The hand of the One God is in all things, and so I cannot help but think that the hand of the One God was in my selection as guide to the new student.  Of course, if there is one place where the Lord is present, it would doubtless be in a pre-Loss monastery.  She took well to the work, aside from watering plants which she is very slow at.  I really shouldn’t have mentioned that she could take the meandering path through the catacombs.  Still, she works hard, she paints well, and I cannot help but find myself liking her…


    Marble stood by her canvas, the subject all but invisible in the night light.  First things first, she removed her gloves despite the night’s chill.  They were difficult to clean and painting was not a neat business.  Then, too, there was the magic she was about to undertake.  She turned her back on it and pinched the wick of a candle between two fingers, murmuring a quiet prayer.   “Father Supreme, bless this light with life.”  As soon as she felt warmth, she let go, the candle lit.  She moved back and forth around the space, lighting candles as she went.  She thought the same thoughts she often did, the act of lighting the beeswax candles a ritual all its own.  It’s a little prayer to the One God with each sorcerous invocation of flame.  I suppose I don’t need to murmur a prayer, but I like the ritual and I like the affirmation that what I do, I do for the One God, to honor His creation.


    The night was when she painted for herself.  Though, I might have to put this one up at the All Saviors’ Day expo.  I’m very proud of it.  I wonder if a dark room could be arranged for it.  After all, I specifically painted this one to be seen by the flickering orange light of candles.


    Dancing in the shadows, a small still life arrangement.  A wide bowl, with a fluted vase placed inside it.  To the left and behind, a statuette of the Virtue of the Jester, crafted with brass.  I just wanted a challenge when I started this, Marble thought, but then it became a passion.  The brass, you would think, would be the most difficult, because it’s reflective.  But glazed pottery catches the light the same way, and unlike the small details of the statuette, the vase seems almost to change shape when the candles flicker in a breeze or by their own initiative.  Marble chuckled.  That canvas has so many layers of paint on it, I’m fortunate that oils adhere to one another.


    Abruptly, Marble was aware of someone behind her.  She paused, and nearly burnt her fingers from not letting go of the lit wick of a candle.  “Vaterin?” Marble asked.


    “I… yes.  You’re wearing a very nice fragrance.  Sorry.  I just wanted to hear what you were saying as you lit the candles.  It all looks very interesting, I was glancing at the canvas before I came up to try and overhear and—” How sweet.  She babbles when she’s nervous.  So do I.  It’s not that interesting a fragrance, though Mama is quite proud of our gardens, so maybe she just has a nose for quality.  Mama does grow some beautiful flowers.


    “Shhh,” Marble said.  “It’s just an attar of tulips.  A little different than the common rose.”


    “If you knew how difficult they were to cultivate, you might not… it is a nice fragrance.”


    “Thank you, Vaterin.  But you were trying to overhear?”


    Marble waited for Vaterin’s meandering thoughts to find their way back home.  “Uhm.  What was… I mean, I pray to invoke my angel, but what were you praying?  Do you use a needle and invoke the axiom of Tame Flame?”


    Marble shook her head.  “I have no spirit pacts.  It was fire sorcery.  My, ah, my grandmother taught me.”  She’d be proud of me, with where I am.  I’ll see you again some day, Gramma.


    “Fire sorcery?  I don’t… I know a thing or two about fire brands, but not much about the mechanics of sorcery itself.  My family never could break into the market of magical services, so…” Vaterin shrugged.


    “I’m surprised.  It’s the nobility who are supposed to be above such trades.  But the prayer was ‘Father Supreme, bless this light with life.’”


    “But why pray, if you’re not invoking a spirit?”  Why pray to invoke a spirit?  I thought it was all about making a small offering and asking that they bless… hah.  That is a prayer.


    “Because unlike using a branded object, sorcery relies on faith.  As the Savior said, ‘Believe it will be done, and it will be done for you.’  I believe, by now, that my fires will light, but it is a comforting habit to say a little prayer as I start each candle.  It reminds me of my grandmother.”


    “Has she… I don’t know the diplomatic way to ask if she’s still with you.”


    Marble laughed softly.  “Of course she’s still with me.  The One God has her in His arms, but I have her in my heart.”


    “But she has… yeah.  I’m sorry for your loss.”


    Marble smiled, though she felt tears welling up.  “It was some time ago.  She went peacefully.  It wasn’t a surprise or anything.”


    “She’s the one who taught you to use sorcery?”


    Marble nodded, not trusting her voice.  I loved my grandmother.  That’s why it’s still such a painful thought after so many years.  But there’s no need for tears.  She’s in Heaven now.


    “Do you want to tell me about it?  Or should I stop interrupting and let you get back to your painting.”  It was less a question than a statement, and Marble paused before she answered.  Do I want to talk to a new friend about this, or do I want… I want to immerse myself in my art, right now.


    “I would like that, thank you.”  Marble set about preparing her paints, while Vaterin settled on one of the empty cots and watched her.  Distracted by mumbled words, Marble happened to glance over when sparks of light danced over Vaterin’s thumb.  What does she need to be able to paint for?  Does she have more than one spirit?  There was a creaking noise as Vaterin stood, and soft footfalls leading away.  She must be feeling like she ought to work on her own painting.  She’s not going to have much luck, the character of nightlight changes things so much…


    Marble had sat down and was once again trying to capture the flickering flames on brass and ceramic when she heard another creak.  She only looked out of the corner of her eye, and only for a moment, but she saw that Vaterin had a folio and charcoal.  I wonder what she’s drawing.  It could be anything.  I know that when I’m painting a daytime landscape I can work from memory.  “Keeping me company?  You should sleep, services are early and breakfast is earlier still.”Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    She couldn’t make out in the candlelight whether Vaterin flushed.  “Ah… I should have asked first.  I came to Tourmaline Isle without a good subject in mind.  At first, I thought I might paint Father Sauer.  The Mother Superior was another possibility.  But right now, though I only have charcoal and paper, I thought I would draw you.  You have a… a vitality to—no, that’s not it.  The spirit gives me insights but not the words.”


    “You wanted to paint me?”  I know I’m not unappealing, and I am a noble, but I don’t feel like her desire to paint me is about either of those things.


    “Not just you, but you when you’re painting.  It… is evocative.  Alive.  Not ‘it,’ ‘you.’  You’re clearly… it’s not that you’re good—though you are good—it’s that you’re vividly… no, I tried that word.  Sarx!” Vaterin swore.  “Haha.  As I said, I don’t get the words.” Ah, yep.  It has nothing to do with my looks or my title.  I wonder what she sees.  I did see a bit of her painting earlier today, but now she’s working in charcoal.  Which, despite what Slate gets told, is a challenging and vivid medium.


    “Well, it doesn’t sound like a bad thing, whatever it is you see when you look at me.  May I come look?”


    “It’s just a sketch, but—sure.”


    Marble slid off her stool and padded over to Vaterin.  She was not still wearing her shoes, those being one more thing it was devilishly difficult to get paint off of.  Vaterin, head held high, handed over the bound book of papers, bent back to the page she had been working on.


    “You’re very skilled, Vaterin.  I look in a mirror each morning and I didn’t know I look like that.”  The woman in the sketch was unmistakably Marble, but more dignified.  I think the word she wants is “alive.”  It’s one thing to paint a picture, it’s another to capture vitality.  I’m impressed.


    Vaterin scratched the back of her head.  How cute.  I don’t think I’ve seen someone actually do that before.  “It’s the angel.  Gives me the sight of things, guides my hands.”


    “Well, then your faith must be strong.  You’re communing very fully with your angel.”


    “Yeah.  It… I suppose it is.  I am.  That is, that it is and I am.”  Vaterin laughed.  “I haven’t really gotten a lot of feedback on my art.  My parents got me my angel, set a deadline, and shipped me off.”  How horrible.  Mine sent me with every blessing they had.  They even promised that if I found myself a patron before it was time to marry that they’d adopt someone to carry on the title.  Or… Marble blushed.  See to it there was another heir.


    “You haven’t been painting long?  You’re very good, for that.”  I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that she’s new to things, if she can’t articulate why she wants to paint something.  Then again, if I could articulate why I paint the things I paint, I might be a writer and not a painter.  So who knows.  Still, I think I should find a book of vocabulary for her from the library.  I know that it helped me to have the words for the figures I am incapable of painting.


    “Again, the angel more than me.  I’m not a very good artist.  And even with the angel, I can’t seem to paint scenery.  Just figures, and maybe some of the objects in their vicinity.  Animals, abominations, maybe the odd conjectural angel when I’m having a good day.”  Now that’s an idea, for the expo.  I could paint a divine landscape.  A forest of the second tier of the third Heaven.  I’ll try that out tomorrow, and if it flows I’ll have to thank Vaterin for the idea!


    “I had no idea that communing with an angel was so complicated.  Or temperamental.”


    “Oh yes.  It’s all about… I’m not an expert, but I received a full talking to by the priest who helped me initiate my bond.  It’s all about the soul, something barely understood since the Age of Loss.  Communing has all kinds of limitations.  The Mother who initiated me said that it was the One God’s will in play and that I shouldn’t question it.”  She laughed again.  “I don’t know that I succeed at that.”  Vaterin hesitated.  “Since we’re talking, do you want to tell me about fire sorcery?  Or your grandmother?”


    That… is a very good question.  I want to paint, but I also love to talk about Gramma.  And talking about fire sorcery is very much talking about her.  “She was a vigorous woman.  She kept a tight hand on the reigns of the title until the night she died.  I don’t know why she favored fire sorcery, she wasn’t an especially choleric person.  If anything, she was sanguine, happy and showing favor to those she loved.  But I was young.  My parents were uncomfortable with me learning sorcery, but nobody denied my grandmother anything.  Maybe she was just choleric where I didn’t see.”  Marble laughed.  “You know, that never occurred to me?  That she might have terrorized my parents into letting her teach me sorcery?”


    Another student called from across the dorm.  “Painting by candlelight is one thing, carrying on a conversation is another!  Hush up and let me get some sleep!”


    Vaterin ducked her head abashedly, though Marble held her head high and handed back her folio.  “We’re done talking!  Go get your beauty rest, your soul needs it!”  I made Vaterin laugh.  How fun.  “Sketch me all you want,” she whispered, before reseating herself on her stool and once again trying to capture the qualities of firelight in the dark.  It really would be nice if we could show this painting by candle light.  I don’t even know if the colors I’m using would look right in daylight, I’ve avoided looking at my canvas during the day.


    …it really is sweet of Vaterin to find me so inspiring.  All I do is paint.  But then, all she does is paint.  All anyone on this island does is make art and worship the One God.  So I suppose that I shouldn’t derogate the Power of Art.  It wouldn’t be divine if it wasn’t significant.  There’s even, and this was news to me, a Muse of Painting.  The One God thought it was so important that His children be able to portray Creation that He made an angel just to inspire and enable portraying it.


    Marble jumped as Vaterin was abruptly beside her. “Hey, Marble.  If you can’t draw figures, how come you have such a skilled presentation of the Virtue on your canvas.”


    That… is a very good question.  I hadn’t thought about it.  It doesn’t move for one, but surely that’s not the only issue, as I can paint trees in a breeze just fine.  I’ll have to think about it.  “I’m not sure.  Let’s talk about it tomorrow, instead of waking anyone up.”


    After another several sandglasses, Marble covered her canvas, with the same quiet carefulness blew out each candle, and slunk off to bed.  Vaterin had gone to bed already, doubtless used to trade hours.  Those start just about when the nobility goes to bed, as I recall.


    Done with her painting for the night, Marble let her thoughts roam to the subject she’d been pondering all evening.  She wants to paint me.  She wants to paint me.  Not Sauer, not even the Mother Superior—I doubt she’d sit for a painting, she’s a pious and humble woman, but still—Vaterin wants to paint me.  Somehow, the notion was so much more flattering than the portraitists of her childhood, clearly trying to curry favor with a noble and potential patron.  Marble had nothing Vaterin wanted or needed except honest companionship and yet she wanted to portray Marble doing the thing she had been born to do.  Paint.