The Marked
A class of folk from the Vaporous Realms—and a story fragment from the fourth epoch
The Marked were the rare souls among the folk of the Vaporous Realms who bore a birthmark similar to that of Len the Wanderer. It could also refer to those who tattooed, burned, or painted their flesh with such a sign as an indicator of status.
The meaning of the mark varied widely by people-group. In the Elder World and the northern Redeemed kingdoms, those who bore the mark were reckoned cursed. Among the lost-folk and the southern Redeemed kingdoms, a natural mark denoted a class of lords having certain privileges and proscriptions. The Nordlings considered the Marked to be specially blessed, while Southrons honored marked individuals—their empress included—as demigods.
In most of these societies, the powerful and affluent sometimes imitated the Mark. Such counterfeits did not confer the same significance as natural marks.
“If Only” (from the Eastsong Cycle, fourth epoch)
Pink light filtered through white curtains. The day’s first thoughts wafted through Sarna’s mind.
If only I were a child again. . .
If only the prophet-king stayed on his throne. . .
If only Southport withstood the rebels a seven-day longer. . .
If only I birthed a son as well as daughters. . .
I could simply lie here.
Sarna stretched all her limbs on her pillowed pallet. Give sloth no quarter. She pushed herself upright. Rising early was a harsh business, but it meant a few moments to herself, leastways. Better than waking to an invasion of maidservants.
The fog of sleep resisted clearing. She retrieved her housecoat and drifted to the washbowl by the window. Only after thrice splashing cold water on her face did she remember.
This is the day. They will send for me.
Sarna looked up, into the ornate mirror she had brought from her villa. Water dripped from the bygone years etched across her face. Grey had overrun her dark curls, which she fashioned into a simple braid. Yet all the years from the womb to now had not diminished the crosswise mark emblazoned on her brow. A few deft touches of cosmetics heightened its contrast with her sandy brown complexion. If only I were born without this confounded blessing on my forehead.
Tense knocks, just shy of impolite, sounded on her chamber door. “Milady, a messenger has arrived. From the judges.”
“I shall receive him presently.” Duty summoned. Afore the morrow, she would have legions to command—and a legend to vanquish.
Vaporous Realms Update
I’ve settled on the theme for our very first Kickstarter campaign: Watchers (like the short story I published with Havok last year). It’s in the planning and development phase at present, but I’ll keep y’all updated. Thanks for reading!