Mark of the Fool
Chapter 536: Fires of Past and Present

Alex awoke to the crackle of flame.

The fire’s warmth tickled his face as his small form snuggled beneath a thick blanket. The scent of venison roasting and cookies baking reached his nostrils, inviting him to wake up.

“Hm?” The young boy raised his head, squinting at the fireplace. It warmed the room, burning brightly behind an iron screen that kept sparking embers at bay.

“Well, someone finally woke up,” a man’s deep voice came from near Alex’s bed.

He startled at the familiar words, quickly turning to find a man sitting nearby.

He was lean and tall—Alex hoped he’d match his height when he was grown—corded muscle hardened from years of splitting wood and hauling kegs, defined his arms. His light brown eyes shone with mischief and he wore his chestnut brown hair cropped close to his scalp.

Calloused hands played with tiny building blocks, showing them to the babbling bundle sitting on his lap; Selina was a toddler, rambling on in a sing-song voice as she reached for the blocks her father was holding, sharing them with him and doing what she loved best, putting them together in unique ways.

But her large green eyes weren’t always on the blocks: much of the time they were fixed on the fire, absorbed in the dancing flame.

“What’s wrong, Alex? You're going to start drooling soon,” Mr. Roth laughed.

It dawned on the boy that he’d been staring at his father and baby sister with his mouth hanging open. “I was yawning, that’s all,” he said quickly, trying to recover.

“Uhuh,” Mr. Roth grinned knowingly.

Something about that smile disturbed young Alex.

A feeling that something was off crept down his spine. Something wasn’t right. Apprehension stirred in the back of his mind, he felt like he’d forgotten something incredibly important.

It was unsettling…

Alex frowned. How old was he again? For some reason, he couldn’t quite remember. Maybe he was still really sleepy.

“Well, I guess it wasn’t too thrilling of a tale, eh?” his father nodded toward something near his pillow. “I think you had a few minutes with it before you were fast asleep. You looked like some of the regulars in the alehouse when it’s long past midnight.”

“Hm?” Alex looked at the object his father was grinning at; a story book he’d borrowed from the school’s library—filled with illustrations—about a wise wizard who’d used his tricks and spells to defeat a hungry ogress.

He’d been quite enjoying the book. “I like this one!” he insisted, snatching it up. “It’s really good!”

“Uhuh,” Mr. Roth chuckled. “If it’s that good, then I’d love to see how quick the bad ones put you to sleep.”

“Oh, don’t make fun of him so much,” a warm voice—with all the promise of spring and summer—drifted from the kitchen.

A spike of yearning struck Alex’s heart at the same moment the apprehension returned. Frowning, he looked toward the kitchen where a smiling woman was coming toward them.

His mother had been—no, why was he thinking of her in the past tense? His mom was usually a cheery soul who—was quick with a song and even quicker with her smile—winked at him. Her auburn hair was caught up in a loose braid that bounced as she walked, and her green eyes shone with amusement.

In one oven mitt covered hand, she held a tray filled with cookies. A delightful smell was drifting through the air. They smelled absolutely delicious.

So why was that wonderful aroma painful?

What was going on?

“Alex had a busy day today, Sean, and he needed that nap.” She placed the tray on the nearby dining table. “I’m sure that book is thrilling if he says it is.”

“It is,” Alex said, glad to be defended. “It’s the best one I’ve read in a year!”

“I thought the best one you read in a year was the one about that frog?” Mr. Roth wondered aloud, scratching the stubble on his chin. His gaze had fallen on the cookies with undisguised greed.

“Well, that one was good, but this one’s a lot better!” Alex insisted, also eyeing the cookies.

“Uh-uh,” Mrs. Roth said without looking at either of them. “Supper first, then dessert.”

“Right, best check on the roast then.” Mr. Roth said, barely hiding his disappointment. He picked up Selina. “Would you take her for a bit, honey?”

“I might not let her go.” Mrs. Roth took the cooing toddler with a dreamy smile. “Since when did I get such a cutie pie?”

“I’m right here, you know,” Alex said, tucking the book under his arm.

“I remember a young man saying ‘I’m not cute, I’m cool!’ no more than three days ago,” Mrs. Roth rocked Selina in her arms. “I wonder who that young man was?”

“Hah!” Mr. Roth chuckled as he headed into the kitchen “And you say I should stop making fun of him?”

Left alone with his mother and little sister, Alex stared up at them. Again, that apprehension coiled around him…leaving him feeling that he was looking at something that shouldn’t be.

“Your teacher said that you did very well on your last arithmetic test, Alex.” Mrs. Roth looked at her son, her eyes twinkling. “She was very proud of you, and so am I. And I believe good boys deserve rewards.”

She looked at the cookies meaningfully and whispered. “Don’t let your father hear you.”

Alex’s face lit up, as he wasted no time in tip-toeing to the tray and choosing the biggest cookie in the pile to stuff into his mouth. It tasted the way he imagined food from one of the heavens would.

Crumbs and all were long gone by the time his father returned with a pan heaping with slabs of roasted venison and root vegetables, drenched in steaming gravy. He placed it on the table beside the cookies and—luckily—didn’t seem to notice that the biggest one was missing.

“I heard you and Mum talking about your test,” he said, taking a seat at the head of the table. “Well done, son. With the mind you have for numbers, you could handle the books for a business. Maybe work for a magistrate. Maybe even be a magistrate yourself one day…just don’t be a tax collector, I’d never live it down.”

“Oh please, Alex will take over the alehouse one day,” his mother said warmly, putting Selina in a high chair beside her own seat. “Won’t you, Alex?”

The little boy avoided her gaze, looking instead at the book he was holding in his hands. On the cover, the bearded wizard faced down the giant ogress.

He looked so brave.

So magnificent.

“Actually…” Alex murmured. “I want to be a wizard.”

Silence filled the room.

“It’d be grand!” Alex started talking fast. “I’d be able to do magic to help the people around Alric! I could keep the countryside safe from monsters plus I could help you with the alehouse. Wouldn’t it be nice to have all the cooking and cleaning done with spells instead of by hand?”

More silence.

Again, that apprehension ran through him.

“Well…wouldn’t that be a mighty fine thing?” Mr. Roth finally chuckled. “Imagine that, a wizard in the family?”

“Well that’d be the most important thing that my family’s ever done,” his mother laughed. “And it’s cute. You’d be dealing with fairies, and pixies and the like.”

“Aye, and turning people you don’t like into newts.”

“And turning frogs into princesses and princes!”

“Mum! Dad!” Alex complained. “It’s more serious than that! It’s not just cuteness and fairies! It’s very important work!”

“We know.” Mrs. Roth smiled. Something about her smile was…odd. “But whatever you choose, we’re proud of you.”

“You’re going to be a big, important man someday.” Mr. Roth put Selina in Alex’s arms. When did he take her out of her high chair?

Why was it so warm?

“Be well, Alex,” Mr. Roth said.

The crackle of flame roared through the alehouse.

Alex whirled on the fireplace and screamed.

Flame poured from it, spraying through the room. Fire, like hungry demons, engulfed the alehouse, filling the air with thick smoke. The sweet scent of cookies and their last meal together, was replaced by the acrid stench of smoke and ash.

“Mum! Dad! We’ve got to leave!” Alex screamed.

Selina’s eyes were wide as she both screamed and giggled at the scene around them.

“Mum!” Alex screamed. “Dad!”

The flame was everywhere. Smoke had smothered everything. He could no longer see his parents or his home.

There was only the crackle of flame.

The crackle of flame.

The crackle of fla—

Someone was gripping his shoulder.

Alex woke up with Thundar shaking him.

“Alex! Alex!” the minotaur hissed. “Alex, you’re having a nightmare! Wake up, ground yourself, man. The mania field’s getting inside your head!”

Alex awoke to the mania field rampaging through him: fear, longing, anger and loss screaming in his head.

“What th—Thundar?’ he muttered, trying to ground himself. His mind shifted to the present, marking the feeling of his clothing against his body, the sight of Thundar’s snout before him and…

…fire crackling?

He shot up, wondering where he was.

And then it came to him.

He was still in the maze of Cretalikon with Thundar and the mercenaries he’d hired. They were trying to escape to the material world. The crackling he’d heard wasn’t coming from a fireplace in an alehouse, but from burning walls around them, and the flaming sky above.

Alex shook his head, trying to erase the last traces of his dream.

Meeting the Traveller’s spirit—something he could hardly believe happened—must have triggered the dream. It had seemed so real, even though he had no memory of those specific events ever happening when he was small.

Initially, the dream had felt strange and comforting, and very real, yet in reality,he hadn’t left the maze, he hadn’t been with his family.

“I’m fine now,” Alex clapped Thundar on the shoulder, forcing himself to his feet. Nearby, the aeld staff was emitting waves of concern while Claygon’s was reaching through their link.

“Father…are you well?” he asked, his body still partly encased in iron.

At the golem’s feet lay the dead body of Celsus, shrouded in a blanket coated in frost. Alex had conjured a pair of ice elementals to freeze the warrior’s body just before he’d nodded off.

It wouldn’t do to have him succumb to decay before they even got him back home.

“Yeah, I’m well,” Alex said. “How’s everyone else?”

“We’re good.” Thundar stretched. “The nap did me some major good.”

Around them, the mercenaries were breaking camp. Ezerak was shouldering a heavy pack, while Guntile gathered her gear.

Ripp was already scouting the path up ahead and…

“Where’s Kyembe?” Alex asked.

Guntile nodded toward the top of a wall. “He should be down any second.”

Alex followed her eyes to the closest wall, spotting the Spirit Killer descending the burning stone with the agility of a spider. His blade was back on his hip and his skin was unmarred, free from burns.

He seemed no worse for wear when he dropped the last dozen feet, landing silently on the stone tiles. “I have news, but it comes with a dreaded question: is it the bad news you wish to hear first, or the worst?”

Alex grimaced. “Let’s start with the bad news and work our way up to the worst.”

“Alright, then the battle in Jaretha shows no sign of ending soon.” The Spirit Killer was moving quickly, grabbing his pack from the centre of camp. “In one way, this is good: our allies are not dead, which is always a good thing. Of course, that also means our hope of reinforcement from them is somewhat thin. We will have to rely on ourselves for our escape.”

“Alright, that’s not so bad. What about the worst news?”

“The worst news colours things.” Kyembe cleared his throat. “While we rested, many with less sense than mobility sought to escape by flying out of the maze—which of course ended in death—but also caused the labyrinth to shift as though in some frenzied dance.”

“Oh…” Alex’s blood chilled. “So the maze is shifting faster than we thought?”

“Yes, many of the pathways we originally used have already twisted and changed,” Kyembe said. “Sooner than later, we will find ourselves lost in unfamiliar passageways.”

“Then we’d better get a move on.” Alex looked at the others. “Alright everyone, let’s make for the portal. I’ll use Planar Doorway to try and keep us moving as fast as possible. I want us out of here before we end up lost. We’re almost home, so let’s not fumble on the way out.”

As Alex shouldered his pack, remembering the images of his family.

A dull ache settled in his chest: even though he’d met the Traveller, he knew that the chancesof him meeting his own parents beforehe passed on was low.

And while he wanted that meeting, he didn't want it yet.

Perhaps one day.

But not yet.

Taking up his staff, Alex prepared to cast Planar Doorway.

“Forward!” Kaz-Mowang’s voice boomed through the maze. “Hannar-Cim awaits us! She will not escape me again!”

With a crack of his wings, the greater demon marched toward the spot where that unique energy she’d used to fight him had come from.

His long tongue flicked across his lips.

Around him, a demon army marched as one.

Their footsteps were thunder.

Though, not the only source of thunder in the realm.

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