Crystal Garden

Bash Ewa

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 d'ecor 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.