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The Marked Circle were a neutered group of scumbag mages. Unable to be scummy anymore, their magical use was limited to the intent of getting high—treating magic like a drug.
Always scratching, always hungry for another hit.
Hal told me their story once, the whole thing bypassing me on account of running for my life and the tale being suppressed by the Global Order. But back in the days of war with the vampires, these dickheads murdered folk to bypass the rules of intent and will that human mage magic operated by. Every dodgy spell they cast left a mark, a curse upon their skin to remind them of what a piece of shit they were for committing murder to get what they wanted.
Greed and power, basically.
This form of magic was called Aidan’s Sorrow. An afront to Aidan’s Fire.
Pfft. I bet the deity fucker loved the murder side of things.
Before the war’s end, a human man called Felix Dru was the richest human on the planet. Despite the fighting, he’d found boundless wealth, only for it to fall apart. He was brought down by proper mages who cast spells to restrict this activity. After that, with the war coming to an end, anyone attempting to use Aidan’s Sorrow would fail from a kickback from the permanent magic in the air. Then get arrested and executed.
The remaining fallen mages apparently now frequented dens with moldy carpets and too many candles. And there were some who followed them in solidarity, slinking in the shadows.
It never made sense why they weren’t hunted down like us executioners were. I mean, the Global Order wasn’t for allowing turds to ruin the utopia they’d built.
Hmmm. Whatever.
The mage looked us up and down with spidery, black eyes, his brown hair tied up in a messy bun.
“What are you doing in my house?” he demanded in a bitterly cold voice.
“To use the gift I have given all mages,” Aidan answered. “To learn the ways of how you have abused it.” His turn to look the man up and down.
Aidan might have given the world Aidan’s Fire, but outside of possessing Hal’s mage body, he couldn’t use it. Which meant he wouldn’t be versed in the ways of Aidan’s Sorrow.
I guessed. Why else would we be here?
The man cocked his head, scratching at his arms. “Excuse me?”
I drew more luck down my chest.
Get me out of here!
Something must have happened in the few beats between the man’s words and the sudden falling to his knees and the bowing. I’d missed it, clearly, but now the mage knew exactly who this man was.
“Aidan,” he said. “Most glorious one. It is an honor to gaze upon you.”
He wasn’t doing much gazing with his forehead pressed against the carpet.
“Go on,” the deity responded.
“An eternity of apologies,” the man rambled on, scratching the back of his neck. “For Aidan’s Sorrow. For the sin of my people.”
Aidan looked at me, rolling his eyes as if we were best buddies who often exchanged exasperated looks.
Prick.
“There’s no need to apologize,” the deity answered. “Get up. I want to chat.”
He did, trembling, hands clasped together. “It really is you.”
“There are some who love me unconditionally,” Aidan whispered to me.
Without my song showing me the truth, I might still be singing his praises too.
Perish the fucking thought.
