Ember remembered two funerals before Gunther’s: first, her neighbor’s in Maple Valley, where tears had been shed freely and home-made dishes were exchanged between the mourners; second, her mother’s in Vargas, where the strange men in black had pinned her down with their eyes.
Gunther’s funeral was more like a celebration of life. Many of the guests had brought food or drink, which was passed around as the violin music played. His mother was the first to speak, her face puffy from crying as she thanked all of the guests for attending.
Ember had never cared to familiarize herself with Gunther before, but now she learned that he had been a sturgeon, a fact that reminded her uncomfortably of how easily the bullet had torn his mighty body to shreds; that he had aspired to be guard captain; and that he had a grandmother and a sister also living in Mendel. His mother finished by calling him a “very loving boy,” an untruth that Ember decided to excuse.
In truth, any animosity she had felt toward him had dispersed the moment he had thrown himself in front of Daniel, and her classmates seemed to feel the same—many of them were in attendance, including Craig, whose elephantine body she spotted in the back row. In a twisted, sick sort of way, Gunther’s poisoning had kept him from facing more serious harm at the humans’ hands.
Naz and Carn stood with her as they listened to the speeches. In between Gunther’s grandmother and a professor, something tapped on Ember’s good ankle, and she turned around to see Jisu with a dark wooden cane grasped in a clawed hand. By her side were Lance and Daniel, both of whom looked sleepless and troubled.
Before she could react, Lance took Ember’s hand and looked at her fully in the face. “I’m so sorry,” he said quietly, shifting a little to address Daniel and Jisu as well, “to all three of you. I should never have left you alone.”
“Nonsense,” Ember said. “You brought Ophelia.”
Daniel shook his head, his eyes teary. “It’s my fault,” he said, jamming a thumb into his chest. “I got c-captured, and Gunther d-died blocking m-me.”
“It’s no one’s fault but those humans’,” Naz said firmly, and the arguments faded into an unpleasant silence.
A deep sadness settled over Ember as she considered her friends. We’ve been shaken so deeply. Will we ever recover?
Once everyone had spoken, the podium was dragged aside. Just off of the path, a patch of ground had been cleared and ringed with white stones. “The burial site,” Naz whispered. “Since he was a student, it’s the family’s right to bury him on campus.”
With the mourners looking on, Gunther’s mother painstakingly dug into the ground with her bare hands. Reverently, she placed a sapling in the hole, tucking it in like one would a small child. One by one, Gunther’s family and close friends crouched and touched their heads to the stones, their tears splashing like rain over the soil.
“Oak,” Gunther’s mother said, brushing tears from her face with dirty hands. “A good, strong tree, like my departed boy.” She gave a half-smile, but Ember saw that her hands were shaking.
With the soft music in the background and the mourners’ loose clothes rustling like leaves in the breeze, Ember was reminded of the night of the solstice festival, when the crowd of Mendelians moved like a single many-headed spirit.
“His family practices Mendel’s traditional faith,” Naz explained when she voiced the thought. “His body and their tears feed the new tree so that with his death comes new life.”
A line formed as other funeral-goers waited to pay their respects, though most everyone from Ember’s group seemed content to watch the proceedings from out of the way. Only Daniel moved, his lips quivering but his expression determined. “I-I’m going to talk to his m-mother,” he announced.
Ember put a hand on his shoulder. After the incident with the family of the margay’s victim, she empathized with the burden of witnessing a death. “Good luck.”
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
She sighed as the toad waddled away, suddenly tired of the entire ordeal. “I’m going to check on Instructor Ophelia,” she said, rising on her tip-toes to look for the fireworm, “and then we can go.”
Naz grimaced, exchanging a quick glance with Jisu. “I’m not sure she’s here, Ember.”
Ember’s eyes darted between the two of them, realizing she’d missed something, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “What does that mean?”
The pisces touched her forearm gently. “I was going to mention it once we weren’t in public, I promise. It’s just…” she trailed off, eyes averted.
“The mayor’s statement called Ophelia irresponsible,” Jisu said bluntly. “Public opinion isn’t on her side right now.”
Ember’s eyes narrowed. “Continuing the exam may have been ill-advised, but she’s not at fault for what happened.”
“You’re right,” Lance agreed. “I’ve had other exams outside of the walls. Besides, blaming Ophelia doesn’t explain why those men were in our territory in the first place.”
“This will die down soon,” Naz said placatingly. “Why don’t you visit her office when you’re healed?”
“Sure,” she agreed noncommittally.
“Let’s go back to your dorm and rest,” Carn suggested. He looked concerned enough that she said a quick goodbye to Lance and Jisu, letting herself be led away.
But even as she followed obediently behind her friends, something prickled at the back of Ember’s mind. Regardless of her reputation, I have a feeling that Ophelia is here. She wouldn’t abandon her students.
She scanned the perimeter with her infrared. Most of the gathering had dispersed, but she still had to push herself to her limits to sift through the remaining heat signatures. Instinct drew her eyes to a particularly dense canopy, where she caught a flash of red and the corner of a leather boot.
“I’m going to check something,” she told her friends. “I’ll meet you back at the dorm.”
“No way,” Carn said, horrified. “I’m not letting you out of my sight again.”
“I’m a grown woman, Carn. It’s nothing dangerous—I’m just going to speak with an old friend.”
Naz made a huffing, annoyed sort of noise, and Ember couldn’t help but smile. “Then wait for me right up there, okay? I won’t be long.”
“Fine,” they agreed, exchanging perturbed expressions.
Ember wove a complicated path between the trees, knowing her friends would lose sight of her. There was no one at the base of the tree in which she suspected Ophelia was hiding, so she took a firm grip on the lower branches and pulled herself higher, moving more slowly than usual as to avoid aggravating her wounds.
There was a shifting in the canopy above her, but the fireworm only looked resigned when Ember came into view. “No one else knows you’re here,” Ember said, making a calming gesture with her hands. “Just me.”
“I’m not surprised. I did what you asked of me, Ember. I masked your venom with my own.”
Ember settled on the branch beside her, back against the rough bark of the tree. “Thank you, but that’s not why I came to find you. Is it true that the mayor is blaming you for what happened?”
Ophelia sighed, looking away, and the shadows caught the deep-set bruises beneath her eyes. “Blaming? Not exactly. He called me careless, which I was-”
“You received Corax’s permission weeks in advance,” Ember countered. “Did he speak to you?”
Ophelia gave her a dark look, and Ember knew she was overstepping. “Not personally, no,” she finally said, and Ember felt a stab of remorse for taking advantage of her guilt to coerce her into speaking. “But I received word that I’ve been relieved of my position.”
“What?” Ember hissed. “He fired you? That’s-”
“Enough. I won’t discuss my disciplinary action with a former student any longer. My only regret is that I will no longer have the opportunity to teach you all.”
Against her will, hopeless, angry tears welled in Ember’s eyes. Ophelia gripped her arm, forcing their eyes to meet. “None of that. Your cohort is the most talented and diligent I’ve seen in years, and it’s your doing, Ember. Your explosive growth pushes the others.”
Ember held back the arguments on the tip of her tongue, knowing that she could say nothing in the face of Ophelia’s utter defeatedness. Instead, she set her jaw and looked earnestly at her former instructor. “Take care of yourself. We’ll see each other again.”
As she descended the tree, Ember pushed aside the anger swelling in her chest and tried to think logically. She may distrust Corax, but it seemed out of character for him to alienate a fighter as promising as Ophelia. Besides, she reasoned, remembering the dead crow, his surveillance failed to protect us, too.
Perhaps it is time to grace the headmaster with another visit.