The markingTroy sat restlessly in the old shop. He was tired of hearing theconstant clanging of the blacksmith making a sword next door.Troy's feet hurt from standing at the register, but he smiled at thestranger-woman who approached the counter. She held up herhand in greeting, showing him the Mark on her palm. Her Markidentified her as miserly, as did the meager selection of goods inher basket. Troy hurried to calculate her bill, careful not to makea mistake.Then, when she wasn't looking, he dropped an extra handful offresh herbs into her basket.His older sister, Cybil, came up behind him as the customer left."You can't be giving away the merchandise," she warned.Troy blushed. "Sorry," he mumbled.Cybil just clucked her tongue and went back to checking theinventory. She was always so sure of herself. Troy was heropposite: clumsy, while she was graceful; slow, while she wasquick; distracted, while she was sharp. He would never measureup. And tomorrow, when he received his own Mark, everyonewould be able to see that he was a failure.A dusty woman limped into the store, carrying a baby.They'd probably walked a long way from the desert district. Thebaby cried, and Troy hurried to scoop some water for them. He winked at the baby. The mother smiled, and the baby giggled.Cybil came out from the back to check on the disturbance. Troyreturned to the register before she could scold him.He remembered Cybil's Marking Day. Confident as ever, Cybilhad foretold her own Mark. She was, of course, pleased with themagnificent sharp-eyed eagle that she received, tattooedpermanently on her palm.Troy had just come of age, and he was dreading his ownMarking. Up to now, he had always felt that he could change whohe was, maybe become more like Cybil. But he feared that nowhis Mark would brand him as a loser. Marks told members of Lyrawhat they are capable of and what they will do in life if theychoose to do so. Troy was surprised that Cybil had chosen tostay at his mother’s shop. She could do so much more yet shestill stayed with the old hag.The bell on the door jangled. Papa Shaw, the village carpenter,came in with a big smile. Troy hoped that Shaw's visit was a goodsign. The carpenter's hand bore the best Mark, in Troy's opinion—a black dragon with a red flame. Troy gathered his courage."Papa Shaw," he said, "your Mark is so strong. How can I makesure I get a good Mark like yours?"Shaw just laughed and patted Troy's shoulder. "Your Mark isalready determined," Shaw said. "There's nothing you can do, sodon't worry. You heard about the girl who tried to choose her Mark?""You recently received a beautiful Mark yourself, am I right, youngLeo?" asked Shaw. Leo held up his palm, showing his lion Mark.Troy suppressed a sigh. The lion— strong, brave—was almosttoo perfect a Mark for Leo.When Shaw left, Troy asked Leo, "How can I get a good Mark?"Like Shaw, Leo laughed. But then he looked at Troy seriously."You'll get the right Mark for you.Everyone does," he said. Leo leaned in close. "But ... if youreally want a specific Mark, you must picture it as you place yourhand in the mouth of the Marker. The machine uses what's inyour mind, so just hold on to that picture in your mind."Troy shook his head, so Shaw launched into the tale of a girl's ill-fated attempt at Mark-fixing: she ended up being Marked for lifeas a cheater. Shaw was still talking when Troy's friend Leostopped by. Shaw waved him in and explained theirconversation.Troy pondered. For Leo's idea to work, he needed to have a clearimage in mind. But what should it be? He was still wondering ashe drifted off to sleep that night.The morning of Troy's Marking Day dawned bright. As light filledhis bedroom, images floated in his mind. He saw the faces of thebaby, Papa Shaw, Leo, and others he knew, all smiling andreaching out to him. But he couldn't hold all those images in his mind. What could his Mark be?Leo arrived, offering to walk Troy to his Marking. Cybil had tokeep the store open, of course. Troy strolled down the streetalongside Leo, too worried to keep up a conversation. Then henoticed something. Everyone they passed waved and nodded,telling Troy, "Don't worry." Many of them shouted, "Greetings onyour Marking Day!" Troy felt a rush of gratitude. His neighborsdidn't know his Mark, but they knew him, and they were with him.At length, they reached the great bronze gates of the marbleMarking Hall. As the guard waved them through, Troy realizedthat his worry had melted away. When the moment for hisMarking arrived, he smiled at Leo, then closed his eyes andplaced his hand into the mouth of the Marker.
