Chapter 14

Mist turned from the pyre and urged her sister before her to leave the Circle of Remembrance, that broad, paved clearing next to the Church of Saint Sophia. Normally, there might be one or two pyres burning in a given evening upon the blackened cobbles. This day, there were ten and they were not the first set that had been burned.

In general, Tressenites did not go in for long ceremonies regarding their dead. The body had been escorted by a procession from Mist's home to the church, where a short blessing was pronounced by the priest, then it was carried to the Circle of Remembrance. One or two people would speak from the community, words of comfort and solace, then the pitch-soaked wood beneath the corpse was ignited.

Only widows and widowers would watch the entire cremation. Mist gave a last glance over her shoulder for her weeping mother. She did not like leaving the woman alone, but that was how this was done: A last moment of privacy between a wife and husband.

Her mother would wear widow's white for six months, and after that she would be expected to remember her father with fond happiness. Most believed this a remnant from the days when the peoples of Tressen led short, tough lives at the hands of their jailors in a penal colony. Any more than six months before a widow or widower resumed the appearance of normalcy was generally regarded as excessive and overemotional.

Their father died a hero in his family's eyes, and he had earned the full six months with ease. Men who were flawed, it was said, deserved less mourning in proportion to their shortcomings. The One may forgive such lack of perfection, but the people were not so enlightened.

Leetha and her mother, Darina, waited in their carriage to carry the grieving family home. Mist's father had owned a carriage, as well, but when friends offered such comfort, it was not to be denied. Darina's carriage was not one of the black-lacquered transports favored by the very wealthy or nobility, but instead was a simpler affair of simple stained oak, driven by their man, Rathdarl. A mismatched pair of stout but short-legged horses, obviously drafted from the stable that Darina maintained to pull her wine wagons, pulled the carriage.

Even Rathdarl seemed downcast by the proceedings, though his long face often looked less than pleased. He murmured condolences as the two girls approached. Leetha hugged Mist as soon as she entered the small carriage. "I'm so sorry," she said.

Mist stifled another bout of tears. "It could have been worse," she said, pulling away to put an arm about her smaller sister, who was still wearing a mostly dazed expression. Mist suspected that River, her nine-year-old sister, did not fully grasp the gravity of their situation.

Their father had always been the provider for the family. Without his income, they may well have to move to a poorer neighborhood. He had planned for the future, of course, but few could squirrel away so much that their very livelihood was unnecessary.

River idly plucked at the white sash about her waist, seeming uncomfortable with it or trying to remove an unseen bit of dirt. Darina looked on quietly, unsure how to deal with such grief as it happened, though she had lost her own husband ten years before and had helped Leetha cope with her own loss.

It was most of half an hour, with the four of them making quiet, and mostly meaningless conversation, before Heather, Mist, and River's mother, emerged from behind the low walls of black basaltic stone that enclosed the Circle of Remembrance. Black smoke billowed from the handful of pyres still blazing inside, out of the sight of those waiting outside.

Darina hugged Heather, who still wore a resigned smile, as she climbed into the carriage. The two women were never particularly close, but that may have to change now, Darina realized. The world was bringing pressures to bear that would force people into tighter-knit groups or break them apart.

"Our daughters have come up with an idea, Mistress Heather," said Darina as the carriage lurched into motion, moving slowly, even for the level of traffic upon the streets.

She said that as if it were a trifle, and only worth mentioning because there was little else to speak of at the moment. "They seem to think that we might consider sharing our resources."

Heather, plumper than Darina by a fair margin, looked at the taller woman. "Meaning, Mistress Darina?" she asked, interested.

"My house has plenty of spare room," said Darina, shrugging. "It would behoove me to supplement my incomes by gaining a tenant. It would be doing me a great service."

Mist cringed at Darina's attempt to make it seem a favor, though it was kindly done. The favor, of course, was almost utterly one-sided; helping with the coming difficulties that Mist's family would soon endure. She glanced at her mother and saw the stony expression on her round face. Her mother knew it as well. Charity was not well-received by the middle-class of Tressen, trained from their early years to be independent, as befitted the descendants of former slaves who'd managed to free themselves.

The ride was silent for a long moment, only punctuated by the rumbling of the cobbles beneath the steel rims of the carriage's wheels and the clopping of the horses' hooves that drew it. "Good tenants are hard to find, mind you, and I would expect the rents to be paid in a timely manner, this is no charity," said Darina, favoring Heather with an appraising look.

It was almost precisely the correct thing to say and Heather's stony expression took on the almost-offended look of one preparing to protect her reputation. "I promise you the rent shall always be paid, Mistress Darina - and on time."

Without either actually agreeing to anything, they had just sealed the agreement.

Mist noted that no particular price had been set upon that rent. She beamed a smile at Leetha, who grinned back happily. That was one less problem they would have to face in months to come. Somehow, Mist knew the sum that would be demanded would be an amount she and her mother would easily be able to meet.

"You have room for another carriage, I trust?" asked Heather, scanning the passing streets as they moved toward the home she would be leaving in a few week's time.

"Of course," said Darina, giving her new housemate a smile. "It will be pleasant to have another woman in the house, as I feel we share daughters, anyway."

Heather laughed at that. "It seemed they were ever at our house, too," she said. "I suppose they somehow spend more time at both, being young and full of energy."

Neither woman pretended that the arrangement would be without its pitfalls and there were bound to be arguments in their future. Yet, for now, they could agree.

Neither Mist nor Leetha had any objection to their mothers using them as common ground to plan their futures.

"That was certainly not the response I had expected," said Thean as Siska walked alongside her toward the street.

"I am startled, as well," agreed Siska, glancing over her shoulder to look at the oak boards of Phillip's front door. "He is normally more reserved with his emotions."

Thean smiled slightly. "He normally doesn't grow so upset, then?" she asked.

The tall, slender apprentice nodded. "He seems quite agitated, though I don't claim to know why."

They had reached the street, where four guardsmen stood in their blue tabards and scaled armor coats. Two leaned on spears, the other two stood propping the roundstone wall. Siska noted one wore a sword across his back with a very long hilt, as long as those the Defenders carried. They all eyed her as she approached with mixed apprehension and appreciation.

"These are the other men of the detail," said Squad Leader Thean, gesturing toward the four.

"I certainly see no reason for Mentor Phillip to become so agitated and to use such language with you, squad leader," said Siska. "I'll ask him why he was so rude to you." Siska spun about on her heel, sending her long braided plaits flying. She had taken only two steps before Thean's small, but very strong hand grabbed her shoulder.

"No!" exclaimed the woman. Siska turned about again, facing her. She was perhaps five years Siska's senior, shorter than the apprentice, but then again, most women and some men were. Her dark hair and eyes were decidedly Eastron, though, like Siska's mother, but her facial structure was rounded and compact, like the natives of the Crystern Chain. Like Siska, she was a unique creation of the many peoples who had come to this place over the centuries.

Siska raised an eyebrow in startlement at the expression on the woman's face, like she was frightened. "Mentor Phillip will not harm you," she said. "There is no need for fear."

One of the men, a rough-looking and heavy set individual snorted a half laugh. He immediately found something else to be looking at when both women turned eyes toward him, Thean's angry and Siska's curious.

"No, I believe he may have personal reasons to be upset, I will deal with them," said Thean, patting Siska's robe where she had grabbed her. "It will be fine. It is between myself and your mentor."

Siska blinked a few times, but nodded and returned to the house as Thean turned to the men, chivvying them into action and moving them to the inn across the street and down two doors from Phillip's home.

"That is unacceptable!" shouted Phillip even as Siska came into the house. He was not yelling at her, though she cringed to hear him rage.

Salira's voice drifted out of the kitchen. She and Tarmal had arrived just after Siska and Phillip had. Their tower home had burned during the raid, after apparently being ransacked by someone, one would hope it was the enemy and not a fellow Tressenite.

"She only came because they sent her," said Salira, a smile in her voice so obvious Siska did not need to see it to know it was there.

"My arse!" shouted Phillip in response, storming into the hallway. "She has some interest in me. I should have seen it in the palace."

"Oh, and that would be just horrible," said Salira, laughing. "A woman finds you to her liking and wishes to be closer to you. Call out the Defenders! The last bastion of bachelorhood is under assault."

Tarmal's laughter joined with Salira's and Siska tried to sneak up the stairs to her room when Phillip caught sight of her. "You. What did she say to you?" he asked in an accusing tone, as if Siska were now suspect, along with all other women.

Siska stopped dead and looked directly at Phillip. "She said you and she would discuss the matter," said the apprentice calmly. "I think you're being too emotional."

Salira broke into laughter again and Phillip's eyes filled with frustration. "Is everyone against me in this?" he asked, glaring at her, and then into the kitchen toward the sound of laughter from Salira.

"I thought she was very pretty," said Siska, shrugging. "If she has a liking of you..."

"Now, you stop that!" said Phillip, spinning on her. "I'm far too old to be all bound up in - courting!" He spat the last word like a vile curse, causing Tarmal to flinch back and Salira to widen her eyes.

It was Tarmal's turn to laugh. "You're only five years my elder, Phillip," said the wizard. "If you're too old then so am I."

"You're already married," said Phillip, as if that changed everything. "You and Salira have been married forever."

Salira snorted from the kitchen and Siska took Phillip's concentration upon the couple as an opportunity to slip up the remaining stairs and out of the conversation.

Even with her door shut, she could hear Phillip's high-pitched protests from downstairs. I believe you do protest too much, she thought as she sat at her desk and opened the wizard's primer that Salira had given her. She was in the second half of it and she forced herself to read slowly, trying to fully digest what she read.

She was dressed plainly in one of the light blue robes of the order and was waiting for Keeley's arrival to take them the procession for Keeley's mother. She felt badly that she did not feel more sadness at the death of a friend's mother. However, she had only met Dawn once.

Thoughts of what Tarviel had said in her dreams bothered her. He lived in the palace? As far as she had been told by the staff, no one actually lived at the palace, even the staff had homes off-premises. Tarviel had implied that he was only somewhat alive, anyway, and that bothered her far more than the thought of where he lived.

She could not concentrate on the spell formulas that the book laid out before her. She knew the spell, for certain, but she wanted to know the basis for the magics beneath it, the theory. With that, she could manipulate the spell, change its use to her needs of the moment. She pulled open the drawer, where the talas sphere rested.

Siska had put many long hours into refining this sphere and it felt icy cold in her hand. It glowed within, like a star from the sky rested inside it, a tiny glow. Touching the familiar surface with her senses, she dove into its structure. The chaotic little portions had long ago been set to a rigid pattern by her touch and she now set to straightening even amid that order. Reaching into her pouch, she pulled forth two silver half marks and set the sphere atop one. Slowly, she touched the silver of the coin, too, pulling little bits of it into the sphere.

Silver was the most magically reactive of all metals. Slowly, she moved bits into the sphere, working the tiny particles into the structure of the talas sphere. She had only extended six fingers of mana and the coin and it's twin were now gone. She dug through the pouch and found a few more coins, setting them on the table.

When Phillip knocked upon her door, the sun was low in the sky. "Keeley is here for us," he said from the hallway.

Siska slipped the now-silver ball into her desk's drawer and went with him.

Keeley and Garel were there, in the common area. Garel looked very uncomfortable and Keeley only sad. Phillip, Siska, Tarmal, and Salira followed the two out quietly. The procession was a time of silence and reflection, and the others walked along behind the two children of the fallen with respectful quiet.

When the six passed through the gate, they picked up two soldiers, who had been standing at either side of the opening to the low wall. Neither of them was Thean, Siska noted with relief, though Phillip glowered at the two for a moment before visibly deciding to ignore them.

Thean, she now saw, was sitting outside the inn, at a small table with another of the soldiers, sipping wine.

Both Keeley and Garel wore white sashes and the street before them cleared as people moved aside for the procession. Even wagons and carriages moved to the edges of the streets and the drivers doffed hats and looked down. It had been a day of many processions, and tomorrow would see still more. In a few days, the processions might be finished, all the fallen returned to the dust from whence they came, according to Onean teachings.

They stopped before Keeley's home, in it's run-down neighborhood. People gaped at the powder blue robes amid the people forming into two long lines behind Keeley and Garel.

From Keeley's home came six men in white robes with deep hoods. They seemed almost wraiths and bore between them a linen-shrouded figure, swaddled in pure snowy linen, upon a board of polished oak.

The stiffness in Keely's spine gave way and she began to weep as her mother was carried to the head of the forming double line. Her father walked behind the six and his deceased wife, his head down and wearing another white sash. He would walk just behind her. The teens' younger siblings fell in behind them, likewise clad with a wide belt of stark white silk.

Without a single word, the entire procession started down the narrow street.

People fell to the very edges of the road, pressing their backs to the buildings before which they stood, bowing their heads and removing hats. Wagons moved off to the side of the street at the sight of the coming procession, as the way was too narrow for them to pull off.

It seemed to Siska that a moving bubble of silence followed the fallen woman through the city. Quiet, earnest faces to either side glanced up after the body had passed, and looked upon the following lines of people. She, herself, caught many of those gazes, herself and the other blue-clad wizards. She was annoyed to see tongues ready to flap over the presence of the Blue Order members, but they held their silence for the entire procession to pass. Behind them, the people closed back onto the street and far behind, she could hear the murmur of people resuming their business.

Paraski Square was a small marketplace, used only on holidays. It stood mostly empty this day, and the chapel to one side. A small, but ornately decorated building of dark stone dominating the little cobbled clearing. The dark-stone building had a high-pitched roof, unlike most buildings in Tressen, and looked out of place amid the lower angles of the more traditional buildings. It seemed old, too, much older than anything around it.

The procession stopped as the body was borne into the little chapel. As soon as the doors shut, people began to talk.

"Thank you for coming, Mentors," said Endrick, Keeley's father, walking up to the four wizards. "We do not have many friends anymore."

The sad earnestness in his eyes made Siska's heart hurt. While the people of Tressen were not overtly superficial people, they place great store in who one knew and associated with.

"We are honored to have been asked," said Salira, looking about at the milling people. "Though you seem to have no lack of friends, Master Endrick."

He gave her a weak smile. "I suppose we don't," he said, looking over the people as well. "I'm surprised, to speak truth."

"Father, people do not abandon you just because of a bit of hard times," said Keeley, putting her hand on Endrick's shoulder. "Perhaps you should speak to some of your old friends, they may feel slighted after all this time that you have ignored them."

He blinked a few times, seeming to animate after a long moment of stillness. As if goaded physically, he leaned forward and nodded eagerly. "Yes, yes, I should," he said, as he gave the wizards a minute bow and moved into the milling people to speak to others.

Keeley's face was red and swollen from crying, but she smiled. "You made his day in coming," she said. "As much as a day such as this can be good."

"I don't really understand," said Siska, looking around herself at the people. "We only observed a quiet prayer to the One when a fellow slave died, then the body was taken off by the gravediggers." She remembered clearly when her father had passed away after a short but intense illness that had killed him in two days. Land- drowning was a common disease in Tressen, and difficult to treat, save by sorcery.

Keeley gave a short, bitter laugh. "It's silly, really," she said. "People seem to think that they acquire some sort of credit in passing the Gates of Forever with a large procession of well-respected folk. Perhaps it moves one to the front of the line."

The wizards all smiled at her attempted wit, though none laughed out loud. "This day, there are few more respected than you of the Blue Order, what with the city attacked and it being your folk that were seen to drive them back."

Tarmal grimaced. "We were just a few among many fighting for our lives, though you know it better than many," he said.

Keeley nodded. "I just meant what people will think. I did say it was silly, but still..."

The doors of the chapel opened again and a heavy man wearing brown robes and a yellow stole came forth. He bowed and summoned the gathered into the chapel with a wave of his hand. The people passed under the pointed arch of the chapel and into the cool of the dimly lit building.

It struck Siska that other than the little prayer room in Madam Tomana's mansion; she had never been in a place dedicated to the One. A chill ran down her spine as she passed beneath the arch and she saw Phillip shiver in sympathy.

At her quizzical look, he whispered, "Warding against magics, none of the arts will work here."

Siska nodded, as if it made perfect sense, though she could not guess why it should be so. Phillip guided her into a long, high-backed pew of delicately-carven wood, nearly black with coats of varnish and age. The chapel was over half full when the doors were shut and the priest, standing behind a tall, narrow altar, began to speak.

To Siska's surprise, he spoke what seemed platitudes, empty statements of the One's handling of the dead and Dawn's place in the afterlife. Somehow, they seemed hollow to Siska, lacking the emotion such a time deserved. Perhaps it was her own shortcomings, she reflected, having been raised in a very egalitarian home, where worship was not overtly encouraged. She found herself only half listening to the man speak, instead glancing about at the faces in the audience. Most seemed attentive and interested in his words, though she suspected they had heard them before.

How does this do honor to Dawn? She wondered as the priest carried on with the sermon. Siska's eyes came to where Dawn's corpse lay in repose, upon a low table of stone to the left of the priest, surrounded by a circle of burning candles. There were dozens of the candles, and it seemed almost as if she were on a pyre already.

There was a low murmur of "As the One spoke," by the audience, in unison. It startled her from her thoughts and brought her attention back to the proceedings. A twinge of guilt ran through Siska as she realized she had not heard most of what he had spoken. Even more so that she cared little for what she might have missed.

An usher, wearing street clothes, but with a yellow sash about his waist, escorted Phillip to the front to stand behind the podium. Phillip looked over the gathered people for a moment, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

"It has been many years since I've been to a funeral," he said. "Almost thirty years since the passing of my own wife, Marilla. In that time, I've avoided them, to speak the truth, as they hurt."

Siska blinked up at her mentor, already wondering why she had never even suspected that Phillip had been married before.

"I know how much it hurts to lose one's wife. Though time has softened the edges of that pain, it has not gone completely from me, and never will." Phillip held the edges of the stone altar, his knuckles whitening as he gripped it. "I did not know Dawn, yet I know from the looks on her childrens' faces and her husband's she will be sorely missed. A wife and mother is a special person, from the outset, without further needing to be known."

"Do not mourn overmuch, though, she would not want that." He was speaking directly to Endrick and his four children now. "She loved her family as her family loved her, and she would wish you to smile at her life rather than weep over her death. In the end, we shall all be with the One and you will see her again. As the One spoke, so it shall be."

"As the One spoke," the gathering recited the litany together.

With that, the gathered people rose as one and Phillip moved back to stand beside Siska. "Short," she murmured.

"People don't want words right now," said Phillip. "That is why a stranger often delivers the eulogy."

The body was again lifted and the crowd fell to silence. Only those in white sashes followed the body out the back door of the church and Siska looked at Phillip in curiosity. "We will await them outside," he said. "It is time for the family now."

The congregation began moving out of the chapel, the priest nodding to them as they passed. "An honor to have you here, Mentors," said the priest, smiling. His round face was fairly glowing red. "Most wizards rather shun this chapel." He waved his arm around as if to encompass the building.

Phillip returned the smile. "I've been here before, though it was before your days as shepherd," said the wizard. "Almost forty years ago."

"I'll never grow used to how long the gifted live," said the priest, shaking his head. "One's blessing upon you," he said, bowing them on and moving to greet the next group.

It was most of half an hour before Keeley and Garel emerged from the clear area behind the chapel. Smoke rose over the rooftops in a thin black plume. "Father will be along in a bit," announced Keeley, though Phillip had warned Siska beforehand about how a spouse will linger after all others have left.

"You're well?" asked Siska, putting a concerned hand upon her friend's shoulder.

"So much as I can be," said Keeley. "It is still rather not real, if you understand."

Siska nodded agreement, though she only partially did.

A while later Endrick returned from the Circle of Remembrance behind the chapel and gathered up his children. "I wish to thank you again for coming," he said.

"It was our pleasure," said Phillip. He glanced at the two guardsmen, who had remained outside during the ceremony and quietly followed the procession. "I suppose I should take my shadows home, it is likely time for them to go off duty."

Garel chuckled at that, grinning broadly. "I can mislead them if you'll loan me a robe," he offered.

Phillip looked at the boy a moment, as if considering his offer. "No, I best not, their squad leader seems fierce enough without me trying to antagonize her."

Endrick clapped his eldest son upon his back. "Come Garel, let us go get a drink and get the little ones home to bed. Nana will not wait up for us forever."

Keeley smiled as her family moved off and Garel cast a last smile over his shoulder at the wizards. "He rather likes you," she said as they moved off, speaking to Siska.

"Garel?" asked Siska, blushing. "But I've a suitor already."

"That does not stop his liking," said Keeley as they fell into step behind the other three blue-robed wizards. "He looks at you every chance he gets."

"But he is younger than me," said Siska, looking over incredulously.

"He's not," said Keeley, laughing. "I'm two years older than you, and he is a year younger than I."

"I thought you were my own age," said Siska blinking in startlement. "You're not eighteen years?"

"Almost twenty," said Keeley, shrugging. "I suppose I will like seeming younger when I am older. Perhaps you mistake height for age."

Siska shook her head, grinning. "Well, I stand corrected," she said. She decided that she would no longer try to judge people's ages based upon what she thought was mature behavior - or the lack thereof.

The wizards before them murmured to themselves, Tarmal casting looks back toward the two young women from time to time. "I believe I'm being discussed - again," said Siska, her voice tingeing with an uncharacteristic bitterness.

"Being talked of is better than the opposite, isn't it?" asked Keeley.

"I'm not sure of that anymore," said Siska, shrugging. "It matters greatly what is being talked of." She paused a long moment. "Who is Nana?" she asked.

"A nanny for the young ones," said Keeley, smiling. "She tended them from time to time, but will be keeping them more now, with Mother gone." Her smile became sadder. "It would fall to me, but Father won't hear of it. He maintains that I will have youngsters of my own soon enough, and he'll not saddle me with my siblings." Her expression became conspiratorial. "I believe he intends me to be fresh for bearing grandchildren. Perhaps if I don't know quite how much a trouble they will be, I will give him more."

"We're supposed to have one guard inside at night," said Thean, her hands upon her hips and glaring daggers up at Phillip.

"And I say I won't have your men stomping about my house," declared Phillip returning her glare with matching fury.

"I will be the one inside, then," she replied. "Or do you think I stomp too loudly?"

Phillip's eyes narrowed and Salira stepped in. "I think that shall work nicely," she said. "It's quite crowded in the house right now, and a woman's soft tread would be more welcome than a hobnailed boot."

Tarmal spun Phillip about with hands upon his friend's shoulders and pushed him toward the house. Salira led Thean inside after the two men, grinning at the click of Thean's hobnails upon the flagstones of Phillip's walk. "I will loan you a pair of my own shoes inside," whispered Salira, though her smile did not fade in the least.

"I am a bloody wizard, I need no bodyguards," growled Phillip as Tarmal kept right on pushing him past the common area and down the hall, into the kitchen.

"Of course you don't Phillip," said Tarmal, pulling up a chair and urging his friend to sit in it.

"She did this," said the tall wizard as he thumped into the chair. "That squad leader - Thean, she got herself assigned to this to set her hooks in me."

"And you're such a fine catch as all that, are you?" asked Tarmal. He glanced down the hall where Thean was pulling off her boots and Salira was doffing her own slippers. He raised one eyebrow at them until Salira waved him about his business. "I should think it flattering that a pretty woman wished my company so badly as to take extra duty to gain it."