Mark of the Fool
Chapter 653: Five Birthdays and a Funeral

Carey’s parents were—from all appearances—just an average middle aged couple walking into the temple, and most in attendance reacted to them as such. There was no grand fanfare, no announcements, no one jumped to their feet, or bowed.

Yet, those who knew them by sight paused when they entered.

Professor Jules and Watcher Hill stared at them for a moment, subtly whispering to each other. The professor’s face showed resolve, and tension, much like a first year student taking their very first exam.

Alex’s family took note of them when he told them who they were.

Soon, even those who’d never seen them before, were turning around, wondering who they were until their eyes fell on Carey’s mother. Carey had been the image of her mother; blond haired, petite, and chubby cheeked with a touch of her father’s features thrown in for good measure; his blueeyes, button nose and soft chin.

She was stamped with their likenesses, and their features told everyone who the couple that just entered the temple were.

Some mourners nodded to them, acknowledging them quietly as they were led toward the front of the temple by an usher. Others, like members of Campus for Uldar, scurried from their seats, intercepting them.

“You must be Mr. and Mrs’ Londom, I’m so sorry for—” one started.

“I was great friends with Carey, right until the end—” said another.

“I am so sorry for what happened to her, she was truly the best of—”

The grieving mother and father were assaulted by a storm of condolences, some genuine, and others—Alex had the suspicion—not so much.

He had seen such nonsense before, at other memorial services, and even his own parents’ funeral. People who hardly knew, or rarely had anything to do with the deceased would suddenly appear, pushing themselves to the forefront, proclaiming how close they had been to one another. Then the weeping and wailing would start, and soon, all attention would turn to them while the actual bereaved were left comforting them.

“I must have cried every night since I learned of Carey’s death,” sobbed one of Carey’s former friends who Alex had probably seen all of two times. “I think I might have had feelings for—”

“Whenever I go out, I miss having Carey beside me. Everyday I look out across the sea and imagine she’s still here—” a young woman exclaimed, her voice rising.

“Attention-seeking snakes,” Theresa growled under her breath.

“What?” Selina said, her voice a whisper. “How are they snakes?”

The huntress shook her head. “I’ve never seen those people before. They remind me of some of the ones at your parents’ funeral.”

Selina looked at her sharply. “What do you mean?”

Theresa’s face hardened. “There was this man who showed up, screaming and crying about how much he missed your mother and father. Father asked him to leave twice, but he wouldn’t go until the priest strongly told him to.”

“Yeah,” Alex said. “I remember that. But I didn’t know why your father was so mad until later.”

“Why was Mr. Lu mad?” Selina asked.

Now Claygon was leaning in.

The Thameish wizard snorted. “Apparently, the man and dad hated each other: they were both soft on mum when they were school boys, and the guy wouldn’t stop coming on to her, even after mum and dad got married. He even tried to ambush dad with some of his mates one night, and if Mr. Lu hadn’t been there, it would’ve been bad.”

“That’s why father found him after the funeral and laid him out with a smile on his face,” Theresa smiled with satisfaction. “He was making a terrible time even worse, all for a bit of attention.”

“That’s disgusting,” Selina’s voice was flat. “And you think those people are like that?” She nodded toward the small crowd surrounding Carey’s parents.

Alex’s frown deepened. “At mom and dad’s funeral a bunch of people surrounded me just like that. It felt strange and real uncomfortable when they started talking about how broken up they were by what happened; the problem was, mum and dad had never mentioned them before, and I had no idea who most of them were. Then, when I got older—and needed a job—I didn’t see any of them coming around to help me.”

He glared at the crowd gathering around Carey’s parents. “Funny how that works, isn’t it?”

Alex had a good mind to get up and break through the circle; those poor people didn’t need a bunch of fawning hypocrites drowning them in horse dung right now. He could go over, simply offer her parents his condolences for now, then let the usher show them to their seats, and talk to them later——

“Oi, why don’ you lot leave ‘em alone?” a familiar voice rumbled from the doorway.

The fawners gasped, looking toward the commanding voice.

Silence followed.

Alex’s head turned, followed by Claygon’s, Theresa’s, then Selina’s, she gasped.

There—standing in a row—were four very familiar figures, beside a bunch more very familiar ones.

A small crowd stood at the entrance to the building: Grimloch, Thundar, Isolde, Hogarth, Svenia, Khalik, Sinope, Nua-Oge, Kybas, Tyris…

…and four of the five Heroes of Thameland.

Alex did a double take at the sight of the Heroes, wondering if he might be hallucinating, or if grief and anger had robbed him of reason. He closed his eyes then opened them again…to the exact same scene.

Clad all in black, the Heroes of Thameland walked down the centre aisle.

Hart Redflether was hand in hand with Tyris Goldtooth.

Drestra of Crymlyn Swamp walked with her arm linked through the arm of a nervous looking Thundar.

Cedric strode beside Isolde. He was even wearing a shirt.

And Merzhin…the Saint of Uldar walked a little apart, head held low and cheeks burning red.

His expression turned to one of pure alarm when he spotted Carey’s parents.

“The Heroes!” Carey’s father gasped, the sycophants and vultures around him completely forgotten. “Thameland’s Heroes are here?”

“Peace unto you, Mr. and Mrs. London...your daughter fell in battle at our side,” Merzhin said, his voice small. Low. Agonised. “The warriors and wizards of Generasi fought like heroes themselves to save her. And it is with the greatest shame that we now must attend her memorial. I…”

He looked up at them, tears brimming in his eyes. “...I am sorry.”

Alex’s heart ached; Carey’s parents couldn’t know how deep the pain behind Merzhin’s apology ran. They couldn’t know the full extent of why he was apologising. Perhaps, they never would.

With a choked cry, Gloria London dropped to her knees before the Saint, clutching his black robe. “Bless your heart ever so much, Saint of Uldar. O-Our Carey loved Uldar with her whole heart, just as he loves us!” She turned to the other Heroes. “Holy Chosen, Holy Sage, Holy Champion. Thank you for this honour! I’m sure our daughter must be crying tears of joy from the after-world.”

One look at Merzhin’s face told Alex that guilt didn’t kill, not directly, because if it did; the Saint of Uldar would be lying dead on the ground. The small man trembled, his boyish face contorting in agony.

Only a few knew the depths of his pain, and none would be revealing it.

Hart looked at Carey’s parents. “Don’t worry, we’ll make sure the bastards that did this pay.”

“Thank you. Thank you!” Carey’s father gave the Heroes a deep bow.

“Now we should be lettin’ everyone get t’ their seats.” Cedric nodded at Professor Jules. “I’m sure it’s more than time t’get started. So if’n you folks would kindly step out of the way.” He raised his eyebrow meaningfully at those surrounding the couple.

They looked at the Heroes…well, with Hero worship, then reluctantly, but wisely, stepped aside so that Carey’s parents and her friends could pay respects to the fallen. One by one, the group approached the coffins, kneeling beside each one with their heads bowed in quiet prayer. The Heroes rested a hand on each coffin with the reverence they would give to an old friend.

When they reached Carey’s casket, Merzhin spoke softly, his slight frame seeming to shrink further. “Goodbye Carey, thank you for being my friend,” was all he could say.

And with that, everyone moved aside, leaving her parents beside their daughter’s coffin.

“May Uldar guide you to your reward in the after-world, my daughter,” Mr. London said. “You served him well in life.”

“May he embrace you in death,” Mrs. London said quietly. “And may St. Avelin guide you to his side.”

Alex fought a wave of nausea churning in the pit of his gut as he pictured Uldar’s notes about his creation. His mind went back to his parents’ graves in Alric; at their funeral, the priest of Uldar gave his benediction, then the townsfolk prayed to both the Traveller, and their god for his parents’ immortal souls.

He wished he could go back in time and demand that they not defile his parents’ memory by speaking the dead god’s name.

But, such wishes were pointless; if he could go back in time, there wouldn’t be a need for a memorial service today.

Carey would still be with them, flesh and blood and alive and well.

He banished those thoughts as the usher guided Mr. And Mrs. London to their seats at the very front of the temple near the loved ones of the others who’d fallen. The Heroes and Alex’s other friends took seats on a long bench in front of the young wizard, the huntress, Selina and Claygon.

Cedric turned around. “Alex, Theresa, Claygon.” He nodded, before spotting Selina. “Oi, little one…wait, y’ain’t so little no more. Been a bit.”

“Cedric.” Selina smiled. “I’m glad to see you…but I wish it was at a better time.”

“Aye, I hear ya.”

“Oh, and happy birthday. You too, Drestra, Hart and Merzhin.”

All four of the Heroes paused in surprise before answering.

“Damn, I actually forgot,” Hart rumbled.

“As did I,” Merzhin said.

“Things have been too eventful lately,” Drestra agreed. “And thank you, sweet child.”

“We’ll talk later,” Alex whispered as more mourners came through the temple’s entrance, looking to pay their respects to the departed.

Soon, the chamber was fullto standing; a great many people had died, and they had left a great many loved ones behind. Alex wondered how many more services he would find himself attending before the nightmare Uldar had created was finally dead and gone for good.

The distant ringing of a bell announced the start of the ceremony, signalling the hall to silence.

A city official—a steward of death—stepped to the podium wearing robes of deepest black, accented on either shoulder by strange pauldrons inlaid with miniature braziers burning frankincense.

He sniffed. “Loved ones. Friends. Honoured living. Today we gather together—under the watch of many deities, spirits and ancestors—to both mourn and celebrate. We mourn the passing of those we cherished in life, and celebrate them reaching their final destinations in the after-world. May they know peace, and may the lives they lived provide comfort for their immortal souls. Now we—”

The official gave an eloquent, passionate speech about sacrifice and the burdens of the living as they bid farewell to the dead. He spoke of the privilege of not only living as one chose, but dying as one chose, he also peppered his inspiring words with a brimstone-tinged speech about how monsters shouldbe punished for their ravening slaughter.

Alex found the words moving, he noticed others nodding their heads in agreement with the man as his voice rose, warming to his subject.

When he finished, he ceded the podium to Watcher Hill.

Alex noted the sudden/abrupt shift in Carey’s parents’ bodies.

“Today I speak for fallen warriors who died giving their lives for a cause, and for the lives of others,” she said. “They fought a terrible battle against monstrous foes—”

‘Monstrous is an understatement,’ Alex thought, recalling the First Apostle.

“—and their loss granted others victory,” she continued. “For that, I am as proud of them as I am ashamed of myself. They—”

She continued, speaking on their bravery, strength, and iron will.

At the end, she finished with a promise of terrible vengeance against the enemies that had cut them down.

“Down with the Ravener!” a member of Campus for Uldar cried, and his words were echoed by half a dozen others.

Alex noticed a slight nod of approval from Mr. London.

When Watcher Hill was ready to leave the podium, she announced who the next speaker would be, yet, it remained empty for a time.

Alex soon realised why; Professor Jules stood stark still, staring at it, looking as though she would rather walk off a cliff. Her eyes flicked across the crowd, pausing for a few moments, and Alex craned his neck, spotting an older man and a young family near the rear of the temple.

They were all small framed, and—except for the man—bore a clear resemblance to Professor Jules. They were nodding their heads, seeming to convey their support for her through their body language.

Alex was also nodding—though she wasn’t looking his way—offering her his wordless encouragement.

At last, the alchemy professor squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and strode to the podium.

Mr. and Mrs. London’s faces were as set, and as cold, as ice.

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