets. Petraya tried to be happy for her brother but couldn’t bear the smug satisfaction on his face when she caught his eye and realised she had to leave Groll. Herge was surrounded by fawning toadies, who agreed with everything he said and thrust papers before him which he signed without a glance. In truth he was ruler in name alone, partly because he lacked the skill, but mainly because he didn’t care. Luckily, the Kingdom did not require him to make a single decision and for a while everything continued as it always had.

Sadly, as Petraya feared, a time came when the King needed the strength and wisdom he lacked, but there was no-one he could turn to for counsel. His father had grown ill over the years and spent his days in the palace gardens, where the Queen would keep him company until he retired to bed.

News arrived of a terrible tragedy in the Kingdom of Hatriila. The King, having fallen gravely ill, passed the crown to his son, Prince Avarat, but the ceremony did not go as planned. The Majiak, destined to be held by the King’s eldest son, buried itself instead in the youngest, Prince Joh-len, a child of three. Avarat stormed from the castle, accusing his father of denying him his right to the throne and vowed he would one day return to claim his birth right.

Not long after, the Warlock Kozane arrived in Lotun, an emissary of the Council of Twelve, once advisor to King Caldor of Hatriila, though now he spoke for Lord Avarat. He spent many long nights in the Palace discussing his master’s plans and offered Herge a part in the coming fight to reform the Majiak and oppose the world of the shades.

When Petraya heard of Kozane’s purpose, she begged her brother to be careful, warning him Avarat could not be trusted, but Herge scoffed at her advice. If anything his sister’s opposition pushed him closer to joining with the vengeful Prince. Avarat commanded a vast army, soldiers loyal to Majia and fearful of the threat from the World of the Shades, and he pledged their support to Lotun, with the promise of a place for Herge in the new Antigol he would create. In return, all he asked was to rule.

On the day Avarat became King of Lotun and took the Majiak from Herge, Petraya left the Kingdom for good. She journeyed alone, for many months, and exiled herself in the Wastelands.

“Did you know she was the Mire Lord?” Reece asked.

“I had my suspicions,” Maven said with a smile.

“But she didn’t really kill people like the stories said did she? She didn’t eat anyone?”

“I doubt it. It’s possible if they annoyed her enough. But, no, there are plenty of predators in the swamps. Most likely she just took credit for it. To keep people away.”

“How do you know her ?” Joe asked, “She said she’d saved your life before. What did she mean?” Maven gave this some thought,

“That story, she can tell you herself,” he decided.

When Petraya returned, they sat in silence, not knowing what to say. It was if they were all trying to look normal but be respectful at the same time. Joe almost burst out laughing at Reece, who sat bolt upright, as if sitting to attention. Petraya dropped a bundle of fresh carcasses on the table,

“You’ve told them then,” she said. Maven nodded and she shrugged, “Now you know.” She pointed at the fresh meat, “I caught it, you can cook it. Agreed?” Maven agreed and called Reece over to help. The creatures, which reminded Joe of rabbits, were plump and healthy looking, except for being dead of course. It was more food than he had seen since the forests of Junn.

Petraya left them to it and stepped over to Kinga, sitting scrunched against the wall, her arms wrapped around her knees. The Majia sparked on her skin, calmer than it had been for days, though crackling erratically. Petraya knelt and carefully took hold of one of Kinga’s hands.

“It’s alright,” she said, “Let me see.” She examined the Majia carefully, letting the sparks dance across her own fingers, where the fattest sparks reddened her skin. “I’ve heard of this,” she said letting the hand fall, “In the shade world, you could use the Majia?” Kinga’s eyes widened in shock.

“Yes,” she whispered, “How did… how know?” Petraya smiled,

“A man I knew, a long time ago, claimed he visited Earth and used Majia there. He was amazed, as was your friend Maven. No-one had managed to use it before.” Kinga glanced over at Maven, her lips thinning angrily, but she clearly wanted to hear more from Petraya, and Joe pitied the Warlock when she confronted him . How could he have known of another like her on Earth and not told her?

“He found the Majia hard to contain,” Petraya said, “Sometimes it would escape and hurt those around him, and even when he commanded it, it often broke from his control. For a long time he vanished, thinking he was too dangerous to be around others, and I did not see him until many years had passed.” She took Kinga’s hands again, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of her, “When he returned, the Majia was gone.” Kinga’s face flushed with sudden excitement,

“How?” was all she could say, her voice, often cold and unemotional, suddenly thick with hope. Petraya squeezed her hands and shook her head,

“Don’t get too excited, it wasn’t really gone.” She carried on, despite the crestfallen shadow falling over Kinga’s face, “He found a way of burying the power inside; a way of focusing his mind and controlling the Majia.”

“Where is he?” Kinga blurted, “Could help!”

“Sorry,” Petraya said, “That was a long time ago. I haven’t seen him for years. There were rumours he left Antigol for good, returned to the shade world. Others said he headed to the Northern Territories to die. Whatever the truth, there has been no sight of him since before I left Lotun.” Kinga’s face was a mask of dismay but Petraya laughed, “I could teach you some of his tricks, if you’d like. In Lotun, when my fool brother became King, I saw him often. I think he knew how badly I was hurt by Herge’s crowning and he taught me ways to suppress my anger. They were the same techniques he developed to keep the Majia at bay. Interested?” Kinga nodded fiercely, grinning happily. Joe had only ever seen her teeth formed into a snarl. She was almost pretty.

Maven and Reece prepared a delicious smelling stew, bubbling in a heavy pot above Petraya’s fire, and they sat at the edges of the room, trying not to drool. Their host sat with Kinga and though Joe didn’t understand what they were doing, the methods Petraya taught her caused the Majia to fade. Waiting for the meal to cook, Maven sat beside him, offering a mint from a nearly finished packet. Joe took one, though he was still angry.

“He said I would die,” he said, remembering Flint’s laughter and the prophecy’s dire forecast. Maven sucked on his mint, his face unreadable, and when he answered his voice was cold and firm,

“The prophecy is vague Joe. It has been copied from scroll to parchment and back countless times since the Parting. It is clearer about some matters than others. I believe it will be proved accurate about the reunion of the King with his blood.”

“Avarat’s his blood too. Maybe it means him.” Maven shook his head,

“No, it refers to the holder of a mark, your mark, as the bearer of four. Some say it refers only to the mark, but others believe you will bear the four Majiak. On this point though, the prophecy is true, you are the chosen one. Of that I have no doubt. You will restore the Majiak and make it whole.” He stopped, his face clouding with doubt,

“What is it?” Joe asked, “What else does it say?”

“There is a single line, one over which even the Council cannot agree. Not long before the end of the text, the prophecy foretells

The holder of four, worlds destroys, and with it, themselves.”

Joe couldn’t think why they disagreed. Its meaning was clear.

“So I am going to die,” he said dropping his head. Maven’s voice lost its steel and he rubbed his hands together,

“Well, I hope not. Who would do your paper round?” Joe half smiled but he could feel the warmth coiling deep inside his chest, listening to their words. Would he truly bring the four Majiak together and be paid with death? He ignored it and looked over at Kinga and Petraya. Amazingly the Majia, once fierce and untamed about her flesh, faded to bare sparks.

“Kinga told me she killed her parents,” he whispered, “Is it true?” Maven popped another mint into his mouth and scowled at the empty packet.

“That story is Kinga’s to tell, should she ever want to. She was just a child, no older than you were when sent to Earth. It was an accident, but she cannot shake the guilt. No doubt Petraya has told her about the other who could use Majia on Earth.” Joe tried to keep his face blank but Maven smiled at him, having seen the answer in his face. “Oh dear, well, I’m in trouble then.” His eyes grew stern and he leant close to Joe’s ear, “Keep her secret safe. Avarat would be very interested in her ability. He longs to use Majia on Earth. If he found her, he would stop at nothing to discover how to use it himself.” Every answer sprang new questions and Joe had more to ask, but Maven leant back and closed his eyes. He decided to let him rest. Besides, from the feverish look on Reece’s face, sniffing the pot and stirring the stew, it was time to serve dinner.

The food was delicious and there was enough in the pot to refill their plates again and again, until they were filled to bursting.

“I saw your father,” Petraya told Joe, “The Scavengers took him as far as the broken gate, into the dead mines.” Joe had a thousand questions he wanted to ask, but he struggled to find the right one. Petraya saw the eagerness in his face,

“He looked well enough,” she said with a smile, “He had a tough looking companion with him, a woman. She seemed to be guarding him, though I only saw them briefly.” Maven said nothing, though his eyes flashed at the mention of the woman. For a second Joe thought it might be his mother. Had she escaped from Hatriila and found his father?

“A young woman, Grollian from the look of her,” Petraya said, “They entered the mines, and the scavengers withdrew. I have not seen the King since.”

“We need to go to him,” Maven said.

“The mines are suddenly very popular,” Petraya said, “I have been inside, once, but I wouldn’t relish a return. There’s something strange about the place. Something unnatural.”

“Would you at least show us where it is?” Maven asked, “We need to reach the King as soon as possible. Beil Flint may have lost Joe but he will still be rewarded for information. Avarat will know we are here before long.” Petraya looked at Maven, finished her food, and finally rolled her eyes,

“Very well, I will take you there you old fool. But don’t blame me when the miners take you.”

“Miners!” Reece spluttered, “There’s people in there?!” Petraya leered at him, raising her fingers into claws like a beast,

“Not people! Things!” He jumped back and she laughed, “Things that live in the walls.”

When they finished eating, Maven helped Petraya clear away their plates and Joe returned to his bed. Although tired, the meal eased his aches and he leaned back against the hut wall with a smile. Reece joined him, sitting at the edge of the bed, and for a while they were silent, feeling full and satisfied. Petraya sat with Kinga, practicing her meditation, and Maven drew up by the fire, resting against the warm pipes.

“Sometimes,” Reece said in a low, nervous voice, “Sometimes I hear a voice.” Joe turned to him, startled.

“What kind of voice?” A flush rose to Reece’s cheeks and he wrung his hands, finding it hard to speak,

“It tells me to run,” he whispered, “That I shouldn’t be here. I Don’t belong. I’m not a hero like you.” He kept his eyes on his feet. “It tells me I’m nothing.” Joe leaned closer,

“I hear it too.” The relief was clear on Reece’s face,

“Really!”

“It tells me I’m going to die. That everyone is lying to me.”

“Who is it?” Joe thought of the sneering, cold voice. A man’s voice, but not one he recognised. He’d always thought it was his imagination, the sound of his own fear, but if Reece was hearing it too...

“What are you two whispering about?” Joe snapped his head up and Maven smiled, though his eyes were suspicious. Reece looked at Joe, not sure what to say.

“We were wondering if there was anything for pudding,” Joe said and Maven found some strawberry laces in the pockets of his coat. They didn’t really have any appetite left at all, but ate them anyway. Later Maven took Reece outside to practise his Majia and Joe was left alone.

HE KNOWS YOU LIED said the voice. But Joe ignored it and went to sleep.