“Who’s there?” Birger shouted through the cottage door. “I warn you, I’m armed. If you’re here for my son—”

“Birger! It’s me! It’s Alex!” the General of Thameland cried. “We come in peace!”

“Alex?” the old firbolg asked. “Why are you back so soon?”

There were sounds of fumbling about inside the cottage, then the clack of a crutch quickly moving across the floor.

Alex and Merzhin looked at each other.

The door was flung open, revealing Birger, wild-eyed and frowning. He looked around, turning pale when he saw the Saint. “Where’s Bjorgrund? Is that…you’re the healer, Merzhin! Has something happened to my son?” The old giant turned to Alex. “You just fetched him this morning! What could have happened to him so fast?”

“He's fine, Birger.” Alex held up his hands, hoping to soothe the ancient firbolg. “We're all fine. More than fine. We're here for something else.”

“Whatever are you here for, then?” Birger asked.

“We have something to tell you and since there's a lot to explain, it'd be better if you just came with us, then we could just explain things to everybody at once,” Alex said.

“Alright…I was just cleaning up and it’ll be here when I get back, so let me get my cloak.”

----------------------------------------

When Alex, Birger, Merzhin, Professor Jules, Baelin and Isolde appeared at the Heroes’ encampment, they found things strangely quiet.

But in reality, all was fine in the small town running along a crossroads where the soldiers and Heroes were camped.

Their visit came at a rare peaceful moment for the Heroes and the army. Most of the troops had gathered in the town square listening to a priest’s sermon. Uldar’s name was mentioned frequently, of course, but most of the sermon was focused on the Traveller and how she was aiding Thameland’s cause from the after-world.

The Heroes, Khalik, Claygon, Brutus, Theresa, Bjorgrund and Thundar, were deep in conversation at the edge of the congregation, and startled when Alex and the others unexpectedly appeared.

“Gah!” Drestra screamed, causing the priest to stutter behind his make-shift podium. “You scared me half to death!” she cried.

“Oi, yous are back here real quick,” Cedric said, looking at Merzhin. “Somethin’ go wrong at the Castle?”

“Alex?” Theresa looked confused.

“Father…?” Claygon took a step forward.

“Father…not you, Alex. Obviously. I mean my father! What are you doing here, father?” Bjorgrund said.

“I’d like to know the same thing, myself,” Birger said.

“As would I,” Professor Jules said archly. “We were in the middle of a very delicate part of our experiment when Mr. Roth came rushing into the lab like a whirlwind. With no explanation, as usual.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll explain,” Alex said. “There’s been a development. A big one.”

Cedric groaned. “More bad news?”

“The opposite,” Merzhin assured him. “Come, let us go a little apart so we might speak freely. There is much to share.”

----------------------------------------

The group teleported a few miles away from the encampment, taking refuge in a moss-covered cave partly hidden in a forest clearing. The ground was still soaked from the recent rain, but there were no signs of tracks anywhere: neither Ravener-spawn, nor mortal.

When everyone was settled, Alex and Merzhin began talking. They told them of all that had happened on the Castle wall: how Alex had started teaching Merzhin the grounding technique, how it had helped calm his soul, and how his Mark had suddenly transformed.

Khalik was silent, deep in thought, while Najyah pecked at his shoulder.

“I do not..what…but…the…” Isolde stammered.

“What the hells?” was all Thundar said.

Claygon was also silent, as waves of complex emotions—confusion, wonder, hope, and shock—flowed through his and Alex’s link. Theresa’s jaw opened and closed like a dying fish, her eyes were wide. Brutus whimpered, nuzzling his master’s gloved hand.

Professor Jules seemed dumbstruck.

“Huh?” Bjorgrund muttered, looking at his father.

The old firbolg shrugged, shaking his head. “Don't look at me, son.”

“His Mark did what?” Drestra shouted, her voice echoing from the cave and through the forest.

“Y’must be bloody jokin’!” Cedric added, his morphic weapon shimmering in agitation on his arm. His eyes moved from Alex to Merzhin. “A hidden part o’ the Mark? What’re we gonna hear next? That we can all turn inta flyin’ ponies?”

“Makes sense,” Hart grunted. “The Mark thing, not the ponies thing.”

The two Heroes glared at him.

“Really, mate?” Cedric snapped. “Yer not the least bit surprised at this? Just not?”

“I understand that under-reaction is what you do. But even to this?” Drestra’s voice oozed indignation.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

“Life happens,” Hart said. “Besides, I learned that our god’s been trying to kill us for millennia with something he made. It's gonna take a lot to surprise me after that.”

“Indeed.” Baelin stroked his beard-braids, their clasps clinking against each other. “It seems that this Uldar was incredibly fond of secrets and used his knowledge of people to manipulate them into following him. It would stand to reason that the Marks would have some sort of hidden punishment or reward system to ensure that the Heroes complied and enacted his will: and in this case, his will was for the Heroes to gain knowledge from the General.”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Alex said. “We really have to get the rest of his notes translated.”

“It could be quite useful if we had the rest of the knowledge contained in them,” Merzhin said quietly. He had been standing behind Alex.

“Enough about notes!” Cedric waved away the idea, almost contemptuously. “Show us this Mark, Merzhin!”

“Of course,” the Saint readily obliged, raising the hem of his robe to display the—stark white—hand of Uldar glowing on his belly.

“Well, don' that look different now!” Cedric eyed the symbol. “It's got a wee polish, to it now don' it? The gold was alright, but this white Mark looks jus’ like Uldar’s symbol in his sanctum. Which uh…gives me a funny feelin’.”

“Me to…” Drestra’s voice crackled. “Do you think our Marks can change too?”

“I do,” Alex said. “There's no reason for Uldar to only build a reward into the Saint’s Mark. It makes the most sense to do it for all of them.”

“That fits,” Drestra said. “So, what can this new…transformed Mark of yours do, Merzhin?”

“For one thing, I feel much closer to Uldar’s divinity,” Merzhin said. “And my soul has been reinforced. I feel stronger and believe I should be able to perform an interdiction.”

Baelin, Professor Jules, Isolde and Alex looked at him sharply.

Merzhin held up a hand…and it wasn’t lost on Alex how much the gesture resembled Uldar’s holy symbol. “I won't be trying to do what we talked about earlier, so don't worry. I do not think my soul is strong enough yet, to perform an interdiction that powerful. I will leave that to Hannah…but for now, this is good. I can be used as a spare, if we cannot get the ancient Saint back in time.”

“Only as a backup, right?” Alex pushed.

Merzhin smiled wanly, nodding. “Only for a backup.”

“Well, this is all interesting…” Birger said suddenly. “But can anyone tell me why I'm here? I'm glad you thought of me, but I don't think I needed to be whisked from home for this. There’s not too much I can contribute here.”

“There is,” Merzhin said, taking his holy book from his robes. “I would like to try to do something that we talked about before, it’ll be a test for myself and a demonstration.”

“Oh? I still don’t think I need to see your demonstrations.” Birger’s eyebrows rose. “I’m not some army strategist or war mage, or anything of the kind.”

Merzhin went to the firbolg, craning his neck to look up at him. Birger frowned down at him in return.

The Saint’s eyes went to Birger’s leg.

The left one, the one that was no more than a stump.

He nodded, then met the old giant’s eyes. “I would like to regenerate your leg.”

Everyone stopped talking.

Birger began shouting. “What? I heard you say you couldn’t regrow limbs! I heard you with my own two ears! You said you didn’t have a strong enough soul gate!”

“But, I do now,” Merzhin said. “My soul gate is far stronger, and I have a more powerful connection to Uldar’s divinity. The amount of power I was able to channel before was like a whisper compared to what I can channel now. I feel it inside me, it’s like a dam straining to burst. So, with your permission, I would like to regenerate your leg.”

Birger looked at his son, Bjorgrund’s eyes looked wild.

Everyone was curious, stunned in amazement, or—in Alex’s case—in anticipation.

“Well, I,” Birger started. “I hardly know what to say.”

“If you’re alright with this, then we’ll just get started on the miracle,” Merzhin said. “Such a miracle takes weeks to regrow a limb. But I would like to start today; I can think of no worthier way to show my Mark’s evolution, while also putting it to the test. And I will do this miracle not in Uldar’s name, but in the name of Thameland and…”

He looked at Alex.

“…in the name of the Traveller, if you would lend me her holy symbol.”

“It would be an honour,” Alex said, taking the symbol from his neck and handing it to Merzhin.

The Saint nodded. “Thank you.”

“I…this is happening so fast,” Bjorgrund said, his enormous frame trembling and his chainmail clinking. It was a new chain shirt; he was not clad in Uldar’s divine armour nor wielding his mighty axe. Not in public yet. “…father, what do you think of this?”

Birger frowned as all eyes fell on him.

He looked down at his left leg.

“I’ve been the way I am for a long time…a very long time,” he said slowly. “And I never dreamed I’d be any different.” Tears sprang up in his eyes as his voice wavered. “But by my ancestors, I’ll admit that I’ve missed the feel and sound of snow crunching beneath my two feet. And if I get my leg back, maybe I could help you a lot more son.”

“It’s up to you father,” Bjorgrund nodded, smiling at him.

Birger looked down at Merzhin. “Alright, I’ll do it. If you think it’s a worthy use of your power, I’ll do it.”

Merzhin nodded. “Then in the name of the Traveller, of Thameland and…” He swallowed. “…in the name of the deity that Uldar should have been, I will hereby perform this deed. Have a seat.”

“A-alright,” Birger prepared to sit on the cavern floor.

“Hold on,” Alex said, and teleporting to the giants’ cottage, took Birger’s chair from near the fireplace and within seconds, was back in the cave. “You might as well be comfortable.”

Alex placed the chair beside the old giant, who nodded in gratitude.

“Thank you kindly, Alex,” Birger eased himself into his chair and Merzhin moved directly in front of him.

“Father.” Bjorgrund put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be right here.”

“I know, thank you, son.” Birger patted his son’s hand and leaned forward to undo the ligature tied around his stump. He’d used a length of cord to bind his left trouser leg, and—once the binding was undone—hiked it up, revealing what remained of his lower leg.

The stump was a mass of scars, all healed through a good deal of time, and much pain. This was no stump left by a surgeon’s skillful amputation.

Baelin looked at Merzhin with his goat-like eyes, watching him silently. Assessing.

The Heroes also watched the Saint with anticipation.

Everyone else was watching Birger.

For a moment, all was quiet like a tomb.

Then Merzhin raised his head.

“And at the crossroads did Uldar come across a farmer, who sat by the side of the road with a tin cup before him,” Merzhin intoned, his voice rising through the cavern. “And that farmer did look unto Uldar—who was in the guise of an old vagabond—and he did ask him: ‘What path do you walk, traveller?’”

Light began gathering around the Saint’s hands.

“And Uldar looked upon the man: ‘I walk to Soddenbury, to attend the festival’, he said. And the man shook his head. ‘Then you are going by the wrong road,’ the farmer replied. ‘Take the woodcutter’s path to the east. Walk it and you shall reach Soddenbury in half the time’.”

His voice grew louder. An older, deeper voice seemed to join his, echoing the same words.

“To this, Uldar smiled and said ‘I thank you for your guidance. What path do you walk?’ To this, the farmer shook his head sadly. ‘I have not walked in moons, for my legs were taken by disease. And so I sit here begging for alms at this crossroad, for I can till no more.’

Merzhin extended his hand, resting it on Birger’s leg.

“To this, Uldar told him: ‘Rise, for your kindness has restored your legs.’ And the man did! For Uldar’s mercy—” Merzhin stopped recounting the scripture. “I deny this!” he cried. “Uldar’s mercy comes with a terrible price! Uldar told the man to rise, and so now I tell you to rise, Birger of Kymiland! In the name of the Traveller! In the name of Thameland! In the name of kindness, and sacrifice and all that is good in the world!”

Beams of light flashed from his hand.

“I hereby make you whole!”

A shaft of light streamed through the cavern.