THE WIZARD

[Five-odd years ago, Pelican Town]

The ceremony was long and complicated, but he executed every step with absolute precision and respect.

Rasmodius had no first-hand experience with the funeral rite for those of Connor's position – that is, the funerary ritual of Enthronement – but he had books that held his hand through the procedures and he was clever enough to figure out anything that the instructions glossed over. The wizard cleaned the body of his late friend and purified his remains with incantations; adorned the corpse in a crown of poppies; swaddled the body in sheets of a rich and royal purple. Rasmodius did not bother to preserve the body in any way. So long as he prepared the man quickly enough, the Hall would care for the rest.

The wizard was tired. The fatigue of grief filled and embraced him, but that would not sway him from his duty. This was part of his job, after all, and he would honor his friend properly if it was the last thing he did.

No one attended Connor's Enthronement. In truth, no one but the wizard was allowed to. Marlon and Gil had opted to wait respectfully by the mouth of the cave, and Connor's multitude of non-magical friends were not allowed to even know that something like Connor's Enthronement had ever occurred. No family attended either, as Connor had never spoken of family to him – with the exception of a single passing remark about him once being married. The resulting ceremony was a quiet, intimate affair: just Rasmodius and the procession of corpses.

While he was alive, Connor was the Vessel of the valley. And now, that Vessel – his friend – was gone. Another Vessel would come to take his place, eventually. The valley needed one to survive, after all. Rasmodius knew his own role – not a Vessel, but the Vessel's Keeper – would also start anew when that day came.

Rasmodius had placed his friend's body gently upon his throne, all the while chanting words he did not understand. Only his own voice, firm and true and sorrowful, floated ghost-like through the otherwise haunting silence of the Hall. A feeling of true finality settled heavy in his chest.

Connor was gone, forever. The wizard's eyes watered threateningly but he gritted his teeth and refused to cry. He had a job to do, after all.

The tears would have to wait.


The day after the Enthronement, Rasmodius awoke in his own bed with little recollection of returning home. His eyes were blood-shot and puffy, his muscles aching with physical fatigue and grief in equal measure. His chest was heavy – literally so, he realized as he stirred. A small box wrapped in white linen sat neatly atop him.

A strange thing to wake to as he lived alone, though he supposed not so strange as to be suspicious given the gaps in his memory of the evening prior. Rasmodius sat slowly, his duvet pooling around his hips as he moved upright.

His past self had, blessedly, managed to change out of the previous night's heavy and uncomfortable ceremonial regalia. However, he had apparently only managed to dress the bottom half of himself before collapsing into bed. The chill of morning prickled his bare torso uncomfortably. The warmth of the bedcovers tempted him back into their tender embrace, yet Rasmodius fought the urge and instead turned his attention to the mysterious package before him.

He carefully removed the linen before opening the unmarked box the pale cloth had swathed. Inside were two envelopes, both snow white. One had the words "open me first!" in Connor's handwriting scrawled messily across the face. The second was sealed shut with purple wax, which itself was stamped with a pattern so intricate that it was hypnotizing. Curved, organic imprints swirled around what looked like an apple. Connor's magic washed from the wax stamp in dizzying waves.

Rasmodius opened the first letter.

Rasmodius, do you remember that bet we made some years back about whether or not I'd be able to turn my fire magic into heat vision?

The wizard blinked. He certainly did remember. Connor, apparently gaining none of the wisdom that supposedly came with old age, had nearly burned down the forest with his first attempt. The older man had wagered an absurd amount of money that he could figure out how to make his idea a reality without cooking his own eyeballs in their sockets. Rasmodius couldn't tell if he was being serious or not, but refused the bet regardless.

Well, the letter continued, looks like I lost. Unfortunately for you, I don't have that much money. Fortunately for me, I'm dead, so I don't have to pay you!

Rasmodius exhaled sharply though his nose, half bitter laugh and half exasperated sigh. A strange man to the end, he was.

Now that my debts are settled, I have a request. The other letter: I want you to read it, then come back to this one.

An odd request, but Rasmodius was too grief-wearing to think too deeply of his late friend's logic. He did as expected, thumbing the purple seal of the other letter. The wax tingled against his skin – a barely-there buzzing feeling. Rasmodius found he was unable to open the missive, and after a few frustrated moments he returned to the first letter.

If you weren't able to open it, then congratulations! I did my job correctly.

Rasmodius knitted his eyebrows in confusion.

As you know, I'm supposed to pick the next Vessel. Thing is, they might not be ready for the job just yet. You'll know they've accepted the contract when envelope opens. Be patient, Rasmodius, and care for the Valley the best you can until then.

Your friend, always,

Connor

Rasmodius sighed wearily. A strange man to the end, indeed.