Word: Hero

hero

[ heer-oh ]

noun, plural he·roes; for 5 also he·ros.

a person noted for courageous acts or nobility of character: He became a local hero when he saved the drowning child.

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               The smell was the first thing Shell noticed.  The pungent scent of strong wine.  Her father had been drinking too much again.  She found him easily enough.  Passed out on the floor again.  It seemed like she was finding him there more often than in his own bed.  Not that there was a large amount of difference between then two, but still. 

               She considered healing him.  The magic her mother had taught her before leaving would have the man set to rights in seconds.  But she held back.  Shell’s father deserved to suffer the aftereffects of the wine.  It was his fault for drinking too much, after all.  Especially considering what day it was.

               She ducked out of the room to prepare herself, leaving her father to suffer once he woke up.  It would be familiar to him by now, considering how much he drank.  She was glad his was not a violent drunk, at least, just a stupid one.  In fact, his lack of abuse towards anyone was his only redeeming feature, in her opinion. 

               But now his love of wine was going to lead to his disappointment.  Today was a rare day, and if he wanted to miss it because of his own choice, let him.  She would certainly not help him.  She would not even splash water on him to wake him up.  No, he would just have to miss his only daughter, his only child, getting her Oracle Reading.

               It was so rare that the Oracle Priests came to their small village, that everyone was turning up.  In big cities, it would be just the children getting Read.  But out here, even the village elders would be getting Read.  Her father would just have to miss it.

               Shell put on her nicest outfit and joined the gathered crowd.  Nobody was surprised her father was not present.  The Priests were resplendent in their finery.  Each one wore clothes that were probably worth more than the entire village.  Nobody cared.  They were just happy the Priests were there at all.

               Shell had emerged during the middle of a Reading.  It was just like she heard in the stories her mother had told her about her Oracle Reading from before she came to the village.  The Priests stood around the person, a young man named Peith.  The Priest’s hands glowed with a golden light, which slowly arched out and hit Peith in the chest.  The light spread out along his body until he was completely enveloped in it.  Once his entire body was covered, it grew brighter and slowly flowed down to his right hand.  There, it took the shape that marked what he was meant to do with his life.

               One of the Priests looked at the mark.  “You bare the mark of the cloth.  You shall work with cloth and make fine garments.”

               This was no surprise.  Peith was already the tailor’s apprentice.  And he was already as good as the more experienced tailor in many ways.  Still, it was nice for everyone to know.  The next person stepped up as Peith left the circle of holy men.  One by one, the Oracle Priests performed the ritual.  It was rare that someone got a mark that different from their current occupation or that of the rest of their family.

               When it was Shell’s turn, she fully expected one of two results.  She would either get a mark that lead her down the path of stable hand like her father, or a healer like her mother.  She hoped it was the latter.  She already knew quite a bit about healing, both magical and mundane, and even in a small village, healers were always well respected.  She just hoped there was not a mark of the drunkard.

               When the Priests began their ritual, she felt the light immediately.  It was warm and comforting.  Like being wrapped in soft blankets and surrounded by her loved ones.  She thought she heard voices, a faint singing.  But that could have just been her ears playing tricks on her.  The light filtered down and became her mark.  It was a bright golden ring with eight lines inside of it, like the spokes of a wheel.  Each line was a different color, the colors of the eight colors of magic.  It looked almost like the mark her mother had, but somehow different.  Inverted, almost. 

               The Priest looked at her mark and recoiled in shock.  The other priests huddled together and spoke quietly to each other.  One of them, the oldest, broke the huddle and approached her. 

               “What is your name, girl?”  The Priests had not asked the name of any of the other villagers.

               “I am Shellin, Your Holiness, but everyone calls me Shell.”

               “Shell, do you have any family?”

               “My father is at home, nursing a hangover, and my mother left a few years ago.”

               “I see.  We will need to talk to your father then.”

               “Why?  Is there something wrong with my mark?”

               “Of a sort.  You bare a rare mark that shows a truly special destiny.  You bare the mark of the Hero.”

               The crowd gasped and erupted into conversation.  Shell was not sure what to think.  Her?  A hero?  That could not be right.  All the stories of heroes were all men from rich families.  Not girls from small villages and drunk fathers.

               “I…I can’t…I can’t be a hero.” Shell said quietly.  Only the Priest heard her, thanks to the volume of the crowd.

               “The Gods do not lie, young miss.  The Oracle Reading is never wrong.  Even if you don’t come with us, your destiny will eventually come of you, casting you out of this place and forcing you to learn.  If you come with us, we can teach you how to fight.  Magic, weapons, everything you can ever need.”

               “I already know a little bit of magic.  Mother taught me.” Shell said confidently.

               “Good.  That’s good.  You’ll need that foundation during your training.”

               “Hey, do you think I’ll meet her again if I go with you?  My mother, I mean.  She had a hero mark as well.”

               The priests looked at each other.  “No, there has been nobody else with a hero mark in centuries.  Why do you say that?”

               “She had a mark from before she came here.  It was like mine, but backwards, I guess.”

               The Priest’s face darkened.  “If that’s the case, then I can guarantee you will meet your mother again.  It might not be a pleasant reunion though.  Now, take us to your home.  We need to speak with your father.” 

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First of all, there are a lot of other definitions for hero, but only the first one really matters here, so I'll only post that one.  If you want to see the others, here's where you can find them: https://www.dictionary.com/browse/hero 

Second, if you think I should keep going with that, I might consider it at some other time.  Maybe in a longer format.  Probably not too likely, but stranger things have happened.