You have clearly received my letter, based upon the exhortations of the last one to cross ways with my own. I am set on my course, to take patronage from the Baron Staghorn—I find a barony falling into the hands of a man as strange as you do, but evidently he was the sole suitable heir—but if you would like to continue hearing from me, I am not opposed to our relationship, only the expectations of my succeeding you and I will remind you that my finding a patron was always the end goal of a semester at the College of the Art of the Divine.
Vaterin pricked her thumb with her penknife and muttered her prayer. While it was no longer the fanatical devotion she uttered with the surety it would solve her problems, she knew that it was the One God’s way to make things work out in time. My situation could be much, much worse. I have been blessed. And I was literally blessed, with the fruit of the Spirit. So clearly I am on the right path. One God, I know I love you, and I know you love me. Power of Cecilia, I could use some joy in my life right now. I’m struggling. It feels like I came here with everything held in my hand and found out it was all less than nothing. I think there’s Scripture about that, giving up everything you have for what really matters. …actually, I think there’s a lot of Scripture about that, so maybe I should find hope in the fact I’m taking a well-worn path.
Vaterin dabbed a bit more paint on her canvas. Naturally enough, as a gift to herself, she was painting Marble. The portrait would be amongst her most prized possessions when she went off to her patron. It wasn’t large, but this was largely to be sure she could finish it in time—without invoking the manifest power of her angel. Marble, on the other hand, was following her less literal muse and painting a landscape of her parents’ estate, which they had largely given over to the wild and the game animals, and it was beautiful, but Vaterin wasn’t convinced Marble would finish it before their time was up. I’m getting better, Vaterin said to herself. I have the right shade of background, and a single line of the shadow of the sun through the windows of the practice room. It’s more than I could accurately portray before I came here, especially without my Muse. I’m going to keep using my angel to paint people though, at least for now. The difference is just… really hard to sit through. I’ll keep practicing though. And eventually I will paint a person—hopefully Marble—without the aid of my angel. I think I figured out the One God’s angle on that. Angel angle. Heh. I went out exactly according to His plan. I was inspired by what the Muse could help me create, and now it’s driving me to work on the things it couldn’t—or wouldn’t—grant me. The Lord never meant to hand us art, He only meant to inspire us.
Vaterin felt the tickle of angelic thought in her mind. Apparently I haven’t highlighted Marble’s eyes well enough, from my Muse of Painting’s sight. Wait, I highlighted—oh my Word, Marble’s on the verge of tears! There was what Vaterin would have only described as an angelic sigh as she set her brush on her palette and watched Marble paint. She’s breathtaking. Such warm colors. Such fine bone structure. I never thought nobles looked especially noble, but she does. A broad, flat nose, it gives her whole face a strength of character—but as a portraitist I should know better than anyone that no facial feature signifies a personality trait. So I guess it’s that I’m in love with her, and I know her, that I know she has strength of character, and I’m just attributing it to her nose. And her eyes. Dark, shining eyes. We agreed, despite our lapse when we ate the fruit of the Spirit, that we wouldn’t talk about it, but if she actually starts crying I’ll go over. She’s so talented. A dab of paint here, a brush stroke there… I’ll have to see how close she got to completing her landscape before we—Vaterin felt a lump form in her throat—before we part ways. At least I’ll be able to see half the work we tried to do together, the Baron bought my lion. I wish we had gotten the chance to paint something together. But that’s a mental rut already well-worn with use. It simply wasn’t meant to be. I’m proud of her. She attracted a Countess as her patron, that’s one step shy of a duchess! Who knows, maybe this is just the next step. Not the last step. Or rather, the One God knows and it’s always just the next step to Him. I know that if things aren’t good, they’re not yet over.
Vaterin came out of her introspection to once more observe Marble painting, thinking to finish her own work while the light was still good. Her eyes are still shining. Wait… are they literally shining? Vaterin set down her palette on the same tray as her brush and rubbed her eyes. I must be getting tired. But no, she’s shining. Her brush is trailing light, her palette is illuminated, she is illuminated. Vaterin felt the strange sensation of her angel, for lack of a better term, drawing a breath. What, Muse? We don’t talk, you just inform my actions, but throw me a bone here. But the angel said nothing, just as it always hadn’t. That’s got to be magic. But what kind? She didn’t make a blood offering, she’s not one of those weird grimoire users who look up incantations to summon spirits… so it’s not spirit magic. Besides, that doesn’t come with a lightshow. Then again, that could just be my spirit that doesn’t light—is it sorcery? The light could be flame… except it’s in her eyes, on her brush, it would ignite something.
Marble smiled, and set down her brush. The light faded from her eyes, but at the same time she became lit from the front, as though she had a blank canvas catching the full glow of the sun. But it’s too late in the day for that, and her painting is closer to complete than that. But there was assuredly the diffuse light of afternoon illuminating her, not just through the window behind her but from the canvas in front of her. Then came the sound of a breeze, the whisper of leaves, and Marble’s hair moved. Unable to contain her curiosity, Vaterin stood up and walked over.
Holy Supreme, Lord of All Things, what…? The painting was moving. It was as though it were a window into a forest, a forest of unimaginable—let’s not get carried away. Marble did imagine it. Clearly. She said it was based on her parents’ estate. I’m just used to tamed estates of grass and hedges. It’s moving. “Marble, what did you do? Is it spirit magic? Sorcery?” Marble, seemingly dazed, shrugged one shoulder. Vaterin was drawing closer when a dot of white grew larger and she yelped as it came out of the painting, a white dove, the kind kept all across Fief. But also a sign of the Holy Spirit. We’ve been blessed once, is this a second blessing? What manner of blessing is it?! The dove, with a coo and fluttering, landed on Marble’s shoulder. She looked at it, and stroked it with her opposite hand, and it treated her like any well-socialized dove and leaned into her hand. Stolen story; please report.
By degrees, the room grew silent as students abandoned last-minute projects or next-semester preparation to see what was rusting, what was cooing, and saw that Marble had created something magical on a canvas. Even Brother Pitch, who had admittedly calmed down after being taken to task over his treatment of Slate, had no harsh words for those standing in amazement.
“You said this is your parents’ estate?” Vaterin asked. Marble nodded, still seeming a bit far away, face creasing in a smile when the dove pecked her nose inquisitively. The dove fluttered again, and flew across the room to the doorway and out into the hall. I wonder if it will go back. I wonder if it can. Vaterin looked down at Marble seated on her stool and held up a hand. “Do you mind if I touch it? Where''s it dry already?” Marble pointed to a corner which was, to Vaterin’s eye and the eye of her Muse, no different than the rest of the canvas. If I didn’t know better, I would say I was looking through an open window! She stretched out her hand, and tried to touch the canvas, but her hand met with open air. Vaterin yelped and drew her hand back, a noise of surprise which seemed to shake Marble out of her reverie. She cocked her head and looked up at Vaterin, then imitated her gesture but towards the bottom of the painting. Her arm passed through—there is no through. It’s not coming out the other side. It’s going into—the canvas, and she plucked a single wildflower. Drawing her arm back, the flower, like the dove, appeared entirely real, solid. But that’s beyond the reach of any magic these days. Teleportation? Is it even that? There are barely legends of it, though merchants speak in awe of the deals they could make between East and West Fief. But what is it?
Brother Pitch had made his way over, while the rest of the students seemed more hesitant. He looked… You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look impressed with a student’s painting. Probably to avoid inspiring hubris or showing favoritism. Vaterin chuckled. He sure looks impressed now! “Pupil Bitumen, may I… inspect your painting?” I don’t think I’ve heard him sound hesitant. That’s either a good sign or a bad sign. Wow, Vaterin, way to go. Things are, in fact, generally either good or bad. Vaterin laughed to herself, but Marble heard and cocked her head.
Marble turned from Vaterin when no answer was forthcoming, shrugged, then remembered her voice. “Inspect away. I don’t think it’s a painting anymore though.”
Brother Pitch reached into the canvas, as Vaterin and Marble had, running his hand over leaves before withdrawing it. He touched the sides of the canvas—I didn’t think to do that. I wonder what will… oh—he lifted the canvas by the sides and angled it—are you trying to break it? “Be careful with that!” Vaterin protested. She reached for the painting, but Marble grabbed her hand.
“It’s okay, Vaterin. Brother Pitch knows what he’s doing. Don’t you, Brother?”
Brother Pitch looked abashed and laid the painting against Marble’s easel. “I do not, in fact, have any idea what it is that you’ve done. It seems like a window, but… where is this, Pupil Bitumen?” You’d know that if… actually, did she tell anyone but me what she was painting? He stopped instructing us a while ago.
“My parents’ estate. I haven’t seen it in years, but when you grow up with a place, it sticks with you. I spent hours wandering these woods. Days, even.” As Marble reminisced verbally, Vaterin mused. She sounds so serene. She did some kind of magic and now she just seems at peace. I wonder if the two are related. Just like fire runes make my fingers cold, maybe she invested… what, her love into the painting? Is this a leftover blessing from the fruit of the Spirit that Saint Nicholas left? Sarx, if I ever needed evidence I made the right choice, being proximal to so many blessings of the One God would decide it handily. Vaterin prodded the side of the canvas, confirming that it was, indeed, a perfectly solid canvas over a wood frame. She circled around to the back, and from the back it could have been any verdant oil painting, hints of light shining through oil paint. It’s a pity the expo is over. She could net herself patronage from either of the Queens with a magic like this. But then, the Queens don’t attend an out of the way monastic college’s expo. One God above, Marble, what did you do? I’ve never even heard of this!
Vaterin reached over and squeezed Marble’s shoulder. I think maybe things weren’t over yet after all. Marble smiled, as though she could read Vaterin’s mind. You know, I haven’t wondered in a while whether she was reading my emotions with her sorcery. I practically wonder if we can read each others’ with how close we are. She protested and said she was simply empathetic and at this point… there is no doubt in my mind. “Should someone go fetch the dove and return her to her home? Unless you wanted to keep her, Marble?”
Marble shook her head. “Doves are smart enough. Leave the painting here… or whatever it is now, and the dove will find her way home when it’s time to be fed.”
“I will fetch the Mother Superior. No feeding the dove!” Brother Pitch declared. “We want it to return to its home! Otherwise one of the not-cats will surely eat it.” He paused. “And I am honestly not sure whether that would be some kind of sacrilege.” He strode out of the room, issuing orders and walking purposefully. At least he’s decisive in a crisis. Not a crisis. A… what even—if I keep thinking questions I’ll have enough to give the Almighty pause for a solid year.
Marble. She’s got to be feeling something. Vaterin bent and murmured in her ear, “You okay?” Marble nodded again. She looked… she looks dreamy. She said it had been years since she had seen her home. I wonder what it’s like to see it again. I haven’t been home in seven months and I’m already a little homesick. Hoping that my parents might come visit, rather than just disowning and disavowing me entirely. But to be away from home for years… I’m going to be away that long. She said it was to avoid burdening their finances. One less room, one less mouth to feed, one less person to keep dressed in fashions of the Season. She’s so brave. But the look on her face… it’s bittersweet. I wonder why she chose to paint her home after so long. I wonder if that’s what made the magic. I wonder so many things. I’ll draw the line at two years of questions, oh Lord.
Brother Pitch strode back into the hall, the Mother Superior following behind, and that was when there was a sound like the surf, but louder and sharper, and accented by the spattering of water on the windows of the art hall. Water can’t reach up the cliffs, what on Orth?! It was sunny a moment ago, that can’t be rain!