Common Clay

It hurt.

He didn’t expect it to be easy. After all, a bridge collapse wasn’t exactly on the list of pleasant experiences. His car had been going at least fifty miles an hour when the road had just vanished ahead of him. Everything after that was a brief, painful blur.

Now, he found himself trapped inside the wreckage, fighting hard just to breathe. His vision was blurry; darkness nibbled at the edges of his sight. How had it come to this? He’d done everything he was supposed to. He had played the sports, everything from soccer to basketball to track. He’d studied hard, spending hours poring over the books and agonizing over every project and essay. It hadn’t been enough to get into the best college, but he’d gone to one with a decent reputation. His degree had gotten him into a decent job, one where he could at least pay back some of the loans.

Now all of it didn’t matter. None of it had saved him from being on the road for an hour every day in the morning. He’d been on his way to that same useless corporate job in the city, where he’d been making just enough to pay rent for an apartment with three roommates. Why had he worked so hard? What did it matter?

He sucked in another painful breath as the darkness closed in around him. If only he could do it again, he’d make it matter this time. Another chance to live, to make something of himself. If only…

It was so hard to draw in the next breath. He struggled, fighting for it, and then he was drifting away…

Today was the day.

Clay had been looking forward to this day ever since he’d turned eight. That had been the birthday that had brought him the [Gift]—the ability to see and develop his [Stats]. It had been an exciting day, the start of the chance to see a life beyond his father’s farm and dream of the wider world. He’d worked hard to raise those [Stats] as high as he could—there was a cap on them that kept him from getting them too high before his Choosing, but he’d done the best he could. [Might] and [Fortitude] were both easy to gain on a farm; the day’s chores had been more than enough to guarantee that. [Insight] and [Memory] had been a bit harder; he’d borrowed books from everyone he could, poring over them until the words had made sense.

The really tricky ones had been [Valor] and [Will]. There weren’t any exercises to raise those, or at least not any easy ones. He’d still managed by forcing himself to confront his fears and stay focused, even when he was tired. Luckily, his father Sam had given him plenty of chances to work through his own fatigue over the years.

He hefted another pitchfork full of hay, tossing it out to the cows waiting in the stalls. They mooed appreciatively, bending to nibble at the feed. Wondering if he was doing the chore for the last time, he turned and shoved the pitchfork into the hay again.

“Are you ready, son?” Samuel Evergreen was a good father, one that had always looked out for him. He had a calm, plain face, though he looked a lot more nervous this morning. Clay gave him a confident grin.

“Yeah. I hope so.” He left the pitchfork in the hay and rubbed at a sore spot on his shoulder. He’d been up with the sun, and the chores had kept him busy for hours already. The Choosing was not until noon, which meant he had an hour or two. “What do you think?”

Sam grinned at his son and then scratched at his chin. “Well, I’d say those cows are already well milked and all. They seem happy to me, so I guess we just need to feed the goats and make sure the fence along the forest is in good shape…”

There was a hint of humor in the old man’s words, and Clay gave him a fake glare. “You know what I meant. Today’s the Choosing. What do you think I’ll be?”

His father chuckled a little. Then his face grew serious. “I can’t say I know, son. Not really.” He shrugged. “I’m just a [Commoner], so I don’t know anything about the fancier classes. You’ll have to ask your mother. At least she has the [Scribe] subclass and not [Farmer] like me.”

It was a familiar excuse, one that Clay had heard ever since he’d brought up his dream of becoming a powerful adventurer. Sam would have preferred to have his son stay on the farm and help out with the other kids, but Clay had heard tales of glory and power all his life. He wanted something more than to stay on the farm and work out his days. His parents would have plenty of help with the other four children. Will was already ten and had his [Might] and [Fortitude] raised to eight. His little brother was a tough sort, and a natural with the chores.

Part of him wished he could be just as dedicated to the farm, but Clay knew there was something greater out there for him. He couldn’t just drift through this life. He had to make it all matter. No matter what.

He shook himself, coming back out of his own thoughts. “Well, if you had to make a guess, do you think I’ll get [Paladin], or [Outrider]? Or maybe [Mage]? [Mystic]?”

Sam gave his son a steady look. “I can’t say either way. The [Gift] comes from the gods, as do the [Classes]. You have to be ready for whatever they will, Clay, cause their plans aren’t the same as ours. Never are, and never will be. Remember that.”

Clay nodded and sighed. “So, is Mom going to come and see it? She said that she didn’t want to last night.”

His father chuckled again, this time a little less restrained. “Your mother is a bit too nervous for you, son. She says she needs to stay at home with Finn, but…” He shook his head.

Clay had to chuckle as well, despite a pang of discomfort. His mother, Amelia, was loving and attentive, but she worried a lot about the future. She didn’t talk much about the farm she’d come from, but what little she had said had told Clay that there had been more hunger than happiness there. She was constantly alert for another catastrophe that would cause her family to go through the same kind of suffering. His dream of leaving the farm had caused her all kinds of grief, and she was dreading the possibility that he would get a [Class] that would make it all possible.

“I get it, Dad.” Clay leaned on his pitchfork a little and grinned. “She has to know that I wouldn’t go that far. I might only end up heading as far as Rennford, for all I know.”

“Your mother knows you better than that, Clay.” Sam scowled at him. “The moment you get some fancy [Class], you’ll be off looking for the edges of the horizon. It’s what you’ve always dreamed of, and what you’ll do if you get the chance.”

The truth of that statement brought a feeling of discomfort with it. Clay tried to shrug it away. “Is it so wrong to want something a little more than life as usual, Dad? There’s nothing wrong with staying on the farm, but if I can make the world a little better, a little safer…”

Sam fell silent, his expression growing pensive. His father hadn’t always lived on the farm outside of Pellsglade; his family had been living out near Sarlsboro for nearly seven generations. At least, they had until a horde of Undead had poured out of an undiscovered Dungeon, forcing the entire family to flee for their lives. Not all of them had made it out, and Sam had always missed his former home. He knew as much as anyone how much the world needed heroes; he just seemed to think those heroes should be someone else’s sons or daughters.

When Sam finally spoke, he did so with a sigh. “I hear you, son. I just wish I knew better what would bring you happiness.” He looked back over the fields, where the freshly planted wheat was deep below the furrowed ground. “Whatever happens, this place will always be here for you. You know that, don’t you?”

“I know, Dad.” Clay shrugged again, feeling a burst of uneasiness. There was always a chance he would get a [Class] that the villagers of Pellsglade wouldn’t be happy about. It had been a long time since someone had gotten something like that, but he doubted he’d be a [Burglar] or a [Knave] when the Choosing was over.

The two farmers exchanged a brief look, and then nodded. Little else needed to be said, and Clay turned back to his chores with a renewed will. He wanted everything to be done for the day before he left for the Choosing, and there was always plenty of work left for him in the day.

Another hour or so later saw him on the road to Pellsglade.

It wasn’t that far of a walk, really. The family farm was located a few miles outside the village proper, and his father had been kind enough to give him a ride on the family cart. Their mule, Dasher, had been named in a fit of irony rather than accuracy, but he still moved at a fair clip over the rough dirt road.

Clay ran an eye over the countryside as they moved, seeing everything from a fresh perspective. He had to have seen everything along that road half a hundred times, but today the fields seemed brighter and the trees more alive than he’d ever believed. Even the birdsong seemed so much more beautiful, at least what he could hear of it underneath the clattering of the cart wheels. Of course, why shouldn’t it be a wonderful day? Today was going to be when his life changed for the better.

He felt a little nervous, but that was only natural. After all, no one could predict how someone’s Choosing would go. Plenty of young folks had arrived at the Stone for their Choosing, sure of their future, only to have all their plans overthrown by an unexpected [Class]. How many stories had he heard of common folk suddenly raised to power as a [Dark Knight] or an [Oracle]? There was even the occasional surprise that revealed supposed peasants as unknown heirs by becoming a [Noble]. Not that he suspected anything like that in his heritage, but the gods hadn’t been kind enough to tell him what kind of future they held for him. Not yet.

Still lost in his thoughts, Clay nearly jumped out of his skin when something slammed into the side of the cart. He reached for the dagger at his belt, his fingers slipping a little on the hilt, until he registered exactly what was climbing up over the side of the cart. “Enessa? What are you doing here?”

She laughed, a bold, loud sound. “Apparently scaring the hide off a farmboy, Clay.” Her grin was wide and her eyes were shining as she climbed into the cart, nudging him over so that he had to make space. “You ready for your [Class]?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Clay relaxed a little, though not as much as he had been before. He’d known Enessa since they were children. Slim and copper-skinned, she had always stood out from the rest of the girls in the village. She’d been the first to challenge people to footraces and wrestling matches, even once the boys had outpaced her in both. Enessa never seemed to mind, however; she’d shrug off a loss with nothing more than a laugh and a promise for a rematch.

She also seemed to have no hesitation when it came to making him uncomfortable, a fact that Clay had come to regret. As she brushed her short, dark hair out of her eyes and fixed him with a smirk, he braced himself for another hour of suffering. “So, what [Class] do you think you’ll get? I think you might be a decent [Burglar]. You’re definitely shifty enough.”

“I think you might sneak up on me too often for that to be true.” Clay tried to ignore his father’s snort of amusement and continued. “I’m hoping for [Paladin] or [Dragoon]. Something that will let me help people out when they are in trouble.”

Enessa reached over and grabbed his bicep, squeezing it a bit. “Hmm, I dunno. You don’t seem like you’ll be big enough for a brickhead. Why not [Outrider]? You always liked the woods. Maybe a little too much, actually.”

Clay rolled his eyes. He’d spent far too much time trying to raise his [Valor] by climbing high trees and exploring the nearby forest, defying his own fears in the process. There had even been one time when he’d talked Enessa and Charles into exploring one of the random caves near Pellsglade. Charles hadn’t agreed to any more ‘adventures’ after they’d nearly gotten stuck, but they had gotten a point of [Valor] out of it. “That wouldn’t be too bad. I could track down the monsters and take care of them.”

She nodded. “True. We’ll have to see.” Then she stretched her arms over her head, rolling her head back and forth to loosen her neck. “Everyone keeps worrying about today, but I think I’ll be fine with whatever I get. I’ll just be glad to have it over with.”

He nudged her a little. “Oh really? So, if you get [Commoner] you won’t mind?”

“[Commoner] or not, I’m as uncommon as they come, Clay.” She gave him a wink and then lounged back against the cart seat. “You just remember that, or I’ll have to pummel it into you, no matter the [Class].”

Clay shook his head, ignoring another amused snort from his father. Enessa hadn’t won a wrestling match against him for nearly a month, but that wouldn’t stop her from trying. Her [Might] and [Fortitude] seemed to be almost as high as any of the boys, something that seemed wrong given how slender she was. She might just end up with [Outrider] herself, now that he thought about it.

The rest of the cart ride passed with a comfortable silence, interspersed with Enessa nudging Clay to bother him about some misadventure or another in their past. Before long, the village proper came into view around a bend in the road.

Pellsglade was a small place, barely more than a few dozen houses clustered together. They had built the oldest and closest farms around a small clearing, with the handful of shops and taverns being constructed later. There was an old well there, along with the Stone of Worship beside it. Clay’s heart beat faster as he picked out the ancient stone plinth, knowing that the time had come for him to use it at last.

He wouldn’t be alone, either. Besides Enessa, there were four other youths from the village and surrounding farms waiting near the Stone. None of them were strangers; Clay had literally been around them for all of their lives. Charles was the local baron’s son, and he couldn’t have been more destined for the [Noble] class had he tried. His refined bearing hid a genuinely caring heart, even if Clay found him a bit stuffy. George and Ned were cousins from just outside Pellsglade, and were rarely seen apart; many in the village liked to joke that they were twins, a fact that their near identical builds, faces, and hair seemed to agree with. They’d even been born within a day of each other.

The last of the waiting youths stood a little apart from the rest, though she waved to Clay and Enessa when she saw them. Maribel was the daughter of a shopkeeper in town, only a month younger than Clay. She was a bit shorter than he was, but not by much, and her long brown hair nearly reached her waist. Clay returned her greeting, though he was shy about it. Maribel had a much more…well-rounded figure than Enessa, and ever since adolescence had set in, he had felt awkward around her. It wasn’t fair, perhaps, but little in life seemed to be.

Enessa chuckled and nudged him. “What’s that blush for, Clay? The Companion giving you impure thoughts?”

Clay glared at her. “I don’t think that the Goddess of Love really has that much interest in me, Enessa. Probably as little as the Sage has in you.”

She laid a hand over her heart and laid back as if stricken. “Oh, you have wounded me!” Then she rolled her eyes. “You know she won’t take a little staring amiss, right? George and Ned have probably been ogling her all morning already.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to feel right about it.” He shrugged and set his jaw. “Leave it be.”

“Oh, all right. Don’t get sore about it.” She punched him lightly on the shoulder and settled back onto the cart. His father, on the other hand, seemed to be biting his lip to keep from laughing, a fact that made Clay’s face feel all that much hotter. The last part of the ride felt like a small eternity.

Finally, though, Sam pulled on the reins and brought the cart to a halt. Enessa was gone, jumping from the cart before it had even come to a halt. She ran over to give Maribel a wide hug before waving to the rest of the group. Clay took his time dismounting from the cart. He paused as his father leaned over, stretching out a hand. Sam’s voice was rough, and pride and worry in his father’s eyes were just as clear to see. “Good fortune, son. Make the right choice.”

“I will, Dad.” Clay shook his father’s hand, feeling sudden worry settle into his own guts. He tried to settle himself as he turned towards the Stone. The others gave him grins that were equal parts excited and worried, and he gave them a smile that probably matched. None of them spoke much, and all of them fell silent when Rector Semmon appeared.

The old Rector was a figure of authority in Pellsglade, and for good reason. He’d been the Rector back when all of them had been born, and for as long as Clay’s family had been part of Pellsglade. He carried the weary experience that was common to every village pastor, and his age only made the stern look on his face that much weightier.

He approached the Stone from the small village shrine that he’d lived in most of his life. The tension among the youths who were waiting for ratcheted up, as if there were some kind of invisible crossbow being prepared for a shot. Clay felt his own heartbeat speed up, and he shared a nervous smile with Enessa. When the man finally drew close and spoke, Clay hung on his every word.

“Youth of Pellsglade, today is the day of your Choosing.” The Rector paused, his severe gaze sweeping over each of them in turn. “Eight years ago, when you received your [Gift], you were given the chance to prepare for this day. The gods have watched you this long time, as you grew from [Child] to [Youth], and today they will deliver you the reward of your efforts. Those of you who are called to serve as their champions in this land will receive [Classes] that will guide you to your purpose. If you receive no such calling, you will still receive the [Class] and [Subclass] that match your efforts.” He looked them all over again, and Clay felt as if the Rector had weighed and measured him like a horse he needed to buy. “Let us begin.”

The Rector turned to Charles, who was waiting with an unreadable expression. “Charles of Pellsglade, see to the Stone.”

Charles paused for a moment, glancing across the village green. Baron Pellsglade was waiting there, dressed in riding clothes, and watching his son. The baron nodded to his heir, and Charles stepped over to the Stone, his face grim. He reached out to the worn surface of the Stone, pausing only a moment before his fingers made contact. Then he pressed his hand firmly against it and waited.

The Rector murmured something that Clay couldn’t quite hear, a chant that the man had recited for countless Choosings. As a [Commoner], Semmon had little to do with magic or miracles, but the Rector’s [Subclass] was [Priest], which gave him more than enough skill for this simple ceremony.

Clay felt his breath grow short as the Stone responded. Glowing blue lines stretched across the surface of the marker, bathing the green in ethereal light. Charles jerked slightly, though his hand remained pressed to the Stone. His blue eyes appeared to catch fire, glowing with the same unreal light as the plinth he touched.

Then the Stone flashed and the glow faded. Charles backed away from the spot, his expression stunned. The Rector approached him, and they spoke too quietly for Clay to hear. He thought Charles sounded worried, almost fearful, but the Rector’s unwavering grumble was unconcerned. After that short conversation, the Rector turned to address the watching baron, as well as the rest of the onlookers. “Sir Charles has been granted the [Class] of [Paladin]! May he serve our realm well!”

A murmur of surprise ran through the villagers, and the baron jerked upright on his horse. It was clear he’d expected his heir to be a [Noble]; the idea of a riskier [Class] must have been an unwelcome surprise. At the same time, there was no argument against the Stone; a person’s [Class] could never change, no matter whether they were nobility or peasants.

Charles seemed stunned, but Clay gave him an encouraging nod. “Congratulations, Sir Charles.”

The new [Paladin] nodded, his expression growing less numb. He crossed the green to go stand with his father, who bent from the saddle to speak with him. No doubt the baron was already making plans to equip his son with the finest arms and armor before sending him off to adventure. Clay wondered if he’d get the chance for similar equipment, if he gained the same [Class].

“George and Ned Furrows, see to the Stone!” With the nobility taken care of, the Rector clearly had no issue performing the ritual at a quicker pace. The cousins exchanged a quick look, and with near-identical grins, they stepped up to the Stone. They seemed far less nervous about touching it. Maybe they thought that if the baron’s son could do it, a good farmboy could too. Either way, they pressed their hands to the Stone and looked at the Rector, waiting.

Semmon began the chant again, his muttered words still completely incomprehensible. Enessa stepped up beside Clay as the glow ran all over the Stone again, bathing the ‘twins’ in its ethereal power. “So, Charles is going to be an adventurer! Do you think that means the rest of us are [Commoners]? Last year only one youth got an interesting [Class], and there were eight of them.”

Clay shook his head, his eyes glued to the ceremony. “Just because there was one surprise, it doesn’t mean there won’t be more. It all depends on what the gods decide.” Privately, he wondered if the fact that he had gone on so many small adventures with the lordling would factor into his own judgement. After all, if the gods had decided that Charles was brave enough to be a [Paladin], then surely they would look on the one who had been dragging him everywhere with favor.

The glow faded from the stone, and the cousins stepped back. They exchanged a look, and then shouted and hugged each other. Semmon looked nonplussed as they spent some moments slapping each other on the back, and then stepped forward to demand their attention. It took a few tries, but the two finally calmed down enough to speak with the Rector.

This time, the elderly man seemed a little surprised, even disturbed. When he stepped back to address the crowd, his voice carried a hint of uncertainty it hadn’t had before. “Sir George has been granted the [Class] of [Dragoon]! Sir Ned has been granted the [Class] of [Dark Knight]! May they serve our realm well!”

There was a moment of shock, and then another shocked murmur ran through the crowd. Enessa and Clay exchanged their own looks of surprise. Three adventurer [Classes], in one Choosing? It was beyond abnormal; Clay hadn’t heard of a single year like this one. He was still trying to think through the meaning of it when the Rector cleared his throat and called out again.

“Enessa Moors and Maribel Cooper, see to the Stone!”

An expectant murmur filled the air, and Enessa gave Clay one last pat on the shoulder before running up to the Stone. She slapped her hand against it and waited expectantly, though the Rector gave her a scandalized look. Enessa didn’t seem to notice or care. Maribel, for her part, seemed much more worried, and approached much more carefully. She only touched the stone with her fingertips, as if it were a hot plate that she was trying to avoid.

Again, the Rector began his chant. He seemed a bit more forceful this time, as if he was trying to cover up his own uncertainty about the situation. The Stone glowed again, and both Enessa and Maribel’s eyes shone with incredible light. Clay watched them, his heart hammering in his chest, and tried to feel ready to confront the ceremony alone once they were done.

As the light faded yet again, both girls stepped back with stunned expressions. Maribel looked almost on the edge of tears, while Enessa threw back her head and laughed. The Rector hurried over; apparently the previous Choosings had imparted enough urgency to him that the old man had given up the pretense of being slow and stately. He had a quick, urgent conversation with each of them. There was a long, silent pause, and then the Rector turned to address the crowd.

“Syr Enessa has been granted the [Class] of [Fighter]! Syr Maribel has been granted the [Class] of [Mage]! May they serve the realm well!”

If the previous Choosings had created a buzz of conversation, it became something of a near shouting match now. Five adventurers from one Choosing was unheard of; the village would be capable of sending out its own adventuring party! Clay heard the onlookers speaking amongst each other, catching some of them talking about a ‘generation of heroes’. He licked his lips and looked over at his father.

Sam Evergreen was staring in fear and wonder at his son. His expectations were clear. He could already see Clay joining the ranks of the others as an adventurer, with all the uncertainty and glory that would involve. Clay tore his eyes away from his father, and turned back to the Stone, just as the Rector raised his voice over the murmuring crowd.

“Clay Evergreen, see to the Stone!”

The pronouncement brought a sudden silence to the village green. Clay could feel every eye on him as he stepped forward. Their expectation was almost palpable as he reached out and laid a hand on the worn, ancient surface of the Stone.

It felt cool to the touch, and smooth, as if countless days of sun, rain, and wind had robbed the Stone of any trace of imperfection. He marveled at it for a moment; he’d never dared to touch the thing before, always keeping a wary distance from it. Who knew what would turn the gods against a person, or what they would take offense to?

He waited for a moment as the Rector began his chant for yet another time. There was a sudden tingle of energy under his fingers. It wasn’t warm, he thought, just…intense. It was as if the lines that were flaring to life were crackling with power, like summer lightning against a sky of grey clouds.

Clay peered closer at those designs, wondering at them for a moment.

Then he was suddenly, abruptly, somewhere very different.

Gone were the summer sun and the pleasant breeze. Gone were the murmuring onlookers, and the half-terrified, proud eyes of his father. Gone was the incessant murmuring of the Rector as the priest wove his way through the chant.

Instead, he found himself in a chamber of light, pure glowing brilliance that filled the space around him. He looked down and gasped; there was nothing beneath his feet but more of the same ethereal glow. What was this place? What had happened to him?

When he looked up, his heart hammering in his chest, he found he was no longer alone.

Seven statues stood in a staggered semicircle in front of him. They were glowing, each with their own internal light. There was something familiar about each, though he could not say what it was at first. He took a step towards them, almost without thinking about it. Was it something he had seen in one of his mother’s books?

Then one statue moved.

It was a statue of a woman, dressed in unfamiliar robes and wielding some kind of strange crossbow. She looked at him, her eyes shining with pure white light behind plates of glass held by wire frames. Then she frowned.

He felt a cold burst of fear as the statue pivoted in place to show him her back. As he looked around the chamber, the rest of the statues made similar movements. A woman that sculpted from marble and wearing a fine dress sighed and turned her head. A man wearing a golden crown turned and began walking away. A cloaked man who bore a grim scythe grimaced and sat on the ground, ignoring him. Another who wore too much armor to determine their gender folded their arms and looked away. A third man carrying a broadsword and a proud aspect turned away as well.

In the end, only one statue remained facing him. It was a strange one compared to the others. Where they were regal, dignified, this one seemed far more relaxed, dressed in a crude robe of furs. She lounged against the insubstantial background, with knuckles and knees that seemed scraped from some bare-knuckle brawl. Her golden eyes studied Clay with a curious, though not entirely interested, air.

They watched one another for a time, as Clay’s heart did its best to pound its way out of his chest. Was this real? He’d never heard of anything like this when others had talked about their Choosing. What was happening?

“SO. YOUR NAME IS CLAY?”

The voice was so overpowering, so intense, that Clay’s knees almost buckled. He somehow remained upright, but just barely. Some part of him registered the voice as having come from the statue, though its expression hadn’t changed and its lips hadn’t moved. A dim realization washed over him as he realized who he faced. These had to be the gods themselves, and the one he faced now…

“Y-yes. It is.”

“A GOOD CHOICE. BETTER THAN YOUR FIRST LIFE.”

The voice nearly drove him to his knees again, but this time he felt a wave of confusion at their meaning. He knew the goddess had to be the Trickster, the Cunning Soul. Why had the others turned away? “My—what?”

“YOUR FIRST LIFE. IT ENDED FAR TOO SOON, IN A PLACE BEYOND THIS ONE.” The Trickster smiled. “YOU WERE GIVEN ANOTHER CHANCE HERE. TO MAKE THINGS MEANINGFUL. TO MAKE IT ALL MATTER.”

The goddess paused. “NOW YOU ARE HERE. HAVE YOU SUCCEEDED?”

Clay blinked, his mind whirling with confusion. He hadn’t expected this moment, not in any of the daydreams that he’d had about his Choosing. How much time had passed in the real world by now? Was his father still watching as he stood, hand pressed against the Stone?

He shook himself, trying to focus well enough to answer the question. “I—I have tried. Every day, I have tried to make myself better. To become more worthy of your approval and trust.” Clay looked up into that deific face, searching for signs of that approval. He found only a blank stare. “I am ready to serve you, however is needed. To make the world a better place for my family and everyone in it.”

“IS THIS SO?” The statue’s expression shifted to one of wry amusement. She glanced at the others, who were busy leaving or ignoring the situation. One of them, the one in the fine dress, glanced back, but looked away again as soon as Clay noticed. “I AM SORRY, YOUNG ONE. BUT YOU HAVE FAILED.”

Shock and horror washed across Clay, and though he was growing used to the overwhelming power of the Trickster’s voice, his legs nearly buckled for a third time. He’d failed? After having tried so hard? What did this mean?

“TAKE HEART, CLAY EVERGREEN. FAILURE IS NOT AN END, NOT HERE.” The Trickster’s voice was filled with a curious kind of compassion, though it remained full of power. “THE OTHERS DID NOT AGREE WITH MY BRINGING YOU HERE, NOR DO THEY BELIEVE YOU WORTHY OF YOUR TASK. I, HOWEVER, AM KNOWN FOR…DIFFERING WITH THEM ON OCCASION.”

Clay looked up in disbelief as the Trickster stood, her casual lounge becoming a more regal stance. It was like watching a wolf stand up from the ground, and the grin the statue gave him was just as unnerving. He felt like meat in the goddess’s jaws. “I WILL GIVE YOU ANOTHER CHANCE, CLAY, TO PROVE TO ME AND TO ALL OF THEM THAT YOU CAN SUCCEED. FIND MEANING IN THIS LIFE, MAKE THE WORLD A BETTER PLACE IN THE PROCESS. DO NOT BECOME BLINDED A THIRD TIME, OR YOUR END WILL BE JUST AS SORROWFUL HERE. GO!”

The last command was delivered with a bark of laughter, one that slammed into Clay as if it was a gale of wind. He recoiled, lurching backward, and suddenly the chamber was gone.

He was back on the village green, and the light was fading from the Stone in front of him. The murmurs of the village green around him were nothing compared to the Trickster’s voice still echoing in his ears, and he stared in numb shock at the fading light before him.

Clay was dimly aware of the Rector approaching him, but he barely heard the footsteps. The insubstantial words floating in the air before him captured his attention, something he’d grown used to after the [Gift] had come to him eight years before. He had been so excited then, immediately dedicating himself to the effort of preparing for this day. The day that was meant to be the beginning of the rest of his life.

He felt no such joy now. Instead, he read with growing horror as a list of notifications grew before him.

[Clay Evergreen]

[Class: Commoner]