4.57: Goodbye

The funeral was the very next day. I suppose that when you’re rich and have access to magical portals, there’s no reason to waste any time.

On the advice of our legacy mage friends, Kylie and I wore well-fitted black robes, meaning I had to wear the stupid binder again. The funeral was held at Refujeyo, although not on the school campus, I think. The tunnels we went through were unfamiliar, and dotted with offices and halls rather than classrooms.

The… hall? church? where the funeral was to take place was vast and well-lit by both magical crystals and large candles. The walls were intricately carved with patterns that I could barely make out from the doorway. Some kind of vine and flower pattern, it looked like. The large wooden pillars that supported the ceiling (probably decorative, I knew from the evacuation last year that Refujeyo’s tunnels were stabilised magically) were carved in the same style, like huge vine-covered trunks in a rainforest. The room was well-attended and solemn, half of the vast sea of benches already occupied with black-clad grievers, and the… the coffin with… the coffin rested in a dais at the far end of the room, next to a lectern and surrounded by bright, fresh flowers.

It was wildly inappropriate for a funeral. Admittedly, I hadn’t attended that many funerals (the only relative I’d had die on me was my grandfather, when I was eight), but even I knew that there should be silver candlesticks, that the benches should be walnut or rowan, that we should’ve had to duck under a holly wreath on our way in and be crushing a carpet of holly and mistletoe under our feet. There was no silver in sight, no stones with water-bored holes, nobody to touch holly water to our heads and hands as we entered. No attempt to protect the deceased’s defenseless soul, or to protect attendees from curses. It was disgusting. They may as well have just tossed his body in a skip and called it a day.

I tried to shake off the feeling. That was a nemaganto perspective; I should have realised that mages would do things differently. Of course they would. Why would mages fill a mage funeral with anti-magic charms?

We’d barely stepped into the hall when we were intercepted by a tall man with a steely gaze. He looked about fifty, and firmly directed us towards one of the back rows of seats. They were mostly filled with people I didn’t recognise, probably friends of Max’s family, although I did spot Malas, and also Max’s “uncle” Ed, his previous tutor and family physician. Ed caught our guide’s eye and mouthed something. The man stopped and frowned at us.

“Are you Nonus’ roommates?” he asked. He checked a piece of paper. “Kylie and Kayden?”

“Yes?”

“Well, why didn’t you say so? This way.” He led us down the aisle, towards the front of the room.

The middle rows held more people I recognised, various students and whom I could only assume were their families. Fiore and di Fiore sat together, tense and solemn, amidst a few relatives. Next to them, Magistus sat between a blonde, bearded man and a teenage girl with brown bobbed hair. The girl rested her head on his shoulder; he put an arm around her and I realised, with a shock, that I might not recognise her, but I certainly recognised the familiarity in that gesture. Magista?

The political dynamics of the room became clear as we moved forward. Everyone in the middle rows whom I recognised were from mage families; specifically, mage families who were around the Acanthos’ level of prominence. In front of them was a row somewhat more sparsely populated, including Saina, Alania, and a couple of other faces I recognised from the High Council. And right up the front were, I assumed, Max’s family.

We were seated at one end of the front row. I glanced at Kylie; she looked as baffled as I was. If a man close enough to the family to be considered Max’s uncle was down the back with the other political nobodies, then presumably the family didn’t care that we were Max’s roommates. So why were we here?

I didn’t have much time to ponder this. As the last few people sat down, a woman in the centre of the front row stood up, and everyone was instantly silent.

The woman was old. I couldn’t see much of her face behind her veil, but the hands gripping her walking frame were pale and wrinkled, and trembled with every step. The man next to her, a man of around forty with slicked-back black hair and amazingly bushy eyebrows, moved to help her; she irritably waved him away and made her slow way up to the podium.

She leaned into the microphone. The audience grew more attentive.

“Beloved friends and family,” she began. Her voice was thin with age, but self-assured, the voice of someone used to being listened to. The microphone (possibly enchanted?) carried it around the room with perfect clarity. “We have gathered here to mourn the passing of Nonus Maximillian Smythe Acanthos, taken from us before his time. It is always a tragedy when somebody passes so young, and this is doubly true for Nonus. My grandson was a kind, curious boy, always with a kind word and patient ear, driven by a need to know and explore the world, and to improve it. He was a rare gift to us all, and to the world, and the world is poorer for his loss.” A tremble had developed in her voice. She paused for a few breaths, then continued.

“When his parents told me that he wished to become the Nonus Acanthos, despite being too young among his cousins, I put it up to childish exuberance. Every five year old wants to be a mage. But this was no mere whim; he surprised me with his drive and determination, applying his natural brilliance to the art of magic and proving himself one of the greatest magical minds of his generation. I can only hope to live long enough to see his like again.

“Nonus was social and dutiful, gifted with a love for other people and for his family. He always seemed to know the right thing to say to make others feel better, or to defuse a situation. He understood his duty to the Acanthos family and was eager to fulfil it. He had a natural charm that would outshine everybody else in the room, and was a joy to speak to.

“Today, we mourn the loss of something precious. A promising mage, a dutiful heir… a beloved grandson. The death of anybody so young is a tragedy, but the passing of Nonus, with so much still to offer this world, is especially grievous. The world is a little darker without him, and his absence will be keenly felt by all.”

She stepped to the side, not leaving the dais, and nodded to the bushy-browed man, who stood. He strode up to the podium, swept his gaze over the audience, and began to speak.

“My son was a dutiful and intelligent man. He had the sort of curiosity from which great things are born, and the brilliance and drive to back it up. His love for understanding was surpassed only by his love for his family, and he was a credit to the Acanthos and to Refujeyo as a whole. Nonus was always bright and focused. He pushed himself hard to achieve mastery and wouldn’t tolerate failure. Ever since he was little, I was blown away by his dedication to his craft, and the joy he took in the world and the people around him. He always had a smile, always knew the right thing to say, always helped make people happy.”

My left hand was hurting. I glanced down. Kylie had it in hers. She was staring straight ahead and crushing my knuckles.

“My son was bright and clever and brave. People often took him to be timid, because of his tendency to avoid conflict, but social sensitivity does not preclude courage. From a young age, he knew that he had what it took to be the Nonus Acanthos despite the poor timing of his birth, and with hard work, he proved himself correct. Barely a year into his training, Nonus accomplished magical feats heard of only in myth and rumour.” The man glanced at Kylie and I; so, I noticed, did several members of the audience. I lost track of his speech as the realisation of why we were seated up the front hit me. It wasn’t because we were Max’s closest friends. It was because we were his greatest magical accomplishment, the proof that human familiarity was possible. We were put in view to remind everyone behind us of the important achievements of the late Acanthos scion.

I struggled to keep my emotions off my face. My left hand was numb by this point. I was pretty sure that Kylie had cut off the blood to my fingers. She glared holes into the podium while I suppressed the urge to say something impolitic and cause a scene. If we weren’t at Max’s funeral, I wouldn’t have bothered suppressing anything.

By the time I turned my attention back to the podium, Mr Eyebrows had sat back down, and was replaced by a solemn-looking girl of about twelve with her hair tied in ribbonned pigtails. She was wiping tears from her eyes while describing how nice her cousin had always been to her, and how much of a loss his death was.

“I’m going to miss you, Fingers. Anyway. I wrote you a poem.”

The poem wasn’t great. It was about what you’d expect from a twelve year old girl who’d had one day to write a poem for her dead cousin. It took about ten minutes, and then the old woman spoke some more, and then we were lining up to see the body for final farewells.

I didn’t want to do that part. I had plenty of memories of Max alive already. In a nemaganto funeral, this would be an opportunity for everyone to dip their fingers in holly water and sprinkle a few drops onto the body; a final, personal blessing of protection, one last gift for a loved one. But the mages didn’t do that, of course.

All too soon, I was looking down at him. I was struck by how well the coroner (I assume coroner? I don’t know funeral stuff) had done their job. Max’s ruined fingertips had been hidden in tasteful black gloves, and the cuts and scrapes I’d last seen outlined in bright blue magic on his face were almost invisible. The… wax, probably? I don’t know, whatever they used to fill in gaps… blended with his face perfectly; only my clear memories of where the cuts actually were let me detect any change at all. I might have been imagining the change, in fact; the work blended in so well that –

Somebody cleared their throat pointedly behind me. Right. People were waiting. I balled my fists, resisting the urge to reach out and touch him (he looked like he was sleeping, like I could just poke him awake) and stepped back from the coffin, almost bumping into a tall Acanthos woman.

She looked me up and down. “You are Kayden James?”

I nodded.

“He spoke well of you.”

I swallowed around the lump in my throat and willed myself not to cry. “What happens now?”

“He will be buried in the Cavern of Graves, as befits a true mage of the Acanthos family. There will be a memorial accessible for grieving and remembrance in the family gardens. I will ensure that you are sent the address and have permission to visit at will.”

“Thank you,” I said, because that seemed to be the expected response, before retreating as politely as I could. The woman didn’t try to keep me talking; she was eager to go and talk to the pigtailed poem girl.

I didn’t know much about mage stuff, but I had a horrible suspicion that I’d visited the ‘Cavern of Graves’ before – a giant cavern under Refujeyo, within the spell labyrinth, full of both recent and ancient dead. Max had died in this place and now Refujeyo were going to use his memory to fuel their stupid spell trap, presumably without his family knowing the Cavern’s true purpose. I wondered if the Acanthos family had had to fight for that honour. If they’d paid anything for the privilege of installing their son’s remains in Refujeyo’s magical machine so that the school could profit from their love and grief until Max faded from living memory.

It felt wrong to leave so soon, so I glanced about for some place I could be quietly angry in relative safety, and found myself at the edge of the room with Magistus and Magista. Magistus smiled sadly at me.

“How are you holding up?” he asked.

I shrugged.

“Yeah, I feel that. Max. Of all of us. I expected his to go at age one hundred and twenty after inhaling too much leaded ink in a vast personal library, not…” he waved a hand vaguely.

I didn’t trust myself to answer that without bursting into tears and causing a scene, so I turned to his sister. “Long time no see, Magista.”

“My name’s Gertrude,” she corrected. She took a deep, shaking breath. “Maybe I should have – ”

“You staying in school would not have prevented this,” Magistus said sharply.

I nodded. “Nobody could’ve stopped him from doing this. He specifically promised us that he wouldn’t – ” I set my jaw and forced myself to remain composed. I looked away. The woman I’d talked to before was still talking to the pigtailed girl; in fact, quite a lot of the Acanthos family seemed to be trying to talk to her. Several people from other mage families were also keeping an eye on her. People still in line to see Max were watching her from the corner of their eyes.

“Who’s that?” I asked.

“The girl?” di Fiore said right behind me, which absolutely didn’t make me jump about a foot in the air. “That would be Nona Acanthos.”

“Nona? They’ve replaced him already?”

“You thought they wouldn’t have backups?” di Fiore asked. “Octavia is old and magic is dangerous.”

“Okay, yes, obviously there’d be someone next in line or whatever, but do they have to do…” I waved my hand to vaguely encompass the people around her… “that? Here? Now?”

“It is extremely poor behaviour, isn’t it?” di Fiore said, his lip curling. “It’s probably safe for you to leave, if you’d rather not see it. I’m trapped here until at least two minutes after the Meyers leave, but I doubt anyone would take your absence personally except for the Acanthos’ themselves.”

Good enough for me. I didn’t give a shit what they thought. I glanced around for Kylie and spied her across the room, trying to catch my eye. She glanced at the door. I nodded. We left and, without discussing it, immediately went our separate ways. She probably wanted some alone time as much as I did.

I’d read somewhere that the purpose of a funeral was to provide closure. Looking back, I didn’t think I’d gotten any.