Mark of the Fool

It was a beautiful day in Greymoor; a lovely winter’s morning where it felt like all the world was at peace, almost as if the rivers of blood spilled on the Research Castle grounds in recent days had never been. The wind was uncharacteristically warm, the sky uncharacteristically clear: perfect dancing weather, to Alex’s mind.

And he and Claygon took full advantage of it.

“Good!” Alex complimented the golem as both fell into the third stance of the Spear-and-Oar dance, acting as ‘mirrors’ for each other. The young wizard held a stout broom handle in the fifth guard, while Claygon mimicked him with his war-spear. “Very good! Next one!”

Both golem and wizard shifted into third position together, their feet crunching snow as they fell into the first stance, raising their hafts into second guard.

“Yes!” Alex said, more than pleased. “Your form’s perfect, and your movements are so much smoother!”

‘Thank you…father,’ Claygon answered in his mind. ‘And…thank you…friend.’

As the golem thanked their nearby spectator, there was a flare of green-golden light across the snow, and with it came a warm embrace of emotion. The aeld tree watched Alex and Claygon from a few feet away, captivated by their performance. Expedition members shot curious glances their way as they passed through the courtyard, but tasks were waiting—plenty of repairs on the castle and tunnels had to be done—so none could spare the time to linger and watch.

Which suited Alex just fine.

The conversation taking place between him and Claygon as they danced was intimate, not meant for every passing ear. Even if their thoughts were often exchanged through their special link, sometimes Alex spoke aloud.

‘—but, yes, as I was saying,’ he thought, falling into the fourth stance. ‘People aren’t super literal about their words. Sometimes they are, but often they’re not, and the more someone gets to know someone else, the less literal their words tend to be.’

His broom-handle and Claygon’s war-spear flourished, spinning in their hands as they weaved a graceful pattern through the air. The golem spun his weapon in slower arcs than Alex’s haft, but his movements had progressed in speed and ease since they’d begun their dance earlier.

He was learning quickly.

Very quickly.

Alex only hoped that he’d learn the growing list of social subtleties the young wizard was trying to teach him just as quickly. It’d make things easier on both of them.

‘For example, remember when I said to Isolde and Thundar that I’d kill them for abandoning me over the holidays?’ He was referencing a conversation from yesterday at the docks in Generasi. ‘I didn’t really mean that I would kill them, what kind of monster would that make me? They were going home because they nearly died in the last fight and—not surprisingly—that made them want to see their families.’

‘...they felt…like they wanted to see…their fathers and mothers…just in case…they died…soon…?’ Claygon asked, switching his grip on his war-spear from his upper arms to his lower ones.

Alex startled at the movement: he’d never taught him how to do that. ‘That’s it, buddy, you got it. If you haven’t noticed, we all live pretty dangerous lives, don’t we? And people we know have died: so when you think about that, it makes you want to…say things to people you might not get the chance to ever say if you wait too long.’

‘Say…things…’ Claygon paused. ‘Then…you say…you kill them…that was…not true.’

‘Right.’

‘It was…humour?’

‘Right, very good!’

‘You…said you didn’t want them to go…but in a funny way. Not literal.’

‘You’re getting it!’ Alex thought, jumping and spinning in the air, landing in second stance softly.

Claygon paused for a moment, then tried to mimic the move.

His powerful legs catapulted him through the air, his massive bulk soaring more than a dozen feet…before he completely lost balance. With arms flailing, the golem slammed into the snow, kicking clouds of white into the morning air.

“Claygon!” Alex shouted, running over, feeling waves of concern coming off the aeld. “Are you okay?”

‘I’m…unharmed,’ the golem said, pushing himself to his feet with ease. ‘Not…good at that…yet.’

“You’ll learn,” Alex said, patting one of Claygon’s lower arms. “You’ll definitely learn. You just need to be patient.’

‘Patient…’ the golem thought, turning to face his creator. ‘Patience…waiting…father, can I ask a question?’

‘Yeah, any time, Claygon,’ Alex thought.

‘You were impatient earlier, father…’ Claygon said, setting the butt of his spear down in the snow. ‘You know…Thundar…Isolde…they will come back. You said…you would kill them for leaving. Humour…it is humour…but it is strong words.’

‘Right,’ Alex said.

‘Drastic words…how come you can’t wait for them to come back? Patiently?’ Claygon asked. ‘Waiting…is easy. You stand in stillness and you…let things happen.’

‘Oh, well…it’s different for us people of flesh and blood,’ Alex answered. ‘We need to eat and sleep…and I think your attention span is probably loads better than almost any mortals'. And you can also achieve a stillness that no mortal can.’ He tapped his chest. ‘Even if I stood as still as you, I’d still fidget, and even if I managed not to, my muscles would eventually cramp up and I’d have to move. Even if I kept them still with blood magic, I couldn’t stop my heart from beating, or my lungs from breathing. If I did, I’d…y’know, die for real.’

‘Right…’ Claygon thought. ‘So…waiting is harder for you.’

‘It is, yes, but also I really like Thundar and Isolde, so I’d miss them,’ Alex said, through their link. ‘Sort of like how you wanted to see the aeld tree. Since we’re good friends, I made that joke: it’s funny, only because they know I’d never actually hurt them. It’s…humour’s a bit hard to explain, but that’s why we had a laugh between us.’

‘Yes…laughter…’ Claygon thought. ‘But for people you don’t know…Father, do they not mean you harm when they say…harmful words?’

‘That’s a bit harder to predict,’ Alex thought. ‘You need a lot of context clues to really know for sure. For example, if we walked out into the snow right now and ran into a bunch of leering, muscly men with big axes demanding money or my life…well, it’s a good assumption that they actually mean to gut me and leave me in the snow.’

‘...but if they are in the city…’ Claygon thought. ‘They will not…hurt you?’

‘Well, probably not,’ Alex said. ‘Best in that case to just watch me handle it, then you’ll learn a bit more about how to predict these things.’

‘...but I must protect.’ The golem gripped his war-spear.

‘And I don’t always need protecting,’ Alex thought. ‘Besides, you’re a thinking being now, buddy. You need to learn more about yourself. You might’ve been built to protect and fight, but you can re-define your purpose if you wish.’

‘I like…protecting,’ Claygon thought. ‘Like…smashing.’

Alex paused, sighing. Of course he would: after all the fights they’d been in Claygon would have either come to love, or hate fighting, and the young wizard wasn’t sure whether he was disturbed or relieved that it was the former.

He shrugged: it was just the way things were, he supposed.

‘Is it…alright…for me to like…other things?’ Claygon asked, cutting off Alex’s train of thought.

The young wizard looked up at him closely, realising that this could be a critical moment in his golem’s growth. His facial expression was fixed, his countenance didn’t vary so there were no cues to read, but Alex could feel waves of anxiety, nerves and hope coming from him.

If he were to say the wrong thing right now, he could crush him.

But if he gave him no direction at all, then only the gods knew where that might lead. What if Claygon decided he liked skinning people alive? Alex shuddered.

Claygon needed careful guidance, and Alex needed help–he called on the Mark, focusing it on the task of ‘giving guidance’. Images from past conversations with Claygon returned along with some of his quieter talks with Selina as she tried to understand the world, her life, and the future.

The images helped to guide his words:

‘It’s alright, Claygon,’ Alex thought. ‘You are a thinking being and you can decide to get into whatever you want. Do you remember how you react when anyone tries to hurt me?’

‘Yes…’

‘Then think of it like this. If you define and shape your life on hurting other people, then that will make people want to hurt you, me and Selina. I don’t like hurting people—but I’d bloody well do it in response to them hurting us. I don’t know if that’ll turn out to be the same for you, but I do know that by not being a shit to folk most of the time, people are more willing to help me.’

‘Yes…’ Claygon thought. ‘But…the monsters we fight…they hurt…and so we want to kill them.’

‘Perfectly said!’

‘Mmmm…like smashing…but…don’t like fighting everyone…’ Claygon paused. ‘But…I was thinking…something other than fighting or smashing.’

“Oh?” Alex cocked his head, answering out loud. “Such as?”

‘...father…can I ask you for something? Ask you for help?’ The golem asked.

The young wizard’s breath caught.

‘That’s the first time you’ve ever asked me for a favour. You’re getting more of your own ideas,’ Alex thought, smiling. ‘I’m proud of you. So, what is it? Depending on what it is, I’ll try to make it happen for you.’

‘...father. You are going to make me something to speak…with…some way for me to talk out loud?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

Beside them, Alex could feel the aeld’s attention focusing on the two of them.

‘...and I’d…like it to sound like something,’ Claygon said.

‘Like what?’

‘The…golem…the little one in the office of…of Toraka Shale…’ he said slowly, with nervous hesitation drifting through his and Alex’s link. ‘It made…music. Pretty music. I liked it.’

‘Yeah, it’s a wonderful device,’ Alex agreed. ‘Do you want me to make you something like that?’

‘No…yes…’ The golem pointed at his ‘mouth’. ‘The…speakerbox…that will let me talk…can you make it so it will make sounds like that too?’

Alex smiled warmly. ‘Of course, Claygon. I’ll have it make sounds like that and any other sounds you want it to. If Shale lets me take a look at it, I should be able to base your speakerbox on that design.’

‘Is that…troublesome, father?’

“Not at all,’ Alex said, more than pleased. “As a matter of fact, I’m just happy for you…but I’m curious, why do you want to make sounds like that? Music and such?”

Claygon paused. ‘I…I’d like to, father. I liked those sounds…and I’d like to make those sounds myself. And…’ He looked at the aeld tree. ‘And I’d like to make…music for the…my friend. The tree…likes music. Remembers…someone singing to it.’

“Ah, that would’ve been Professor Salinger,” Alex said. “Well, then I have two reasons to roll up my sleeves and get that work done! I’ll have it whipped up for you as fast as I can, Claygon.” He smiled at the aeld tree. “And then you can sing to our friend as much as you like.”

‘...thank you…father…I feel…warm,’ Claygon said.

“Oh, I’m happy to do it,” Alex said. “I—”

He paused as a wave of warm emotions embraced him.

And they weren’t coming from Claygon.

The young wizard turned to the tree in time to see its light suddenly flare like the sun. Green-golden radiance blazed so brightly, that he had to squeeze his eyes shut, but along with the brilliant light came feelings of warmth, joy, and something more.

A deeper affection that Alex couldn’t put into words.

Cries rose from expedition members in the courtyard as the aeld tree’s warmth became a stifling, encompassing heat. And then, it was done. The light faded to a gentle glow, and the heat decreased until it was no more than a pleasant, comforting warmth.

‘Father…what is that in front…of you?’ Claygon asked.

Alex opened his eyes slowly, blinking away white spots, his pupils slowly readjusting to the light. Shock held him in place.

There, rising from the snow before him, a thick branch complete with green leaves shining like emeralds. The air was suddenly awash with the scent of spring and summer entwined, and an aura of power sparked from it.

On his finger, the ring gifted to him by Elder Blodeuwedd tingled as aeld magic reacted to aeld magic, and Alex forced his eyes away from the branch to give his full attention to the young tree.

It looked as healthy and as beautiful as ever, but with a slight change to its shape: a branch was absent from its trunk. It hadn’t been cut away in a violent act with a hatchet or saw, for where the branch once was, there was now a smooth stump of healthy bark, perfect, as though it had always been that way.

Alex was overcome, nearly falling to his knees in gratitude, and he simply bowed his head. “Thank you,” he cried emphatically. “Thank you!”

‘Warm…’ Claygon murmured in his mind, looking at the branch rising from the snow.

The aeld tree had granted him a part of itself.

He now had the first thing he needed to make his staff.

And it was more beautiful than he could have ever imagined.