Chapter 1
Never in his life had Caleth wondered what a funeral was like. In fact, he didn’t need to. A part of him would never forget the pain on his teacher’s face whenever such an occasion was brought up. He couldn’t ignore it, that expression, not even within his dreams.
And he did dream of it. A horrible memory he couldn’t escape, much like how Asther would wake up gasping for his ‘Mumma’ in the middle of the night. Equally like his longtime friend, Caleth imagined his hands clapping over his own mouth to hold in the screams.
This was real, though. This wasn’t some ghost of a woman Caleth had never truly remembered. This wasn’t unnamed terrors in the dark, wondering if that shadow or this shadow is a monster waiting to eat him. This was his life, and that was his teacher, still and silent inside a glass case.
Beside him, Asther was stiff and quiet, fingers curled into fists and tanned face ashen. His eyes were slightly wide, but glassy, and his breaths were measured and even; meditated with each one.
Caleth’s heart twisted in his chest at the sight. Slowly, cautiously, he reached out a single long-fingered hand, curling its span around a white-knuckled fist. Abruptly, Asther’s dark green eyes snapped up to meet Caleth’s amber. The older boy stood his ground, refusing to look away despite the fury and sorrow swimming in those watery depths.
Several moments passed them by, before the hand of the younger boy uncurled and latched onto his with a vicious grip. Asther looked away, back at the still figure in the casket, and Caleth followed his example without a word.
It was Master Shiel that stepped up to the front of the room, aging face drooping with sorrow and the weight of unshed tears. For a beat, he said nothing, instead choosing to stare down at the white-garbed man on his deathbed.
His voice echoed finally, and yet somehow remained soft. “We are... here today to celebrate the passing of a great man. No, the Sorcerer was... he was more than just a man. He was a hero. A voice among many that would not allow itself to pass unheard.”
A soft, wrinkled hand brushed lightly over the ornately carved top of the casket as the man sighed. “The Sorcerer saved so many lives. He will never be forgotten, by ourselves, or the people of Calanan...”
The old master sighed, and knelt before the crystal box. “There is still so much that he had yet to do, so many things that were never known...” His shoulders slumped. “And yet, I do not think he left us with any regrets… That was the sort of man he was...”
Asther’s grip tightened on Caleth’s hand, and the paler-haired boy snuck a glance at him. It was so strange to see him like this. Caleth was used to seeing boredom on the other boy’s face, more frequently than any other emotion. And if not that, then at least apathy. But this was different; it was intense, and focused, and heartbroken.
“Asther,” Caleth whispered, worriedly.
In the front of the room, Shiel shook his head and stood. “Caleth,” he called, not chiding, but summoning.
The youth gave Asther a sad look before walking to the front to pay his own respects. When he got there, Asther was gone, and he felt more alone right then than he had his entire life.
