Ewa Bash
Crystal Garden

12

The next day began with another surprise. When I came down for breakfast, I found a boy sitting at the table. He was younger than me by two, maybe three years. His clothes were simple, a sweatshirt and jeans, but his face was unusual. There was something Eastern in it and at the same time something Western. He had black oriental eyes and high cheekbones, short raven hair and a tan, which one can get only in the southern latitudes. I’d never seen such a beautiful person before. He was eating rolled oats with an unbelievable appetite.

“Hallo,” I said in German.

He immediately stopped eating and looked at me. For some reason, he looked confused.

“Hello,” he said, but in English.

“Walter, this is Reeve.” The Mentor appeared as usual from out of nowhere, “Reeve Raven, my nephew. Reeve, this is Walter. I told you about him.”

Reeve nodded. His slightly slanted eyes were serious, and he didn’t smile, but he looked quite friendly. I had mixed feelings. On the one hand, I was relieved to see someone who was about my age; but on the other hand, I always felt some antipathy towards strangers. Moreover, it turned out that the Mentor had already spoken to him about me, but I knew nothing about him. I sat down and took my plate.

“Where are you from?” I asked in English.

Over the last few months, I had practised my English and I could now communicate quite well.

“United States,” he answered.

“Oh, a long way from here then,” I said and looked at the Mentor. I didn’t know what else to say to this strange guy.

“Reeve is going to stay with us for several days,” said the Mentor, “and then we will send him off to Oxford or Cambridge. Reeve is going to be a lawyer.”

Reeve looked confused again, and I felt a hint of jealousy. I’d got used to the idea that the Mentor was mine and only mine. I didn’t even think that somewhere outside the walls of this castle he had another life. Not one of us said a word more. After breakfast, the Mentor called me into his study and said,

“I want you to make friends with him. He’s suffered a terrible tragedy, lost his entire family. I’m sure you can understand how that feels.” I nodded. I understood. “He is not very sociable. I want you to talk to him. It will be good for both of you.” At that moment, I was amazed by how much he cared about the boy, but now I’m amazed at what a heartless and insincere person he actually was.

After breakfast, Reeve and I were riding through the forest on horseback. The morning was cold. The trees were covered with frost that glistened with hundreds of colours in the sunlight. The crystal garden. Lifeless and cold. For some reason, all of this reminded me of that cloudy day in the park when Sunny confessed to his addiction and I felt embarrassed. I felt a cold lump in my breast, and with every minute, it was getting heavier and heavier. Reeve was riding nearby, immersed in his thoughts. He stared ahead, his eyes were cold and resolute.

“Who are you?” I asked.

He winced and looked at me.

“Raven,” he replied.

I remembered that the Mentor, introducing him in the morning, called him Reeve Raven. I thought then it must be a family name, but now I was not so sure.

“Is that really your name?” Reeve looked at me with surprise and incomprehension, but instead of answering, he let go of the reins, and before I could blink, he soared skyward as a black bird. He made a couple of circles over my head and dropped back into the saddle. His transformation had happened with lightning speed. In just a second Reeve was back in his human form, looking at me, but with interest.

“Cool.” I said the only thing that came to mind.

“What can you do?” he asked.

I looked into his eyes. They were black and bottomless. I had never seen eyes like this before. I focused, but nothing happened for a long time. Blood was slowly reaching my temples, and they throbbed harder and harder. My head started spinning. Again, there was that strange feeling that I was going to pass out, when suddenly we found ourselves in the middle of a tropical jungle. I exhaled. It worked! Reeve looked around in surprise. He touched a vine hanging over his head and stared at me.

“It’s real!” he cried.

The more he saw and touched, the more detail appeared. Now there were birds and snakes, and the jungle was filled with sounds. The air grew hotter and wetter. Now Reeve was part of my fantasy, as once I was part of the Mentor’s fantasy farmhouse. The horses snorted, and I didn’t know whether they saw the illusion, or whether for them, we were still standing in the middle of a snow-covered forest. Meanwhile, Reeve dismounted, squatted down and began to examine the insects that were crawling on the ground.

“This is awesome!” he said at last. We were back in the winter forest. “Uncle Henry thinks a lot of you”, he said, getting on a horse. “Now I know why.”

That’s how I learned that the real name of my Mentor was Henry or Henrich, but for some reason he had always hidden this from me.

“You must know your Uncle Henry very well, huh?”

“Oh no, not really,” he said. “But he was very kind to me. After what happened, he took me even though he didn’t have to. I am grateful to him for that.” Reeve immediately grew sad, and I decided not to ask him what happened to his family.

My interactions with Reeve really helped me. I finally perfected the skill of creating illusions, and it wasn’t so difficult as it turned out. The most important thing was to create a shell, and the human imagination would fill it with all the necessary stuff. My first illusions were simple and a bit ridiculous in their naivety. For Reeve, I created fabulous palaces from popular computer games, crowded supermarkets, cities I’d never been to. Reeve didn’t teach me much, except some useful tricks like moving objects or making fire. We had a good time together, but we only ever talked about magic. He didn’t tell about himself, and I didn’t ask. I understood him, as I also wouldn’t be eager to share my feelings with strangers.

Once, I asked him: “Is this your first time in Europe?”

“Yes,” he replied using a one word answer as usual, and I was preparing for another pause in our conversation when he continued to speak. We were in the hall of arms. Reeve took an old sword from the wall and now was turning it over in his hands.

“I’ve never been so far from home,” he said. His finger gently touched the blade. “But I have no home anymore.” Reeve waved the sword. “You know, Ravens have always lived apart. We had our own island, and we didn’t like strangers, but about once every 10 years some of us were sent out into the world.” He stretched out his hand with the sword and watched as the light reflected on the blackened metal. “The world is changing quickly, it’s hard to keep up with it. And this time, I was chosen. I had to become a private school student.” He moved the blade from side to side. “I was brought to Los Angeles and left alone. By my second day, before I’d even had time to get acquainted with the class, I just knew that there was something wrong, and I needed to go home. Ravens never meddled in the affairs of others. They didn’t cause any harm to anyone, and they spoke to nobody else. Absolutely nobody. Who could have done this? I just don’t know.” Reeve put the sword back on the wall. I was impressed by his self-control. Not a single muscle moved on his face, and his eyes were still dark and cold. “Someone killed them all. Everyone. No-one was left… ” again he ran his hand over the blade, “… except me. I’m going to find out who did it and I will destroy them without mercy, just like they did to us.” He turned away from the sword and looked right at me.

I was embarrassed. I felt an almost physical wave of coldness and hatred emanating from him. His eyes were burning with fire, but in a moment that hostility evaporated, and he was back to normal again. The change was striking, as if two different personalities lived within him. It would only take me six months or so to learn to do exactly the same.

When he left with the Mentor, the castle seemed particularly empty and dreary. Although I had Alicia, my silent friend, she could not talk to me, so I had no choice but to take up books again. The Mentor had left some out for me.

13

When the snow melted, I went back to work in the vineyard, though it was no longer necessary. The manual labour in the open air was more like entertainment for me, especially now I’d finally learnt to use my magic. It seemed to me then that my powers knew no bounds. I didn’t have to make much of an effort to summon it anymore. On the contrary, I could hardly restrain it. It’s hard to describe what was going on in my bedroom at night. I entered into a world of nightmares, a world in which my past life was trying to break out. Broken glass, overturned tables and other stuff was scattered around, creating a special kind of décor in my bedroom.

I continued to explore the castle. One stormy night in May, I reached my last area of exploration – the northern wing. I stood at the enormous open door and peered into the darkness. For a moment, a bolt of lightning illuminated ancient vaults, and echoing thunder reverberated through the castle. Again, the darkness surrounded me. I could barely even see the outlines. Noises and strange sounds were coming from all sides, and they made the blood in my veins run cold. I tried to concentrate. I knew that chandeliers hung on the walls, as there was no electricity in the castle. One minute, two, ten. Finally, hundreds of candles flared and disturbed the sleeping bats, who flew away screeching.

I was highly impressed with what I saw. At the end of a long, wide hallway there was a huge set of double doors with a family coat of arms carved into them. In one of the musty corners, I saw the whitened bones of a chained skeleton. Between the peeling columns stood statues of once beautiful ladies and gentlemen, covered with dried wax and keeping watch over centuries of history, along with the bats and other creatures that dwelled there. Antique candleholders were covered with dust and cobwebs. The webs were everywhere. They were hanging from the ceiling and covering the walls in fanciful shapes. Trying not to breathe in the acrid smell of old, burnt wax and desperately fighting the urge to run away, I went ahead. The sound of my footsteps echoed sharply in the sudden silence.

As I reached the end of the hallway, I looked back. There the lights were flickering, and nature was raging. But here, in this deathly silence, I heard only my jerky breathing. I thought I felt a presence, but I told myself not to think about it and pulled the dusty door handle. It was in the shape of a wolf’s head. The decayed door didn’t yield, and suddenly, I was no longer scared, I was curious. I took a few steps back, closed my eyes and focused all my energies on the door. The surrounding space was now filled with rustling sounds and I felt the rage of nature, but I paid no attention.

“Doors, open! Open the doors!”

I repeated that phrase as a spell. And they opened. For a few seconds, a blood-curdling squeal drowned out all other sounds. A gust of wind nearly knocked me off my feet and put out the candles. The howling wind became louder. Lightning lit up the room. A chill ran down my back and I spun around. Darkness surrounded me like velvet.

There’s nothing to be afraid of, I tried to convince myself as I relit the candles. I looked around. A library! I was in an old library with high ceilings, endless racks, and so many books I thought it would take a lifetime to read them all. I walked over to the bookshelves. This was it! This is where the Mentor’s books were coming from. This is the library that my mind had pulled out of the Mentor’s illusion. I never even suspected that he was hiding such a treasure from me. I took a random book and blew the dust off it. Old, yellowed pages stuck together and when I tried to unstick them, they turned into dust. No! I stared at the cover of the book and realised that nothing lasts forever. This book was like my life, and I could not afford to waste it on fear, depression and doubt. Suddenly, I wanted to take everything it could offer me and even more. I left the library feeling determined to make some change.

A few minutes later, I stormed into the Mentor’s study. He was sitting at his desk, surrounded by a pile of old books, and was writing something with a long black pen. The room smelled of tobacco, wood and something burning. The Mentor slowly raised his head and looked at me expectantly.

“I need some practice,” I said.

“What exactly do you want?” He continued to write, occasionally glancing at one of the books.

For a few moments, I was shifting from one foot to another and finally decided,

“I want to go to town.”

He put down his pen and looked at me attentively.

“Promise me you’ll come back before dawn.”

“Well, of course, why?”

“Promise me you’ll come back before dawn,” he said again and held out his hand.

I walked over to him and uncertainly held my hand out to meet his. A sharp blade touched my palm and I flinched in pain. A few drops of blood fell on the table.

“Promise me you’ll come back before dawn,” he repeated.

“I promise I’ll be back before dawn,” I said, and shook his hand.

At the time I was surprised by his distrust, but now I understand it. He was letting this young and inexperienced magician out into the big wide world. A boy who was full of confidence in his strength and abilities, but had no idea what to do with his powers.

I saddled a horse. The stable, by the way, as well as vineyard was very real. The storm had not abated, in fact, it had strengthened. I rode in the pouring rain but was immensely happy. In a couple of hours, I was in Prague. The Mentor had been wise to keep the proximity of Prague a secret from me. If I had known just how close it was, he would not have been able to keep me in the vineyard for a year. Perhaps only if I was chained.

I came to the Old Town. It was not raining in the city and a huge yellow moon was shining in the sky. Prague charmed me. Narrow, winding ancient streets glowed in the orange light of lanterns. There were black spires of gothic cathedrals, street musicians and the delicious smell of stew and sweet cabbage.

The clatter of hooves echoed from the old walls. Despite the late hour, the streets were busy. Tourists, surprised and curious, followed me with their eyes. And I felt like a medieval lord surveying his territory. Over the last year, my hair had grown and was now almost down to my shoulders. I usually tied it up in a ponytail, but now my locks were tousled and clung to my cheeks in wet curls. I was wearing an old-fashioned silk shirt which I’d unbuttoned slightly as I was hot on the road, black trousers and high boots for riding. So, my appearance suited my fantasy quite well. I admired my reflection in the dark window displays. I was in love. With myself.

My triumphant procession lasted as far as the Old Town tower of the Charles Bridge. Its dark silhouette and white statues stood out against the dark blue sky. Along with a group of tourists, I crossed the road and dismounted near the monument to Charles IV. “Please, forgive me Your Majesty” I said looking at one of the history’s great rulers, while tying my horse to the fence.

When I passed under the arches of the tower and stepped on the bridge, a strange feeling came over me. It was probably the first time in the past year that I’d appreciated what was really happening to me. It wasn’t all a dream, and right now, I really was standing here in this very special place with its indescribable atmosphere created by the blackened sculptures, pave stones, lights, trades people, musicians and tourists. I walked up to the stone wall of the bridge and peered into the distance. On the other shore stood a majestic cathedral. Its spire was lit by hundreds of spotlights that pointed skyward. I admired it for a long time, clutching the cold stone with my hands. I was kind of dizzy. I had never seen anything more beautiful in my life. I looked up and saw hundreds of white gulls circling over my head. They looked ghostly against the backdrop of the black sky. I wanted to share my excitement with someone, but who? I thought of Sunny, and my heart felt sad and lonely. When was the last time I’d thought about him? Two or three weeks ago? Will I actually forget him one day? Will our friendship really be just one of many memories? I hadn’t even seen his grave. I didn’t even say goodbye to him. I leaned over the railing and looked at the black surface of the river. Sunny, Sunny, I promise that I will never forget you.

Soon the musicians went home, and the tourists to their hotels. Restaurants closed, and the streets were deserted. That’s then I spied my first target. I disliked him right away. Some people seem to be asking for something bad to happen to them. This individual was quite young, overweight and completely drunk. He was telling an unbearably boring story in a foreign language to his female companion who was blonde and wearing ripped jeans, the latest fashion. They went into a bar and sat down at a table. I followed them. The man did not shut up, but his companion listened to him without interrupting. Perhaps she was even interested. After making sure that there was no-one else in the bar except the three of us and the bartender, I created a little illusion, so I wasn’t noticed and then walked up to the fat man. I put my hands around his neck. I knew that my fingers were cold as ice. He shivered. I saw the reflection of his face in the window. He was pale and his lips moved as if to say something. The guy tried to pull away, but I just tightened my grip. I started to whisper in his ear something in Latin, and watched as his eyes widened. He looked as though he was going to have a stroke.

Meanwhile, the blonde pulled several times at his sleeve, shouted at him, jumped up from her chair, ran for a bartender and the two of them stood over us and looked on in bewilderment, but they could not see me. Next, she hit my target in the face. I was caught off-guard and let go. The magic dissipated. I barely had time to take a seat at the table, and if they were not so busy with the fat man, they probably would have thought that I materialised out of thin air. As for my victim, he fell to the floor together with his chair, but immediately came around and cursed. His companion began to wail as she tried to help him up, but he roughly pushed her away and got up with some difficulty. The bartender leaned over him asking if he was ok and the guy waved his hand. Everything was fine. After that, they sat in silence for a long time without ordering anything. I sat at the next table and considered how I could hone my skills.

At dawn, I was back in the castle, as promised. Tired and exhausted, I fell asleep right away and was dreaming about the deserted streets of Prague and the sound of hooves on the cobblestones.

After that, the Mentor let me go to the city several more times. He allowed me to buy clothes I liked. I immediately bought some jeans, but almost didn’t wear them, as the old-fashioned trousers were much more comfortable. He also allowed me to buy a bike, so I had more time to get back by dawn. By this time, I was a strange sight – a weird Victorian boy on an ultra-modern bike. Ah, the memories. The lonely highway, the wind in my ears and an old tune from the early nineties in my head: “*Ride the wind. Never coming back until I touch the midnight sun …” [*Poison – Ride the wind]. I felt totally free. How wrong I was!

I fell in love with Prague completely and irrevocably. I loved her streets, her time-blackened sculptures, her people who were always ready to exchange a few words about some nonsense, and her tourists with cameras on every corner. It was the tourists I was hunting. I became their ghosts and vampires, I carried them into past centuries and epochs. Some fled in terror, some could not understand what was happening to them, some were delighted and tried to capture everything they saw. But naturally, they took home with them nothing but a pile of photos of empty streets because I did not have power over technical devices. Over time, I learned to cast spells on entire groups of people. The newspapers were reporting that 200 people saw St. Wenceslas pacing the Charles Bridge in his shining armour and slippers, about 300 cats dancing in a ring at the Old Town square, and the babies placed by a local sculptor on the television tower actually crawling. So, I had fun. I could do anything, except one thing.

“Do not visit their churches,” the Mentor told me before he let me go to the town.

“Why? The righteous flame will burn me up?” I asked.

“No, just a tribute to the Light,” he said. “It’s a rule, Walter,” he added as he saw my surprise.

“Tribute?” I asked. “To the Light? I thought we were kind of at war with them, no?”

“The times of wars have passed, Walter,” he said. “Now we enter into agreements and pacts, we have hundreds of lawyers working with us to make sure that we always stay within the law. You should remember that in the twentieth century, several prominent members of the Dark forces came to power in our world and their actions prompted the Themis to rise from her eternal sleep. Themis, by the way, had been sleeping peacefully since Roman times and was furious at being disturbed. It was a hard time for every one of us, even the Light ones. She created a set of laws that we all have to comply with now. The old freedoms are gone,” he said regretfully.

“I thought that the Dark forces are the forces of evil,” I said.

“Evil for the sake of evil is not interesting,” the Mentor shrugged. “Everything should have its reason.”