Alarick didn't believe in ghosts, but if he did, he would have sworn that Marius was doing his damnedest to keep the relationship he'd planted growing. And if that were the case, Alarick would be nothing but grateful.
As promised, Alarick was rewarded for his good behavior and released from the infirmary the next day. Two days later, the castle's inhabitants held the memorial service for Marius.
Fittingly, the day was cold and damp with alternating snow and rain. Everyone gathered in the dining hall where the tables had been pushed out of the way and the benches arranged like pews in a church. All the residents attended, even those who hadn't known Marius well, or at all.
Word of his exploits had made the rounds over the years, and he was a folk hero to many. A mysterious, courageous man who, in the most greatly exaggerated tales, took on the Ministry single-handed and won every battle. Others knew the real man. They knew the ferocity of his friendship and the depth of his kindness and love. They knew his brash exterior hid a soul who would do anything for those he loved and punish anyone who did them wrong. Even those who'd barely heard his name respected him as a former member of the Keep.
Alarick remembered little of the day, but what he did remember was beautiful and fitting for his friend. An a cappella group sang a Welsh hymn in honor of Marius' Welsh heritage, which came through his mother's lineage. Alarick didn't know the hymn and, as he knew little Welsh, was unable to understand much of it. It was lovely, however.
There were readings from people who had known Marius when he lived at the Keep. Friends from the village where he'd lived with his wife for so short a time sang a few songs. They sounded like pub songs to Alarick, and their raucousness suited Marius.
Alarick escorted Elissa to the lectern where she recited Shakespeare's sonnet number seventy-three. It was about love and death. The last line, "To love that well which thou must leave ere long" brought tears to his eyes. Once he'd seen her safely back to her seat, he returned to the lectern to give the eulogy.
The night before the service, he'd tried to write something eloquent, something fitting for his friend. Words that would showcase Marius' bravery, intelligence, and kindness to all who knew him. But words failed Alarick. Words were inadequate to describe the man, or the loss. Try as he might, he couldn't come up with anything fitting. He'd given up and gone to bed, hopeful that something would come to him this morning. It hadn't.
As he stood at the lectern, gripping it so hard that his knuckles turned white and stood in stark contrast to the edges of his black sleeves, he cast his eyes skyward and sought help from the one person who could give it.
"Give me the words, Marius," he thought.
After a pause, he began to speak.
"Last night, I thought of all the truths I could utter about Marius today," he said. "That he was brave, fearless, open-hearted, optimistic, kind, a mentor, a trusted friend, and a believer in justice. And all of that is true.
"But it's also not enough to convey the extraordinary character of the man I called my friend. Most of us are these things. They do not mark us as special; merely human."
Alarick took a deep breath and looked out at the assembled group.
"What made Marius special was that he let others know how he cared about them. He had every reason to keep his feelings locked deep inside, every reason to withdraw from the world and hide himself. But he didn't. Instead, he actively engaged with the world. He sought out people who were broken, as he was, and somehow made them, if not whole, at least better.
"That does not come easily. It is a gift to be able to relate to so many different people. Marius could empathize with a powerful wizard as easily as he could a small child. People who had known loss were his friends, but so were people who still had the things he had lost.
"He harbored no jealousy over the good fortune of others, wasted no time asking why he was singled out to experience a personal hell so deep it seemed to have no escape. His gift was an ability to look at you and let you know that he felt whatever emotion you were feeling and neither pitied nor hated you for it. Marius Baines had a very clear view of the world and the people in it and he never spared anyone his viewpoint.
"He saw no point in holding back. He knew that time is always short and holding back only leaves room for regret, something for which he had neither time nor patience. He frequently called me a jackass and deservedly so, because I was usually dithering over something which was crystal clear to him."
Alarick laughed, remembering exactly how often Marius had called him a jackass recently while he fretted over Elissa.
"But he also called me friend and brother. Marius was my dearest friend, and it was because of his unique gift. When other people turned away from me, he looked at me, a boy who did many things wrong, and saw that I was not merely the sum of my poorly chosen actions. He saw beyond my failings, to the man I could be. Should be. And he never stopped pushing me to match his vision. Even in the last weeks of his life, he was still pushing me to become the man he saw when he looked at me. And still calling me jackass because I was courting regret by not expressing my feelings to the people who most needed to hear them."
Tears pooled in his eyes now, but he blinked them back. This was not the time. He owed Marius strength, not weakness.
"And he was right. Time is indeed short. I did not tell him what he meant to me. I did not properly thank him for pushing me to be something other than a jackass. I'll live with that until my dying day.
"I could say that I will live differently from now on, that I will honor him by becoming the man he saw, that I will never again suffer regret because I failed to show others how much I care. But we all know things aren't so simple. Even Marius knew that. The best intentions are often pushed aside by the negligence of normal life. All I can promise is to try. And I would ask all of you gathered here today to try to live up to Marius' version of yourself. Even if we never attain his lofty standards, perhaps our efforts will make him proud."
Alarick left the lectern and resumed his seat next to Elissa. The room was silent for a moment, and then applause rang through the hall. It lasted for what seemed like hours, even though it was mere minutes.
When it finally quieted, the singers returned to the front of the hall and sang another hymn. This one Alarick recognized. Marius had told him once it was his wife's favorite. Alarick wasn't deeply religious. It was difficult to reconcile a kind, benevolent god with the dogmatic, vengeful, bigoted god espoused by the Ministry, after all. But he hoped that wherever Marius was now, he was with his wife and daughter.
The service mercifully ended and Alarick joined the others at lunch rather than retreating to his rooms as he so desperately wanted. He sat at a table with Elissa and Candace and her husband, but he couldn't pay attention to the conversation. Neither could he eat much, having little appetite.
When the hall finally began to empty, and the residents went back to their work, Alarick took Elissa by the arm and led her back to the library.
"That was a wonderful eulogy," she said once they were inside and he had her seated on one of the sofas.
"I was terrified," he admitted. "It's difficult to capture the essence of a person in a few sentences. I tried to prepare beforehand, but it all seemed wrong. I was improvising up there."
"Well, it went well," Elissa said. "I think you expressed your feelings perfectly and helped others understand what Marius meant to them, as well."
Alarick sat down on the low table in front of her and took her hands in his.
"Marius was right about me being a jackass," he said.
"I know. I mean, not that you are a jackass, but I know what he saw in you. It's the same thing I see. I see someone with enormous potential, if only you'll let yourself go. You hold yourself so tightly, yet if you let go just a tiny bit, I think you could be a real force in this world."
Alarick took a deep breath.
"It starts now," he whispered.
"What?"
"I love you, Elissa,"
he said. "I have for a while now. I kept thinking I could stop it, conquer it somehow, but I cannot. And for the first time in decades, I do not want to. I understand if you do not feel the same. I've certainly given you little reason to love me—" he trailed off when she pulled her hands from his.
Instead of slapping him, however, or moving away, she leaned forward and placed her hands on his cheeks, smoothing her fingers over his features in her version of looking at him. Really looking at him.
"You gave me my life back, Alarick Brandon. That alone is reason enough for me to have fallen in love with you. But it happened long before that. I love you, too. And I understand what a monumental gift you've just given me; what you've entrusted me with. You've given me a heart that has been broken once and is barely whole even now. You've put this fragile thing into my care. I want you to know," she whispered, "That I am honored and hope to be worthy of the gift."
"Oh, Elissa, you already are," he said as he leaned forward to hold her face in his hands.
Her lips sought his and this time he didn't hesitate. He let himself fall, let himself melt into the wonder of her. Alarick caressed her face and moved his hands down to rub her arms. When he pulled her to him, she eased into his embrace, fitting her body to his as though they were a matched pair.
Alarick abandoned himself to her, burying the horrors of the past days in the sweet scent of her hair and the soft fullness of her lips against his. When he brushed her hair back and moved to kiss her neck, she tilted her head, giving him her full trust. She wound her hands in his hair and clutched him to her. He moved to sit next to her on the sofa and, without breaking contact, shifted her so that she sat on his lap. Keeping one arm around her, he flicked his wand in the direction of the fireplace, lighting it and casting a soft glow around them.
They stayed like that for hours, alternately kissing, talking about everything and nothing, and laughing over shared silliness as the long day wound to a close. Alarick would have stayed with her like that forever, letting her presence mend the holes in his soul, but life moved on, as it always does.
"I thought we'd leave day after tomorrow," he finally said, bringing them to their plans for their next adventure.
"That's fine," Elissa said. "Where will we go first?"
"I thought we'd start somewhere warm and sunny. Or at least warmer than here. I've written to a friend in Marrakesh. His name is Adil Talb and he's happy to have us visit. Most of his books are in Arabic, but he says several scholars have already volunteered to translate. He'd prefer to keep most of his books, but we're welcome to copy anything we'd like to add to our library."
"Does he have many books?" Elissa asked.
Alarick shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't visited him in years. We only correspond through letters. The last time I visited was with Master Hale. I must have been twelve or so. Then, Adil had a library about half the size of ours. Before the addition," he clarified. "But now? It could be much larger, or smaller if they've been raided by the Ministry. We'll do what we can."
"You know, I kind of wish we could spend days here, just like this," she said, dropping her head to his shoulder and nuzzling his neck.
He chuckled. "I know. It feels like we've reached this glorious place where we're comfortable with each other, and now we must give it up."
"Not give it up," she said. "Never give it up. We're just relocating it."
Alarick laughed long and loud, the sound echoing around the library and, for a moment, he was surprised the noise had come from him.
15
Alarick spent the next day working with Margaret, going over the protective enchantments for the Keep. Margaret knew a few ancient spells that he did not, and she added her knowledge, further strengthening his work. He also worked with John Lucas to ensure that the day-to-day operations of the castle would continue smoothly in his absence.
"I don't know how long we'll be gone," he told John as they worked in Alarick's office. "It could be a couple of days or it may be longer. Once we reach Marrakesh, I'll write to other friends and see if they will welcome us. I won't exhaust Elissa, however, so we'll be back to rest at some point."
"I suspect you'll find she's not easily tired," John said. "Don't forget that blindness does not make her an invalid. Don't treat her as such."
"I know," Alarick sighed. "I constantly remind myself not to smother her. My fear for her does not give me the right to govern her life."
"As long as you remember that, you'll do fine," John said.
"I don't think I am the only one who needs to remember things about women," Alarick said, looking up from the ledger in which he was scribbling notes and giving John a hard stare. "I have noticed you and Margaret seem to be getting closer."
John shrugged. "She's quite the woman. I won't deny I've interests there. Whether she feels the same, well, that's something I've yet to discover."
"Good luck to you, man," Alarick said.
"And to you." When Alarick shot him a look, John said, "I may be getting old, boy, but I can see how you and the Book Mesmer look at each other over meals. I notice you've been spending more and more time in that library. She's something special and you deserve some happiness. Master Hale would be happy for you."
Alarick didn't answer. The thought of what Master Hale would think of Elissa gave Alarick pause from time to time. It didn't matter because the great master was dead, but Alarick often wondered whether Master Hale would approve. He felt certain he would. Other than their age difference, Elissa was everything Master Hale valued in a person: Kind, intelligent, selfless, funny, brave, and open-minded. Their age difference might have given Master Hale pause, but Alarick felt certain it wouldn't disqualify her in his mind.
Alarick wondered, though, whether the age difference might not be too great. He was thirty-four and would be thirty-five in another month. She was twenty-five. Almost ten years lay between them. Abigail had come into his life the year Elissa was born. That was an odd thought. He shrugged, as if trying to shake the thought, and John caught the movement.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Do you think it's too much?" Alarick asked, forgetting that John hadn't been part of his internal debate. "Our age difference?" he clarified.
"Between you and Elissa?"
Alarick nodded.
John paused before answering. "I don't think so. If she were some of the young women around the Keep, I might say yes. There are more than a few here who are her age and who are still girls. They will likely never grow out of their simpering and foolishness. But Elissa? She seems like an old soul. Much like you, I would say. Maybe it's the losses you've both suffered, but both of you are thoughtful, introspective people who seem to be, what's the expression—" he flapped his hands as he searched for the words. "On a different path than the rest of us. She'll be good company for you. I don't see you leaving her behind, if that's what you're worried about."
"I just don't want her to wake up one day and regret that she wasted her youth on an old man."
"Ah. You're assuming you'll get to be an old man, sir," John said. "I don't think any of us can expect that. I wouldn't worry about your age difference. I think you're a good fit for each other, but I suspect it won't matter in the long-term, anyway."
"True. Death at thirty-five does render the point moot," Alarick said, bending back to his work.
"Live your life. That is all you can do," John said.
Those words rang in Alarick's mind throughout the rest of the day. He repeated the mantra every time he second-guessed their coming departure. Living life was paramount. Death would take care of itself. In the meantime, he and Elissa had a job to do.
The next morning, he went to Elissa's room and found her packed and ready. She had two satchels, one full of art supplies and one with clothes and necessities. He shrank both bags and placed them inside his larger one for ease of transport.
Wanting to avoid lengthy goodbyes, Alarick decided to peregrinate directly from Elissa's room rather than going downs
tairs. He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow.
"I never asked you when I brought you back from Orange… Does peregrination agree with you? Does it cause you pain?" he asked before he cast them off.
"It hurts a bit, but nothing too awful or permanent. Mostly I feel the pull on my back, maybe because I'm still healing. It's such an odd feeling."
"It is that," Alarick said. "I don't want to hurt you."
"Don't worry about it. As I said, it goes away. I know I'm not really going to fly apart. It just feels that way."
Alarick nodded. "Well, then. Ready for an adventure?" he asked.
"Absolutely," she said, her smile buoying his certainty that this was the right course of action. She needed to fly, and he needed to let her. All he could do was be there to catch her if she fell.
Alarick thought of Talb's place in Marrakesh and they were off. They touched down in the desert far beyond the city. In front of them was a red sandstone wall, beyond which the rooftops of several buildings were visible. Set in the center of the wall was a wooden door. Alarick lifted the heavy iron knocker and let it fall twice. A moment later, a dark-skinned man who appeared to be in his seventies opened the door. Wispy gray hairs stuck up at odd angles all over his head, giving him the appearance of a large, half-blown dandelion. The man's skin was leathery from decades spent in the sun, but his face bore a boyish smile that spoke of mischief and good humor.
"Alarick Brandon," he said, moving forward to embrace Alarick. "I'm so glad you decided to come."
After a brief hug, the man pulled away from Alarick, but did not release his hold on his arms.
"You've grown," he said, appraising Alarick. "Last time you were here, you weren't much taller than my waist. Now look at you. So tall," he said. "Of course, I keep shrinking."
Library of Absolution Page 20