The Funeral

Well, there’s nothing really I want to tatter on about. My brain really refuses to function right now, so we’ll just go straight to the story. Last time, I said that I had essentially destroyed Martin’s life. One of his best friends is dead, his girlfriend hates his guts, important people know who he is, and he knows that he’s not going to be allowed to spy again. Yep. I’d say his life is looking crappy at this point. But I have a way to fix that. To the story!
****************
Abigail decided to leave early the next morning. She wanted to leave as soon as possible to avoid any fuss, but she did have a few final words with people. With Jordan, Var, and Calvin, she had a private meeting, impressing on them the importance of keeping Martin’s real occupation, as the Spy Alex, a secret. They were going to need to create another background for her son. Not just for his protection but for the protection of everyone he ever spied on, reported to, or even encountered. He had a common face. He could easily be mistaken for someone else.

There were a few more meetings with the commanders and the nobles, mostly about getting the men home and ensuring no one talked about recent events. Those meetings she put away shortly. Martin was her concern now.

She sighed the morning they left, thinking of her son. He barely spoke to anyone, his eyes just as dead as they were before. He spent most of the day in her apartment, keeping out of the way and out of sight. This, she supposed, was because he didn’t like attention. However, this morning to leave, he seemed even more withdrawn than the day before.

He stood by his elven horse, slowly stroking its neck. Martin had shivered when he learned that someone had already taken care of his horse and had the beast saddled. There were even offers to help him pack, but Martin refused. Abigail said nothing about it. Martin had brought little with him and she doubted he got much here. Once they got to the Tree, then he would pack up and move to Nacre.

The queen glanced up at the grey sky, wondering when the clouds would finally break. She shivered as she wondered if the depressing weather had to do anything with Martin’s current mood.

“All set,” Commander Bentley said, saluting to her. “The guards are ready.” Abigail nodded absently. She ordered just a small group to join them in their trek back to the Tree. The less people who knew that Martin was a spy, the better. Thomas was also coming with them. She felt that Martin needed a friend right now.

Sona, she knew, wouldn’t be that friend.

The pretty researcher had avoided Martin since his reveal. Abigail couldn’t blame the poor girl. The man who had been courting her turned out to be the very prince she had been searching for. Sona had been very clear. She did not want a prince for a husband.

And so ends their romance, she thought with a sigh. Too bad. They were a nice couple.

“Very well,” she said to the commander, straightening her back. “We ride.” Everyone mounted and they rode off without anyone sending them off.

The next two weeks were the same. Ride in silence during the day, little conversation at night. Martin stayed away from everyone, not even joining in with card games with Thomas. He would set up his tent, dodge inside and wouldn’t appear again until morning. Abigail was a bit worried because of his behavior. Somehow, it wasn’t right for him to be so depressed.

The night before they reached the Tree, Thomas finally managed to drag her son away from his tent and joined them at the fire. Another first was that Sona stayed on her log by the fire instead of leaving as the prince approached, but she did refuse to look at him. It was a start. Abigail tried to have a conversation with the three of them, but she got very little response. It was as depressing as the weather.

“Tell me,” she said, thinking of some topic that would get her son to talk. “What are the type of funerals the Tree has?”

“A typical funeral,” Sona said softly, glancing at the only wagon in their mist. The wagon that held Luke’s body. It was only right to return his body to his family. “His family will probably speak, Suit will say a word or two. They’ll bury him at the graveyard.”

Abigail blinked. “I didn’t know the Tree had a graveyard.”

“Of course they do,” Thomas snorted. “People die there all the time. They needed to put the bodies somewhere.”

“But we’ll need to break the news to Luke’s family,” Sona sighed, staring moodily into the fire. “Usually it’s tradition that any spy who witnessed another spy’s death would tell the family…”

“I’ll tell them.”

Everyone turned to the prince. Martin stared into the fire, seemingly oblivious to their conversation. “I should tell them,” he went on, still as if they weren’t there. “I’m the reason he’s dead. I owe them that much.”

“If you don’t want to,” Abigail tried to say when he shook his head.

“No. I owe them the truth.”

He refused to talk again after that.

The next afternoon they entered the roots of the Tree. Abigail was sure their arrival had been signaled ahead because Suit was waiting for them at the entrance.

“Your Majesty,” the Spy Master said, quickly catching the group’s somber mood. “I take that something has happened…”

“Yes,” she sighed. She was going to explain when she noticed that Martin had dismounted. Luke’s mother, father, and twin sister stood not far off, looking anxiously for their son. Martin stood up to them. They looked worried.

“I’m…” Martin stopped, took a deep breath, and tried again. “I’m sorry… Luke…” He gulped. “Luke has died. General Terk killed him.”

The mother broke down, bursting into tears. Her husband caught her, slowly lowering her to the ground, tears already streaking down his face. Luke’s twin, Kriste, held for a moment before the emotions caught her. She ran away crying.

“Luke is dead?” Suit asked softly, gazing at the wagon.

“He died trying to save the prince,” Abigail sighed. “Terk had taken over the mansion and Luke tried to poison him. The Mad General was just faster with a blade.”

Suit groaned, rubbing the side of his head. “I don’t like loosing men.” He took a moment to regain his composure. “So, I’m assuming that you’ve found your son then, thanks to Luke’s sacrifice.”

“You could say that,” she moaned, trying to covertly glance at her son. Suit caught it and turned around. Martin was leading his horse to an empty stall when one of the guards who accompanied them took the reigns from him.

“You shouldn’t be doing commoner work, your highness,” the man said, smiling at the prince, probably thinking a kind deed and word was what the prince needed. Martin took a step back, shaking. Everyone in the stables went silent and stared at him, having heard the guard’s words; even Luke’s father was staring, though the mother was still in tears. Martin took one look around the stable, paling as he realized why they were staring, and then ran out. The stables broke out in whispers, shock and amazement at the Alex’s behavior and what it meant.

“Martin?” Suit breathed, the look of shock on his face almost comical if the situation wasn’t serious. “He’s… He’s the prince?”
*************
The funeral was the next day. Martin joined the mourners as the funeral commenced. Everyone was very solemn as they filed outside to the graveyard where Luke’s body was ready for burial. He kept his head down as he walked with the others, staring at the knife he held. It was tradition at the Tree for everyone to bring something that reminded them of the deceased, to hold it as the funeral progressed. Toward the end, everyone would get the opportunity to approach the coffin and either offer the item to the dead in thanks or to keep it, so they could remember the deceased the rest of their lives.

This knife was the reason why he and Luke were friends; one of his very few possessions that he had any attachment to. He remembered that day clearly. He was eleven years old, Fred had just left, leaving him alone in a world full of spies. It was a decision Fred helped him come to. He could do anything he wanted in Aeterna, but this job, Fred had felt, would best fit him. Martin had agreed, the general’s description of Aeternan spies filling his imagination. But then, as he made his way alone to the weapons room for his first lesson, he wasn’t so sure.

The moment he walked through the door, this knife came out of nowhere, nearly hitting him. He was ready for a fight when another elven year old, tall and lanky, approached with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry about that,” the kid said. Martin said nothing. “See, I’m learning how to throw knives, but I’m not very good at it yet. Say, aren’t you new around here?” The kid forcibly took his hand and shook it. “My name is Luke Ander.” Martin was sure this kid was out of his mind. Who befriended someone they had almost accidentally killed? “The quiet type, huh? Well, come along, Silent One. I’ll show you around.”

Luke had been his first friend at the Tree. It took Luke a while to get him to be friendly back, but by the time Thomas came around when they were fourteen, Luke finally stopped calling him the Silent One.

Martin fiddled with the knife. It was a gift from Luke that day when they met, as an apology and also as an expression of friendship. With this knife, he learned how to throw knives, learned how to carve, learned other uses with it, all with Luke laughing over his shoulder.

There were a lot of people at the funeral, Commander Suit, many of the spying teachers, friends, colleges, even Queen Abigail showed up, dressed in black in respect. He hadn’t had much opportunity to attend funerals and he had to find the darkest clothing he had so he wore dark grey with blank armbands on his upper arms. He wasn’t the only one to sport blank armbands and wore subdued colors. Spies didn’t often make friendships strong enough to constitute wearing complete black.

Thomas walked beside him, fiddling with what looked like an old drowned rat. It was actually a toupee, snatched off a teacher’s head and used to scare some girls as a dead rat. It was one of the more memorable pranks the three of them did. Martin wondered why Thomas still had it.

The funeral commenced with Suit standing at the coffin and saying a few words. His speech was short but the words truthful. Luke had been a troublemaker, but he would be sorely missed. His parents said a few words, speaking of the good times, the pranks, and how proud they were of their son. Kriste got up to speak but she couldn’t get the words out. She started trembling and sat back down without saying anything. Martin couldn’t blame her. He doubted he would even have the strength to stand.

The time came to present the item. One by one, the funeral attendees approached the coffin, some said a few words quietly to the family, some mute as they passed by. They all paused at the coffin, holding the item that reminded them of Luke. Martin wasn’t surprised to see a lot of ruined jokes.

The graveyard slowly emptied as people finished paying their respects. Martin waited until nearly everyone was gone. He didn’t feel much like being stared at as he tried to pay his final respect. Thomas had paid his respects and was talking with Luke’s parents when he finally stood up and approached the coffin.

It wasn’t anything fancy, just a wood box, already sealed and ready to be buried. It was almost unfitting for Luke’s final resting place. However, it was surrounded by memories, tokens from Luke’s life. He fiddled with the knife, trying to sort his thoughts.

“He’ll want you to keep that.”

Martin felt a hand clap on his shoulder. Looking to the side, he saw Don Ander standing to his side, smiling sadly.

“I know,” he sighed, looking down at the coffin. “I wasn’t going to give it up.” He had a feeling that Luke wouldn’t like it if he left it.

“I know you’re blaming yourself for his death,” Ander said softly. “You shouldn’t. Luke would have preferred dying knowing that he was insulting the enemy.” Martin chuckled softly. That was Luke.

“Besides,” Ander went on, the smile heard in his voice. “You’re messing with the weather, being this depressed.” Martin shook his head, not knowing whether to cry or chuckle. It was still overcast.

“I’m trying to work on that.”

“I know,” Ander whispered, patting his shoulder. “I know.” The spy teacher took a deep breath. “Martin, I want you to know that we don’t blame you. And not because you are the prince. You are Luke’s friend. Nothing changes that, not even your name. He would call you an idiot for being depressed about his passing or blaming yourself for it. Do you hear what I’m saying?”

Martin glanced at Ander. He didn’t need his powers to see the truth in the spy’s eyes. “Yes,” he whispered, finally smiling. “Thank you.”

Ander returned the smile, squeezing his shoulder. “Come. My wife would also like to talk with you.” He pulled Martin away from the coffin, not noticing the flower he had placed on it.
*******************
Martin lay on his back, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling of his room. Well, former room. Tomorrow morning, the queen was taking him back to Nacre where he was going to begin his life as a prince. He wasn’t excited about that.

He had left the graveyard when Abigail approached him and told him the news. Accompanying her were two of his former fellow spies, given the duty to guard him until other guards were provided. It had been a very awkward conversation. The queen didn’t know what really to say to him and the two spies were uncomfortable with the fact that they were now charged to protect a man who used to be their equal. He returned to his room after that, followed by the two spies, and collapsed on his bed without even changing from his mourning clothes.

Now he just stared at the ceiling, his emotions too rung out. He didn’t want to go to Nacre. He wanted time to recover, time to mourn, time to…

I’m putting off the inevitable again, he berated himself. Don Ander may not blame him for Luke’s death, but he wasn’t so forgiving of himself. It was a truth; if he had just revealed himself sooner, Luke would still be alive.

“We warned you.”

Martin sighed. “I thought you were going to leave me alone.”

“We’ve given you a proper amount of time to be miserable without us.”

Why did it sound like the voice was coming from inside his room, instead of inside his head? Turning his head to the side, he saw the wrong reflection of his dreams sitting on an invisible chair, his noble face mournful. In a flash, the wrong reflection changed to a soft glowing vague shape of a person. The Spirit.

“Why didn’t you show yourself like that before?” Martin asked. “Why show me a wrong reflection instead?”

“Because,” it said, though no mouth moved, “we’ve been separated for so long. We didn’t know you. We needed to learn more about you. And we didn’t feel like scaring you away. It seemed appropriate at the time.”

“Huh,” Martin hummed, staring back at the ceiling. “I would have thought I was going nuts.” He thought about it. “Does this mean I get my reflection back?”

“No.”

“Figures.”

“You still have so much to learn,” it said, “Perhaps we were harsh when we told you to just accept who you are. We shouldn’t have forced you. You do need answers.”

“So that’s it?” Martin asked dully. “I’m to go to Nacre now? Learn what I must to be the prince you need?”

The Spirit chuckled, an odd sound, like there were hundreds of people chuckling at once. “Nacre does not hold the answers you need. We have someone else who will help you.” Martin turned his head to ask the Spirit what it meant by that, but it was already gone.
************
Jonathan had watched the funeral from a distance. It wasn’t his place to intrude on this grief. His offering, given once everyone was gone, was quill pen that leaked ink. A prank Luke had played on his friend’s guardian. The king had taken it in good humor, though he did make the young boy wash out the ruined shirt.

With his respects paid, Jon knew he had work to do. He had glimpsed Martin throughout the day and knew that he needed to intervene before Abby could take him to Nacre. Luke’s death did not change the plan.

He came to Martin’s room, a bit surprised to see two spies standing outside his son’s door. These two spies knew him as Fred, Martin’s guardian. They didn’t question him as he knocked on the door.

“Martin?” he asked, knowing his son was inside. “May I come in?”

There was no answer. I’ll take that as a yes. He opened the door and walked in, closing the door softly behind him. Martin’s room was much like it always was. Small, with a bed cramped to the side with a dresser stuffed in the corner. Martin lay on his bed, wearing dark grey with black armbands, staring at the ceiling. It cut the king to see his son so depressed.

“Martin?” Jonathan said, sitting down on the end of the bed. “Are you alright?” Stupid question, really. He had just lost his best friend.

“I’m going to Nacre in the morning,” his son answered in a dull dry tone. Jon hated to hear that. That wasn’t his Martin speaking, it was the depression.

“No,” Jon said sternly. “You’re not. You’re coming with me, remember?”

Martin frowned. Sitting up, he gave him a confused look. “Why? Everyone knows that I’m the prince. They’re not going to let you take me away.”

“Perhaps they won’t,” Jon said, rubbing his beard. “But they won’t stop you from leaving.” His son tilted his head to the side, eyeing him suspiciously.

“You’re still willing to go with that plan?” Martin asked. “Even with…”

Jon held up a hand, stopping his son. “I told you. I am not abandoning you. Nothing has changed.” He sighed. “I wish you could see yourself, see how you’ve sunk into depression. I can’t let you go to Nacre in the state you’re in. You’re not ready for the life of a prince.”

“But…” Martin started to say.

“No,” Jonathan said firmly. “I’ve said it before. The plan is for your benefit- not theirs- yours. They’re just going to have to live with that until you are ready.” The king stood up, meeting Martin’s suspicious gaze with firmness. “The choice is yours, Martin. Go to Nacre where you’re going to spend the rest of your life being protected and mistreated, or come with me and show the world that you are not to be underestimated.”

Martin held eye contact for a full minute before finally looking away. Very few men could have held his gaze for that long. Still, his son didn’t answer. Jon sighed. He had hoped giving Martin an option would at least begin to pull him out of his depression. Wondering if he made any progress, Jonathan went for the door.

“Where do you want me to meet you?”

Jon turned back. Martin had his head up, the fire in his eyes had returned. The king smiled. That was his Martin.

“I’ll meet you tomorrow at the crossroads north of Firth,” he said. “Make sure no one follows you. I’ve got to explain to your mother tonight why you won’t be going to Nacre with her.”
*****************
Martin waited until Fred had left before he started packing. It wasn’t much; most of it was already packed since he hadn’t unpacked when they returned. He quickly changed out of the dark grey and put on tan pants, red shirt, with a grey vest. If he was going to leave the Tree, he was not going to look like a prince. He left the rest of the clothes; he was going to get a new wardrobe later anyway. No need to take extra with him.

That left his very few possessions. He had a few books, the carved flute Sona gave him, the knife, a seashell he picked up at the Stand, and a few other mementos from his travels in Aeterna. In all, it fit nicely in the pack with the broken buckle.

“I really need a new pack,” he muttered as he tied it up. He shouldered it and was about to leave when he remembered one last thing.

The glove, his Connection, was on top of the dresser, where he had left it the night before. He reached over and picked it up. Of all the things he ever owned, this was the one thing he never left behind. A year ago, it had been taken from him and, at first he felt naked without it, he slow got used to not having it. It was a lucky charm, nothing went too terribly wrong if he had it. Holding it now, he realized just how much he missed having it. Things always seemed better with it. He looped it through his belt. Before he didn’t want people to see it. Now it didn’t matter.

The last thing he did in his room was write a short note. Fred said that he would talk with the queen, but Martin felt that he should at least leave them something. That done, he left his room.

“Martin?” said one of the spies, frowning as he eyed the pack. “What are you…” He didn’t finish the question. Martin pressed the nerve in the man’s neck, dropping him. The other spy opened his mouth to call out when he landed on him, hitting the same nerve.

“Sorry, friend,” Martin whispered, slowly lowering the second spy to the ground. Sure no one else was around, he made his way to the stables. It was late at night, only those on night duty would be out. It wasn’t hard to dodge them.

Once he made it to the stables, he quickly found Rowan and saddled him. He didn’t know how long it would be before someone discovered he was missing. Probably not long at all. Abigail wanted to keep him safe.

Mounting Rowan, Martin searched for any emotions near the emergency exit, a side root path that lead the way outside the normal spying perimeters. Exactly what he needed. A spy on duty was making his rounds in that direction but was moving away. Now was the time.

Martin paused, however, taking a last look around the stables. He had always imagined that he would live out his life at the Tree, once his field days were over. He had planned on becoming a teacher here, helping new generations of spies, perhaps marrying and having kids who’d follow their own paths. The distant future he saw was one he was looking forward to.

He was under no illusion that he wasn’t running away. He was. Running from a new future he didn’t understand yet, hadn’t planned for. He hoped they would forgive him.

Martin kicked Rowan into a canter, running away from the only home he had ever known.
************
Sona was walking around the Tree, unable to sleep. The last two weeks had been hard. She couldn’t quite make sense of her thoughts or emotions. The man she had fallen in love with, a man she had liked for a long time, turned out to be the very prince she had been searching for.

Why didn’t he tell me? she thought indignantly for the thousandth time in the last two weeks. How could he ever had the nerve to court her, when he knew that he was one day going to have to break it up? Did he think it would be fun, stringing her along? Or did he want something else? The unanswered questions made her shake with anger. The nerve of that man! She wanted answers, as did Abigail, but the queen insisted that they did not ask Martin anything until he came out of his depression.

The queen was probably right in that regard. Even with her mounting anger, she could see how Luke’s death had affected the prince. To see him in that much pain almost made her forget how angry he made her.

But today, Sona saw the first sign of him coming out of his depression. After the funeral, Don Ander had approached Martin and then pulled him to his wife. Martin had a conversation with them, smiling a bit when memories were brought up.

The overcast weather also started clearing up.

Sona had planned on giving Martin an ultimatum, telling him exactly what kind of jerk he was and how she never wanted to see him again. Even with her fury, it still took her a lot of walking around the Tree to gather the nerve to face him. Steeling herself, Sona made her way to his room, replaying in her mind what she was going to say to him.

She was almost to his door when she noticed the two spies on the ground, unconscious. The door had been left open. Sona felt fear as she slowly approached the open door, afraid to enter the room. Her mind was in a whirl of what might have happened. Thoughts of kidnapping to murder raced through her mind as she stepped inside.

The room looked like it always did; bed, dresser, and little of anything else. It didn’t look like there was a struggle… She spotted a folded paper that lay on the end of the bed. She picked it up and read it, paling. There were only two words.

I’m sorry.

Sona dropped the note, knowing exactly what it meant. She ran out and away from the scene, yelling.

“He’s gone!”
******************
Yes, Martin has runaway. Now he’s not only pissed off his ex-girlfriend, but his mother, the spy master, his best friend, and a number of others. But for the sake of the plot, he can’t go to Nacre right now. There are a couple of things I want him to do before he’s known to the general public as the prince. Until next week’s post, enjoy the journey!

P.S. Next week, Fred gets slapped.