Mark of the Fool
Chapter 709: Operating on the Soul

It was in the early hours of the morning when Alexander Roth began experimenting on his soul.

The sun had crept over the horizon in Generasi, lighting up the rooftops, peaks and towers of its vast skyline. Yet, Alex was not outside under the waking sun, though—mere hours before—he, Theresa, and Claygon were burning bodies behind a giant ’s cottage thousands of miles to the north.

They’d returned home that evening, unwound with Selina, filling her in on what had happened in the ice-encrusted forests of Kymiland, then turned in for some rest.

He was up a couple of hours later to creep down to his laboratory in the basement, bringing three things with him, one borrowed from Professor Val’Rok.

A knife.

One made of bane.

A knife made to cut not flesh, but the soul.

And it was that knife that was beside Alex.

And as the hours passed, he’d tried to meditate—with Claygon standing silently near him—helping to calm his mind, body and spirit. It was no simple task tonight; he kept thinking about Kelda’s fate, not wanting to share it.

Yet, here he was, walking the same path as hers, wanting desperately not to take it to the same conclusion she had.

He had been trying to get himself ready to literally use a sharp blade to cut away slivers of his soul, following the advice of a half-mad lizardman wizard who’d promised it would grow back.

Alex had faced many challenges so far; he could have lost anything from some coin, to something as precious as his life.

Yet, he’d never been in any situation where he risked losing his soul; even if he’d died, there would have been an after-world waiting for him. But, if his soul was obliterated? From what he understood—there would be nothing.

With those thoughts rolling around in his head, he tried to meditate.

Though, the Intrusive thoughts kept plaguing him.

‘What if I can’t calm myself?’ he wondered. ‘What if the idea that I’ll be experimenting with my own soul stops me from finding peace. What if I mess up? Oh, by the Traveller, what if the Mark thinks I’m trying to fight myself and starts interfering? What if Uldar hid some kind of protection on the Mark that makes my head explode if I try to get rid of it? What if—’

He shook his head, taking a deep breath, trying to let those swirling thoughts pass.

As he had done for years.

Yet, this time, nothing was working.

His heart pounded in his chest.

He could hear it in his ears.

He fought his breathing, needing to keep it slow and steady.

‘Calm down, Alex,’ he thought, knowing well that those words wouldn’t help. ‘You have to do this. There’s no question about it; you have to. People are relying on you to change the Mark. You’re relying on yourself to change the Mark, but you can’t stretch your mana pool unless you calm down, so just calm the hells—”

“Father…?”

“Gah!” Alex yelped.

From beside him, Claygon’s iron form loomed in the dimly lit room. “Are you…okay? Your breathing is…very heavy…”

“Yeah, I’m nervous, buddy. I won’t lie,” The young wizard was on his back on a long table he used for harvesting monster parts for alchemical ingredients—lying stark naked with only the symbol of the Traveller hanging from his neck.

On a table beside him were three items; the first was a mana-ectoplasm solution-coated flask for capturing his soul particles, the second, a mana-ectoplasm solution-coated set of copper tweezers, and lastly, the soul blade.

The bane knife gleamed in the low light, filling him with dread.

“Do you need a break…father?”

“Not yet,” Alex said. “But…” he looked at Claygon. “Could um…well, this is a little embarrassing…”

“Anything…father…” Claygon said, taking a step forward. “If…I can help you…then let me help!”

“Then, um, could you sing?” Alex asked. “I find it calming.”

There was a long pause.

“Yes…father…” Claygon said warmly, his voice changing to a mature woman’s gentle, clear tones. “I will…sing for you.”

And Claygon began to sing.

His song was a simple one—sung in Generasi during the fall—about coming harvests and restful days. He sang of bountiful sea life swimming through the ocean. Of peaceful sunrises and gentle chill. He sang of wine and foaming mugs of ale, hot food and family.

Claygon sang of peace and of rest.

He sang of hope.

The song was gentle, simple in melody, its beauty coming from its sincerity. Yet, it also touched the heart with sadness. Melancholy. Longing.

And, Alex understood why.

Claygon sang of things he would never know.

Not first hand, at least.

The golem would never tire, never age and never need rest. The bountiful fish in the Prinean sea, the wine, the foaming ale and hot food…they would never pass through his lips. He’d never know the pleasure of a hot meal on a warm tongue. He wouldn’t know chill or heat the same way Alex would.

Claygon was a man of metal—once of clay and stone—not flesh, and muscle, and bone.

His personal world was different from Alex’s own, and the comforts of a mortal human were as physically alien to Claygon, as magic was to the average mortal.

Yet, there was one comfort the golem had come to understand well.

One word that—when he sang it—caused waves of warmth and comfort to wash through their link.

‘Family’.

Claygon knew what family was. He’d experienced it every single day since he’d come into their lives. Not just any family either, but one that loved him and loved each other; a group of people linked beyond blood, but by caring and fellowship.

That was his comfort.

His feelings washed over Alex like a thick blanket on a winter’s day, and the wizard no longer felt so afraid. Nothing material had actually changed; he was still about to cut away a part of his soul, but now he didn’t feel alone, he felt safe.

Taking a deep breath he smiled, feeling content, silently returning to his meditation as Claygon’s soothing voice filled the laboratory.

In time, his heartbeat and breathing slowed.

Warmth soothed him.

Calm seeped through his body, muscles relaxed, his mind drifted peacefully. Soon, there was only him and the song; all disquieting thoughts and fears melted away.

Alex was ready, he sat up.

Fingers curled around the knife handle, then the tweezers, both were shockingly cold on his skin. He took another deep breath, calming himself. His attention fell on his right foot, lingering on his toes. Val’Rok had suggested books in the advanced magic lore section of the library that talked of different aspects of the soul, including its shape.

The soul is a mirror of the idealised physical form, wrote Siefried Stouffer, in volume I of True Nature of the Soul and Its Uses in Magic.

When freed of a vessel, it can change and shift into a more idealised form of what lies within the core of a mortal being. However, when trapped in a mortal, its shape is influenced by that body; much like a liquid, it will change shape to conform to its vessel to a certain degree. Its extremities will be the body’s extremities, while its heart will be the body’s heart.

“Its extremities will be the body’s extremities,” Alex whispered, wondering where he should cut. “Maybe the little toe.”

He placed the bottleby his foot, then bent toward it with the bane blade in one hand and the tweezers in the other. Calmly, he guided the knife to the tip of his little toe, flinching as it broke the skin.

No pain came. Not yet, at least. Only a sudden shock, as if he’d dipped the toe in a vat of ice water. Breathing slowly, Alex waited—adjusting to the sensation—calling on the Mark to guide him.

No images appeared; no past experiences were there to help him prepare for what he had to do.

“Nothing for it, then,” he muttered, listening to Claygon’s gentle song as the point of the knife slid deeper into his toe.

The tweezers were poised and ready.

The blade touched something solid. Alex didn’t hesitate.

He went deeper.

Carving away a bit of his soul with one quick precise motion.

“Agh!”

Pain.

Unlike any he’d ever felt in his life. It wasn’t the greatest agony he’d ever experienced; it wasn’t the ragged stab of Burn-Saw’s blade, or the excruciating wounds he’d taken in battle.

Nor did it feel like the searing mental anguish the Mark forced on his mind.

It was less…but deeper. It was the only description he could find for it. A shock tore through both his body and spirit when something that should never have been severed, was.

Alex wanted to cry out, he wanted to fling the bane knife against a wall; but he held on, keeping his breathing even and his grip on the blade steady, slowly drawing it from his body.

The soul blade’s tip was coated in a tiny mass of blinding radiance; like the sun had suddenly appeared in the windowless room.

Claygon’s song abruptly stopped.

“That is…beautiful…” the golem said. “Is that…a soul?”

“A little piece of one,” Alex said, using the tweezers to grip the substance; it was strange and unique—both liquid and solid at once—clinging together as Alex gently placed it in the bottle.

Metal clinking on glass startled him; the tweezers rattled against the bottle’s mouth, as his hand began shaking, the tweezers clattering against the lip.

He shook his head, slowly plucking the soul-substance from the rim, letting it slip from the tweezers to the bottom of the bottle and capping it, his eyes fixed on the radiance sparkling through the glass.

Quietly—or as quietly as an iron golem could manage—Claygon stepped closer, peering at the bottle. “A piece…of father’s soul…how incredible…”

“It is, isn’t it,” Alex whispered, mesmerised. “It’s so bright…but I suppose I should have expected that. Carey’s soul was bright too, remember?”

“I remember…” Claygon sounded in awe. “Are you going to cut…more tonight…”

Alex shook his head. “I should give myself some time to heal first…but even if I wanted to keep going, I couldn’t; my soul is anything but calm right now.”

“It’s a start…right…father?”

“Yep, and it’s a process that’ll take time,” Alex looked at the bottle critically. “I’ll need to fill this bottle if I’m going to make an artificial mana pool, and there’s only so much soul substance I can harvest in a single night.”

“Hmmm…will you be able to study your soul…so you can…change the Mark…when you find Kelda’s…sanctum…?” Claygon asked.

“Yes,” Alex said. “I should have plenty of time to study it in the time it takes for me to harvest enough for my mana pool.” He tapped the glass, marvelling at the radiance within it.

It held a beauty that was humbling to look upon.

###

“Mr. Roth, you’re doing what with your what?” Professor Jules gripped her temples as though battling a pressure headache that threatened to burst her skull. She leaned over her desk, her expression looking as though she was heartbeats away from popping a blood vessel, or strangling someone. “Did I just hear you say that you’re harvesting your soul…to create an artificial mana pool? Or have I slipped into complete madness?”

“That’s right,” Alex said, sitting in front of her desk. “I meant the part about my mana pool is right, not the part about you slipping into madness.”

“Ah, of course. Of course, you would be doing something like that! Why did I ever try to teach you anything about safety? Or sense? And I take it you were introduced to this insanity by that wretched Val’Rok?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?” the young wizard asked.

“Because only he or that old goat would be insane enough to advise a student to start cutting up their soul like a common butcher,” Professor Jules rolled her eyes. “How?”

“How what?” Alex asked.

“How do you attract the very worst influences as mentors?” she asked mournfully. “Baelin, Val’Rok—”

“You.”

“Pardon?”

“You’re one of my mentors too, professor,” he pointed out.

She laughed, throwing her head back and laughing like she would never stop. “Then why does my common sense never rub off on you? Why is it that you absorb madness like a sponge, yet sense and restraint flee from you?”

“Uh.” His eyes darted back and forth. “I—”

“Don’t answer that. Even if the question weren’t rhetorical, I probably still wouldn’t like the answer. A simple ‘what have you been up today, Mr. Roth’ was met with, ‘I was shearing my soul like a common sheep’, so I dread the answer to why you seem to enjoy madness so much. In any case, I’m prattling on. What is it, Alex? Do you need something sane from me?”

“Do you know how to make a ward, professor?” he asked. “I need to help a pair of giants, before they take me to a thieves guild in the middle of the Irtyshenan Empire.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That was on purpose.”

“Wait, what now?”

“You phrased it that way on purpose.”

“...yes.”

“Mr. Roth, I swear if I don’t kill you first, you are going to be the death of me.”

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