Mark of the Fool
Chapter 654: Painted Memories

Suddenly, the air felt charged as the temple went still. Not even an errant cough broke the stillness.

Everyone’s eyes rested on the professor. Whether they watched her seeking comfort from the words she was about to deliver, or—in the case of the Londons and other grieving families—with judgement, only time would tell. She moved to the podium.

If you knew the alchemy professor, you could tell that her usual self-assurance was absent. Gone was her matter-of-fact manner, and that challenging look she normally fixed her students with, they had been replaced by the grimness of a prisoner ready to face the executioner. Yet, her dignity was on full display as she stood at the podium, looking out over those in attendance, meeting the gaze of Alex and his friends. Her eyes fell on her fellow professors, then her own family.

The alchemist took a long breath, steadying herself.

Then she began. “I would like to start by saying that I’m not sure I deserve to be up here,” Professor Jules said, her eyes low. “But, by not being here, I would be denying a perspective on the life of a young woman I came to know over the last two years. Many lost their lives in the realm of Thameland, and I grieve for all of them, particularly for the lives of my young students. Today, my desire to hide cannot be compared to my wish to celebrate their lives, and those of the many who died.”

She swallowed. “Many are gone, and sadly, I didn’t know most of them well, to my great misfortune. I did, however, have the pleasure of knowing Carey London and teaching her alchemy for the past two years. I had the pleasure of working with her in the laboratory in Greymoor as a colleague, and I also had the honour of seeing her grow as both an alchemist, and a dedicated wizard.”

Her eyes began to shine. “We are jewels, we mortals; gems with many facets that we show to different people. I can say honestly that the very first facet Miss London showed me was one of pure dedication to her country. In the very first alchemy class of mine that she attended in her first year, she asked if Generasi had ever researched the threat of dungeon cores or an entity called the Ravener that plagued her homeland This remarkable young woman—at a time when the world of most young wizards is strictly about their studies, parties and friends—was focused on something higher; on helping her homeland in any way she could. I cannot stress enough how rare such a dedication is. I know that in Thameland, those called ‘Heroes’ are people who bear a specific Mark, chosen by their god. But though Carey bore no such Mark, she is who I will first think of when I hear the word ‘Hero’. She was an ordinary young woman—gifted with mana, that is true, and a talent for alchemy, and a remarkable intellect—but she was no Hero chosen by divine decree.”

Professor Jules smiled. “Yet that ordinary nature is what made her extraordinary. She had no divine powers, she was neither a warrior nor a great champion chosen by her kingdom. She was simply a young Thameish woman who chose to use her natural gifts for her friends, her loved ones, and for the sake of her realm. She's a lessonfor all of us to learn. I only hope that I, for one, can live up to her example and do everything in my power to help destroy the plague on her homeland forever—and I will dedicate myself to that task, just as she did. I owe that to her, at the very least, and it will be done in her name and her memory. And just like the facets of a jewel, Carey shone in the darkness by offering the light of openness to everyone she met.”

Professor Jules then spoke of the things she was privileged to witness as Carey grew in alchemy.

She told stories about Carey in her first and second year. They painted a picture of a young, earnest, dedicated woman—who could be a bit socially clumsy at times—who had been a model student and a help to both Professor Jules, and the school community.

Some were stories Alex had never known, and they struck him with a sharp pang of guilt.

‘I spent an entire year and then some avoiding Carey,’ Alex thought. ‘And now she’s gone; I really should have gotten to know her better…maybe seen some of those other sides that Professor Jules saw…but the truth is, that’s not my fault, is it? It’s Uldar’s.’

His guilt quickly shifted to anger.

‘I had good reasons to avoid Carey; she was so dedicated to Uldar back then, that she would have definitely reported me to the priests. I lost the opportunity to make another good friend because of some dead god’s stupid bullshit,’ Alex thought.

He looked at Carey’s parents at the front of the temple.

Mr. and Mrs. London were listening to Professor Jules attentively. Waves of anger were still bleeding from their body language—directed at the professor, Baelin, and the school, no doubt—but some of it seemed to have softened after they met the Heroes.

Now that Professor Jules was sharing her memories of their daughter, their anger seemed to calm a little more. Alex knew any road to forgiveness would be long for them, and that was, if they ever forgave the targets of their rage; the professor, the chancellor, and the university.

After all, to them, it was the school who’d let their daughter die.

His jaw clenched as his eyes fell on the symbols of Uldar hanging from their necks.

He wished more than anything he could tell them what they’d found in the sanctum, that he could teleport them there and show them the gods’ corpse then let them see the plans he’d designed for the Ravener. But, it was too early for that. And besides, sometimes when people believe something, they’ll be so dedicated to that belief, that they deny anything to the contrary that you tell them, no matter how much proof you show them.

‘Still, it’s too bad,’ he thought. ‘They give their dedication to the god and church responsible for her daughter’s death, while blaming the very people that helped her. One day. One day, when this is all done, I’ll tell them the truth. They deserve to know.’

###

The rest of the memorial service had been peaceful, informative, and for many, tough.

There were lots of folk who stood at the podium, remembering those who’d passed on, leaving huge holes in lives they’d once filled. A weeping man rose from his seat, making his way to the podium only to completely break down, turn around, and return to his seat, his head hanging low.

Carey’s parents didn’t speak at the service, they sat quietly, holding each other’s hand.

Whether they were too grief stricken—or didn’t trust themselves to remain civil—Alex had no way of knowing, but whatever the case, they chose silence.

When the service ended and a temple official announced the start of a reception in the large gathering room beneath the main hall, they made their way downstairs and found a table. Soft music filled the space. Colourful canvases, stained glass panels, and calligraphy depicting gates in the celestial planes along with artists’ renditions imagining what the after-world could look like, hung from stone walls, illuminated by row upon row of forceballs.

Along one wall, stood a buffet table ladened with plain china and silverware for simple, but comforting fare; the focus here was not on fancy decor, elaborate meals, or music. It was meant to be on people coming together and sharing memories of their loved ones.

And that is what Mr. and Mrs. London did.

At their table, they told tales of Carey to anyone who was near. Through their words, the young woman lived again.

Although…

“It feels surreal, and a little uncomfortable listening to their stories about Carey,” Khalik whispered, leaning toward Alex. “So many involve the church, which…considering…”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Alex said.

“Aye, makes it a tad awkward,” Cedric said, his elbows on the table. “Don’t know how t’be feelin’ about all of it, if’n I’m honest.”

“Well, it’s good that you’re here,” Theresa said. “I’m surprised you four could get away.”

“We told the priests that we had a friend whose memorial we needed to attend,” Drestra’s voice crackled. “They respected that. Not all of them are like…you know who, I suppose.”

“How long are you staying for?” Selina asked.

“Only for a few more hours,” Hart said. “We took the fae roads to Greymoor, and then used the teleportation circle. We gotta get back. Lots of fires to put out, and lots left to do.”

“Well, maybe we can show you around a bit before you leave town,” Thundar offered.

“I’d like that.” Drestra looked up at Thundar.

“We could go to the Golden Dragon,” Khalik suggested. “We had a wonderful meal there after the Games of Roal, and Carey was with us then. The memory would be…nice.”

“Then let me do something before we go.” Alex got up. “I’ll be back.”

The Thameish wizard began walking across the chamber and toward Carey’s parents, his head held high and face set with resolve.

As he reached the crowd around Mr. and Mrs. London’s table and excused himself, the mourners parted, whispering to each other while opening a path to her parents.

Most of the students knew that he’d known Carey, and stepped aside to let him speak to her mother and father.

As he came closer, Gloria London looked up.

He lowered his head. “Hello Mrs. London, I’m Carey’s friend, my name is Alex. I just wanted to tell you that I’m going to miss her a lot, I already do, and I can’t even begin to imagine what losing her must be like for you.”

“Oh!” Mrs. London cried. “Alex…Alex Roth? Carey wrote about you in her letters home. She said that you were from Thameland, and I believe she said that you and she were on the research team together, is that correct?”

Mr. London—finishing a story—turned to Alex. “That’s right, she mentioned you in some of her latest letters, and told us how well you and she worked together.”

“I tried,” Alex said. “She was my lab partner in first year too, and with time, she became my friend. Again, I’m sorry for your loss…for all of our losses.”

“Bless your heart, child.” Mrs. London reached out and squeezed Alex’s hand.

He smiled. “Um, if you don’t mind, I would like to give you both something. I…made something to remember Carey by, and I was hoping that you’d accept it. I don’t want to take attention away from Carey or anyone else.”

“That’s alright, my boy,” Mr. London said. “Thank you for thinking about that, and we’ll happily accept your gift. What is it?”

“It’s uh, a painting,” Alex said. “I made a portrait of us to remember a time when a bunch of us were all celebrating together recently. She was there. And she looked happy, and since it was the last time we were all together having a good time, I thought you might like it. If you don’t, I get it.”

The pair of bereaved parents looked at each other. “We would love to see it, ever so much,” said Mrs. London. “Do you have it here?”

“I will in just a moment,” Alex said, looking around. “Would you mind making some space? It’s not exactly small.”

The group around Carey’s parents cleared a space for him.

Picturing his room, the Thameish wizard teleported back home, touching the painting then teleporting it—and the easel—back to the reception hall. Gasps ran through the crowd as he reappeared, presenting the painting to Carey’s parents.

Her mother gasped, her hands pressed to her mouth.

Tears sprang to her father’s eyes.

A group of smiling faces painted with care, met their eyes.

All of Carey’s friends who had celebrated with her after the Games of Roal—many who had come to rescue her at Uldar’s Rise—were there smiling beside her.

She seemed to glow with happiness in the painting, her eyes bright and her smile content.

Gloria London’s tears flowed.

Matthias London joined her, tears running down his face.

Alex felt a lump in his throat.

“Thank you.” Carey’s father wiped his tears away. “She looks so alive. We will cherish this forever. We…this is how we want to remember her. Happy. Loved. Surrounded by friends.”

“It was the least I could do,” Alex said. “May…may it bring you some comfort.”

For a time, he stayed with the Londons, talking about Carey. They laughed. They cried. And then—at last—it was time to go.

As the reception came to an end, Alex offered to teleport Carey’s parents back to their lodgings so they wouldn’t have to struggle with the large painting.

He helped them set it up in their room, then bid them farewell before returning to his friends and family. This was a day to spend together, sharing a meal at the Golden Dragon as they had on a rather special day with Khalik’s parents and Carey. They would toast and remember her.

After that, it would be back to preparing.

After that, it would be back to research.

After that, it would be back to war.

But, while they were gathered together cherishing each others’ company, Carey’s parents had one more surprise in store for them.

###

“Matthias,” Gloria paused, staring at the painting. She had just returned from the water closet and was in their sitting room, preparing to snuff out the candles for the night.

Candlelight illuminated the painting and its beautiful image of their daughter.

“Yes, dear?” Matthias walked out of the bedroom.

“Was that there…around Carey’s neck earlier?” Gloria pointed to the painting.

Her husband startled, his eyes falling on what she was pointing to. “No…it definitely wasn’t. I remember seeing something similar recently, but I can’t place it. …do you think there’s magic here?”

“No, I think…I do believe this is different, I have this feeling of warmth when I look at it.” Gloria resisted the urge to touch the painting. “It feels…divine.”

Carey’s parents fell silent, looking at the gift from the young Thameish wizard.

At the image of their smiling daughter.

And at the golden chain—bearing the symbol of a lantern—which had mysteriously appeared around her neck.

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