Page 6 of Marked

At this, the impatience in Blair boiled over.

"Safety is my priority, and you are our blacksmith.

My order is just as important. I would argue it's even more important than any others.

But I'm glad to see where your priorities lie," she seethed, regretting the plan and already trying to form another in her head.

She went to walk away, but her kids slipped into her mind, a look of shock and fear etched on their faces.

She paused and sighed, attempting one more time.

Her tone softened as she looked at him again.

"Someone has to protect these kids. Not everyone has a family they can count on to keep them safe. "

She turned to leave without a second thought, grabbing the mahogany door and slowing her breathing on the way out.

"Fine," Damien muttered.

Blair could barely hear it over her shuffling feet, but that one word stopped her movements as she paused, holding the door. Her eyes were still facing the grainy wood as he continued his answer.

"The boys in your class like to sneak here and test their strength using my hammers. Make sure that doesn't happen anymore, and you can have what you need. Give me two days."

Blair let out a loose breath and registered his acceptance.

She was not about to say thank you out loud, but she was thankful.

She nodded slightly, in fear he would change his mind or, worse, cause her blood pressure to rise again.

At that small gesture, she pushed open the door and walked out, glad to be away from the audacity that aggrandized this town's blacksmith.

"Two days," she agreed, and the door shut behind her.

As she walked back along the road to her schoolroom, she felt lighter but still moved with determination.

Trailing her eyes over countless rocks in the gravel, her mind wandered to the large rock that inhabited a small clearing close to the cottages in SilverDawn.

This rock was used as a seat for the town's storyteller.

The large, broken boulder that many people gathered around served as a venue for sharing entertaining stories.

The area in front of it was open except for a few scattered stumps, and families would come with blankets to sit on as they listened to stories unfold.

It provided the perfect space for a make-shift theater.

Although recently, these stories had turned dark and daunting.

What was once thrilling worded adventures that held the children's attention, the storyteller had now morphed his words into scary prophecies that fed into their nightmares.

Blair closed her eyes to recall the enthusiasm and excited squeals that she used to hear before everything changed.

Little faces with wide eyes and flushed cheeks eagerly sitting on the edge of their seats.

Now, the whole space remained empty, with no seats to fill.

She sighed and continued her walk back into town, deciding to clear her mind.

There had been a large influx of wandering people lately, and each one weighed the town down more.

Along with the rumors that were already circling about darkness, the new visitors brought more stories that added fuel, speaking of the violence and death consuming other towns.

Shadow people. The ones associated with the dark symbols had become the main topic everywhere.

Blair kicked a small pebble as hard as she could as she contemplated the growing restlessness. Was there any truth to these stories?

Just as images flashed in her mind of these shadow people ripping apart her classroom, Blair tripped over a broken root in the ground and caught herself on a branch of a tree. Focus. Calming her heart, she took a steady breath and looked around the town.

A small stinging brought her attention down to her arm.

A cut on her wrist now oozed blood from where she caught it on the broken branch.

Clenching her fists, her eyes scrutinized the new cut that adorned her skin.

Her sight shifted then, slowly grazing over the lingering scars she had collected over the years.

Faint silver lines and jagged pink scars scattered over her arms, each one a careless signature of years spent tumbling, tripping, and behaving recklessly.

If shadows were coming, what would happen?

How could she defend anyone if she couldn't even defend herself against a branch?

She dug her shoe into the ground as she continued on.

Her feet trudged on until she was under the Tavern sign.

Deciding this could help her mood, she reached for the Tavern handle.

The heavy wooden door creaked as Blair stepped inside.

The sunlight streamed through the large windows and spilled onto the tables arranged across the room.

The comforting smells of stale ale and smoked meat met her as she moved toward the counter at the back.

She moved around the large booths and tables.

A warm air filled the room, spilling out of the hot ovens from the kitchen.

The heat gave contrast to the cool mid-morning air she had felt outside.

The clatter of mugs and the low murmur of conversation filled her ears.

A fire crackled in the hearth, casting long flickering shadows that seemed to twist and sway in the corners.

Blair's eyes analyzed the room as she reached the bar.

Her shoulders loosened as she considered the number of people.

At least some people were still leaving their houses .

Finley, the bartender, who was a burly man with a thick beard, nodded in her direction as she took a seat.

She ordered a drink, her gaze lingering on the patrons around her, their faces worn but full of life and hope.

A metal clink stole her attention as her drink was placed in front of her. The pink elixir bubbled playfully as she looked up into her friend's face.

"Are the kids giving you a hard time?" Finley asked with a wink. Blair rolled her eyes and produced a weak smile. "Try this! I'm sure you're going to love it!" he announced, using his hands to showcase the drink in front of her. Her weak smile grew as she watched his proud smirk.

"Thanks, Fin." she responded, using the nickname that always fed into his happy demeanor .

Blair picked up the drink and took a long sip. She immediately recognized a mixture of fruit and tea, but then, toward the end, there was a specific taste. She swished it back and forth until swallowing and grinning up at him.

"Wine? Maybe honey? Figs?"

Fin liked to experiment, creating new concoctions to test on his patrons. With most drinks, their reactions hadn't always been what he was hoping for. She braced herself as she lifted the cup to her mouth again. This one was a success, and she smiled. His eyes lit up as he laughed loudly.

"Wow. You got it! I tried to hide the wine with the honey. Balances out well, huh?" he laughed again, nudging Blair's shoulder with his fist.

Blair shook her head and turned her chair out toward the crowd with her mysterious drink in hand. A few sips later, she felt good .

Glancing around the tavern, she noticed the diverse crowd.

Each person displayed a different symbol.

Painted on collars, stitched into sleeves, hung from chains, inked into skin.

No two were the same. A burning crown. A jagged mountain.

A weeping eye. Some were clean and bright, freshly drawn.

Others were worn and faded, like they'd been there for years, maybe longer.

Names were used to identify individuals, but these symbols allowed others to recognize your business and ventures.

Blair's eyes moved to a woman approaching the bar, her sharp voice directed toward Fin.

A silver heart showed on her wrist. Blair rolled her eyes and scoffed, recognizing the symbol for an adult companion .

Turning away from that conversation, Blair noticed an old oak table near the far corner.

Two men sat there, hunched over, whispering.

Both bore the distinct symbol for merchants, along with a copper insignia she didn't recognize.

Turning her head to get a closer look, she wondered if they were from a different town or just passing through.

One, a lanky figure with a ragged cloak, the other a stout man with a scar running down his cheek.

Their voices were low, but Blair's sharp ears caught clips of their conversation.

"They say it's spreading faster now," the ragged man muttered, his eyes darting nervously around the room. "The ones born with shadows, they're not like us."

"The shadows," the scarred man replied, his voice thick with dread. "They're not shadows anymore. They're alive, and they're taking lives. They're terrorizing towns."

The hair on Blair’s arms raised. This kind of conversation had become normal, but she felt like this one hung in the air like an omen, the men didn't seem to notice.

The barkeep took no notice either, polishing a glass with the same stained old rag as he laughed with the woman who had approached him.

Blair leaned forward, trying to make out more of their words.

"They say they've been born out of the darkest places," the ragged man continued his voice trembling, "places the sun hasn't touched in years, where the air feels wrong. People born with these things on them, they're shadows, but they're not just shadows. They're more. "

"More?" the scarred man repeated, slurring his words .

"The things they do... Some of them are said to have slaughtered their own villages. One town? It was just... gone. Not a trace was left behind except for footprints and the bodies. Twisted like shadows had turned them inside out."

Blair's pulse quickened. Her fingers clenched around her mug, but she kept her face calm.

There were always some type of stories circulating about various things.

Stories of dark magic, of curses that turned people into monsters and even demons.

.. But this? This was something different. This is what plagued everyone.

"They're born this way," the ragged man said, his voice strained. "Born with a curse. A shadow they can't control. They say there's no cure. No salvation, and the worst part? They don't know what they are capable of until it is too late."

Blair's stomach churned at their words. She couldn't help but glance down at her own shadow, the dim flicker of it stretching out behind her. What if it were true? What if this were more than just a story?

"You think it's connected?" The scarred man asked, his eyes narrowing.

"I don't know," the ragged man replied, his hand shaking as he reached for his drink.

"But... something's off. People like that don't just appear out of nowhere. There's a reason that they're showing back up now, but I heard the northern king isn’t going to put up with it. He’ll take them out, one by one with his Hunters.”

The rest of the conversation faded into silence, and Blair felt the weight of a thousand questions settle on her. What exactly were these shadows? Who were the hunters? She took another long drink, although her eyes remained on the two men. She replayed their conversation in her mind.

As her body warmed from the drink that was now almost gone, she ordered another and watched the conversations around her. She stayed there for a couple hours, just watching the different groups of people and helping Fin when he needed it.

At one point, the tavern suddenly felt cold.

It was as if her mind had made it seem like shadows in the room had grown darker and heavier.

She rose from her seat, slipping out of the tavern before she became more uncomfortable.

She was antsy and her fingers twitched. She could already feel the familiar and persistent need to solve whatever was going on.