Gifts of Remembrance
Patrick had brought two kinds of wooden carvings with him: memorial tablets and name plaques. Though he had become acquainted with the villagers, he had never properly gone door to door to greet them, and that weighed on his mind. “Come to think of it, it’s basically the same as moving in, so even if I can’t hand out rice cakes, I wish I could give them something as a gift.” The judges who had sentenced him would have frowned and asked if he had gone on a trip, but Patrick simply thought, “Moving or exile, what’s the difference?” Thanks to his naturally optimistic nature, he took it in stride. Still, even if he wanted to share moving-in rice cakes, he needed at least a sack of rice to make anything worthwhile. “Potatoes…?” He clicked his tongue at the sight of the potatoes, now reduced to less than half a sack. No matter how insincere a person might be, one couldn’t simply rewrap the same gift and give it back.
“All I have is dirt, wood, and stones… Wood? Maybe I could try carving something?” The idea was immediately rejected. He had no carving knife, and more importantly, he knew all too well that his dexterity was downright hopeless. “Something that doesn’t cost money, isn’t difficult to make, and would make people happy to receive… What could that be?”
“Teacher! Please have some of this!” Just then, a child came running up with a bright smile, holding a bundle of sausages.
“Sausages? Whoa! Where did you get these?”
“Ah, today is my grandfather’s memorial day.”
“They hold memorial rites here too?”
“Memorial…?”
“Ah, never mind.” Patrick paused, wondering for a moment if something similar to Confucianism existed in this region, then nodded. “Well, offering the things the deceased loved in front of their grave or memorial tablet is something that happens everywhere.” Even if the culture and religion differed, the way people remembered their loved ones was similar.
“My grandfather apparently loved sausages and beer a lot. So around this time every year, we make a lot of sausages. We share them with the neighbors too.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. My dad says that even if it’s not written down somewhere, we can still remember Grandfather.”
“That’s right. What matters is the heart.”
“But Teacher, my dad said what matters is the heart, yet he still tells me to study hard.”
“Haha. Kid, that’s just a parent’s heart wishing for their child to do well. You kids are too young to understand yet.”
The children exchanged puzzled looks and whispered, “Adults say contradictory things.”
“They say that once I learn to read and write, I should make memorial tablets and name plaques and hang them up.”
“Huh? Name plaques? Memorial tablets?”
“Yes. They went to the mainland and got a memorial tablet for Grandfather from someone who graduated from an academy, but they’re not sure if the writing is correct, so they told me to rewrite it once I learn my letters. But Teacher, the writing on the memorial tablet looked a bit different from what you teach us.”
“That’s right! Our house’s name plaque is the same!”
It was only natural for the children to have doubts. Memorial tablets, symbols of the deceased, and name plaques hung on front gates were usually commissioned from highly educated individuals, often at considerable expense. The problem was that these scholars rarely preferred writing in standard, legible script. Many believed that the more ornate and decorative their handwriting, the higher their own reputation. As a result, ordinary commoners who couldn’t read well often found the writing completely indecipherable.
— Elder, so this is my father’s name, right?
— Tsk tsk. You said you were illiterate, but you don’t even know your own father’s name? That’s the hometown, and below it is the name!
— Ah, I see. Yes, yes. Thank you, Elder.
Even so, it was difficult to request that the writing be done in clear, standard characters. Though they were paying for the service, they would shrink back at a single harsh word from the intimidating scholars. In the end, they ended up living with memorial tablets and name plaques they couldn’t even read.
“This is it!” Patrick realized he could do something for the villagers without spending a single coin. “I studied at the capital’s magic tower, didn’t I? And even if I’m only a 2nd-circle mage, I’m still a rare and precious wizard. So I should be qualified to make a few memorial tablets or name plaques, right?” If this had been the capital, it would have been impossible, but in this tiny island village that had never even seen an academy or magic tower, his qualifications were more than sufficient.
“Kids, go around the village and write down everyone’s names. If there are any deceased family members, include them too. Ben, you can check them later. If there are any mistakes, you’ll be the one getting scolded.”
“That’s too much. But why?”
“Why do you think? You’ve already learned so many words—now it’s time to check if you can write them properly!”
“So this is a test?”
“Something like that.”
Though Patrick had made up the excuse on the spot, the children were thrilled and hopped about excitedly.
“If we pass, what do we get?”
“Will you teach us magic too? Like Ben?”
“No, that requires talent, so unfortunately I can’t. Instead, I’ll teach you something else.” Patrick grinned. “I didn’t just learn magic while doing odd jobs at the magic tower.”
Back at the village chief’s house.
“Kuh… I’ve shown you an unseemly sight, Teacher.”
Luca, whose mother’s name was now written in neat, legible script—meaning he could finally read his mother’s name bit by bit—had finally calmed down and sniffled. Though his fierce appearance would have made anyone who met him on a dark mountainside mistake him for a bandit, he maintained a respectful posture toward his benefactor.
“Whenever I think of my late mother, the tears just keep coming… Hwaaah!”
“There, there. It’s all right.”
“Village Chief!” Patrick thought to himself that the man cried far more than his looks suggested. “I probably shouldn’t open this right now, should I?” Even as the man wept with gratitude before him, Patrick’s attention was entirely focused on the pouch Luca had brought.
“Um, may I open this?”
“Of course, Teacher!”
Inside were several fingernail-sized stones. They lacked the luster to be called gems, yet their colors were too mysterious to be ordinary rocks.
“Magic stones?”
“Yes, Teacher. They were too small to sell for much, so I was just keeping them as decorations. But I thought you might have some use for them…”
At those words, Patrick stared at Luca without saying anything. Taking the silence as disapproval, the man hurriedly rubbed his sweaty palms on his pants and added, “I-I didn’t mean any harm! Really, I didn’t… If they’re too small and you’re disappointed, I’ll apologize, Teacher!”
“…Ah! No, I was just surprised because it was such an unexpected gift.” Patrick finally smiled brightly and clasped Luca’s hand. “I’ll put them to good use!”
Luca, however, looked puzzled instead. It was common knowledge that larger magic stones could hold more powerful magic. The stones he had given couldn’t even properly contain a 1st-circle spell. If a 1st-circle spell had a power of 1, these might manage 0.3—or even 0.2? At such a small size, they would constantly need magic replenished, making them something ordinary mages wouldn’t even bother using.
“Um, are you saying they really have a use? When I tried to sell them to a merchant before, he just told me to string them like beads and make a bracelet…”
“Ah, well, that’s certainly one way. But right now, they’re perfect for exactly what I need.”
“What do you mean…?”
“They’ll make excellent teaching materials for the children. Haha!”
Though he didn’t fully understand, Luca stopped crying and smiled brightly, relieved that he hadn’t done anything pointless.
“Teacher! The lady next door brought this for you!”
“This is from Halmae!”
“Please take this too.”
The rumor that the teacher had been overjoyed to receive magic stones the size of millet grains swept through the small village.
— He was that happy to receive magic stones that kids treat like toys?
— As expected, our teacher’s character is truly admirable. Even though it’s nothing compared to the cost of commissioning a memorial tablet, he didn’t show the slightest displeasure at receiving such a thing.
— You’re right! If it were a mage from the capital’s magic tower, how much would one have to pay for a memorial tablet inscription?
It was a conversation that would have made Patrick clutch the back of his neck if he had heard it. The reason those who received the memorial tablets and name plaques hadn’t immediately offered compensation was because their understanding of the “inscription fee” differed. Though Patrick had made them as “free moving-in rice cakes,” the recipients saw them as something they couldn’t obtain even if they spent a fortune. When word spread that the mage had returned home delighted after receiving items worth very little in monetary terms, the villagers thought, “Even if they’re not worth much, our teacher will like them!”
“What’s all this? Are these really for me? Seriously? Whoa! Sausages! There’s ham too! Mwahahaha, I’m rich now! I’m wealthy!”
“Come on… How is that being rich…”
“Shh!”
When Patrick began jumping around excitedly after checking the gifts, the children gave him strange looks, but one of the more mature ones quickly hushed the others. There was no need to rain on his parade when he was so happy.
Starting with ham and sausages, gifts arrived: half a bolt of fine cloth, a bottle of ink, several iron plates, fruit tree saplings, shovels, axes, and more. Patrick grinned from ear to ear as the pile of items grew. Having been thrown into exile with nothing, he was savoring an indescribable happiness amid the pile of miscellaneous goods.
“Teacher!”
“Did you bring a gift too?”
“Huh? How did you know? Here, they said it would be useful.”
“What is it? …Whoa! Waaaaah!”
The exiled man’s happiness, once he had nothing, reached its peak. What Ben had brought was a fishing trap and a fishing rod.