Prisons of Ice and Fire

Memorial

I went to pay my respects at Karek's memorial today.

That is the way I choose to look at it, but this is what really happened.

I had the good fortune to be given a detail shovelling and barrowing ice.

I load the ice onto the barrow by shovel from the container then I push the barrow through the Last Park to the next Warming Station.

The Warming Station is just a large water butt that normally takes in almost freezing cold water, warms it to water of the correct temperature then delivers it to the plants.

I do this for about three hours.

I say good fortune, because I haven't seen the Last Park for two years.

Normally the detail is done automatically from a central station maintained by droids, but they are short today; the delivery system is broken and so are the droids.

Well, the ice can't wait, or the plants apparently.

To some that might not be good fortune, as usually I would be resting after the ship's cargo of ice is unloaded, but I'd rather be here.

So, Karek's memorial and my respects.

There is no marker, no plaque, not even a simple cross.

I barrow on a path past the tree I have designated as the place.

It wasn't chosen lightly, but with care.

The tree is approximately two years of growth from sapling I estimate.

I'm no expert, but I can see from around me how they must progress.

Also it's a strong tree, stout and straight; just like Karek.

Some might say I'm being overly sentimental; I could pick any plant from around the time he died.

I'm not being sentimental though...

... the young trees get the most nutrition: this is likely where the ashes from his defleshed bones went.

I pause for a second pretending to attempt to better my grip on the barrow.

As I do so, I nod at the tree.

I re-grip the barrow handles, lift, and am on my way.

On the last part of my journey I felt I was being watched.

It was not some strange, notion brought about by a momentary change in body or mind.

In fact, one might say it was quite natural when a man with a large blue eye painted on his forehead is in the vicinity.

Of course I was familiar with the notion of the Cult Of Rafii although I had never seen one of its members before. Naturally I didn't look at the man fully, let alone stare, as I was far too busy concentrating on my heavy load.

As for the people he was with, I could not make them out other than they were not of the Cult.

Afterwards, it did seem odd that the painted eye should have been always in my peripheral vision, as I did walk across the company the man was with.

Maybe he was just interested in my work: the simple reason I had not seen a Cult member before was that they did not come across the water much.

They lived on a single tower of the Fifty and although no-one I had met knew much about them, the forehead decoration was a common theme when they were mentioned.

Some said it was a proud sign, worn at all times and that they would know instantly one who walked among them who had tried to copy it in order to pretend to be one of them.

Others said it was not their sign, rather that it was imposed upon them when they came across the water in order that they could not blend secretly amongst the rest of us.

In that story the sign could not be removed, so presumably on the tower of the Cult, all knew those who had visited us.