Crystal Garden
My silent companion, Alicia, was always close by. That’s if the Mentor didn’t have her with him. He was often away on business. I had no idea what kind of business he was involved in, and I wasn’t really very interested. I thought he was just a farmer. Little naive me!
Well, anyhow, when the Mentor was not home, I had to take care of Alicia. With Alicia everything was simple; I just had to put some dog food down for her and that was it. Looking after myself was far more complicated. When I got fed-up with pasta and fried eggs, I learned to roast meat and stew cabbage. It wasn’t as easy as I thought. So much food was thrown in the bin after my experiments! But at least Alicia had fun. It seemed to me that she was giggling at my sorry attempts.
Alicia was a beautiful dog. She had short black hair with a blue tint and huge violet eyes. I’m not certain if it was normal for dogs to have eyes like this. And what a character! She was wilful and stubborn, and constantly made fun of me. Sometimes she hid my stuff, sometimes she hid herself so that I had to look for her around the house while she was watching me quietly from a hiding place getting ready to jump out on me. In a nutshell, we were never bored when we were together.
However, the most interesting things happened at nights when the Mentor was away. One night I was woken by the sound of a grand piano playing. Somewhere deep behind the stone walls, an unknown musician was telling his story. I’d never heard anything as beautiful. There was every emotion within that melody: longing, passion, anger. I saw living pictures in my imagination. The music enthralled and carried me away to snow-capped mountains, then made me fall into darkness and despair. Was I dreaming? Can a dream be so real? Can we wonder in a dream whether we are actually dreaming? But the Mentor had no grand piano. There was no room in his tiny farmhouse for such a thing.
I got out of bed and walked into the living room. As far as I knew, there were only two exits from the living room. One to my room and the other into the corridor which led to the kitchen and the Mentor’s bedroom. But the melody was coming from behind a door I hadn’t noticed before. I pulled the handle and the door opened. Behind it was a long corridor with many more doors. All of them were open. The ghostly moonlight lit the way as I explored. Most of the rooms were empty, but here and there stood some old furniture. The melody was louder now, and it filled the entire space. At the end of the corridor, I saw a thin strip of light under a half-open door. The music was coming from there. I looked in. Chandeliers with burning candles were hanging on the wall. Against one wall was a grand piano. A girl was sitting at the piano with her back to me, so I could only see her long, dark hair. I wanted to open the door a little wider, but it creaked, and then I woke up. It was already morning. Alicia was sitting in the middle of the room and staring at me. Later when I checked there was no other door. Though I have heard a piano a few more times and could swear I wasn’t sleeping.
Another mysterious thing happened on the last day of the harvest season. It was almost mid-November, and the first frost was on the ground. The weather was nasty. Cold wind chilled to the bone, and the low and dark clouds were depressing. It looked like it was about to rain, but it didn’t come. The Mentor and I worked together side by side until late on a crop that was particularly important to him. The Mentor said that wine from these grapes is sweet like a mortal sin and couldn’t be compared to anything else. I later learnt that sin was something he understood.
By the end of the day, I was completely exhausted. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, only to be woken a short time later by voices and laughter. The sounds came from the living room. I wondered why the Mentor had guests at this hour, and why he didn’t tell me about it. I rolled over in bed, but couldn’t sleep. The voices were too loud and so was the music. In the end, I got dressed and looked out into the living room. It was dark and empty, and it now felt like the whole crowd was in my room. It was very unsettling. I put my ear to the bedroom wall and listened. The voices spoke in English, and I didn’t understand half of it. Something about the harvest, wine and mortals, but I wasn’t sure. I went back to my room and tried to listen from there. The voices were coming from inside the wall.
All of a sudden, right in front of my nose, a face appeared. It came out of the wall! It was the face of a middle-aged European man. He looked quite material and tangible, and certainly not like a ghost, although I wasn’t really sure how a ghost should look. The man winked at me and said, “Boo!” In fear, I recoiled and fell to the floor. He laughed and disappeared.
The fun lasted until dawn, and I didn’t sleep at all. I didn’t doubt my sanity, and I knew what was going on was not a dream or fantasy. Everything was real, but I didn’t understand how.
At 6 am when dawn broke, I got up, had breakfast and went outside. It was a little bit windy, but overall, the weather was good. I looked into the stables, but the horses were gone. Had the Mentor taken them? Next I walked through the vineyards, but everything was fine. By noon, I was back home and went to sleep on the living room couch.
A noise from the kitchen woke me. It was already dark, but some light was coming from the kitchen. I rubbed my eyes, got up from the couch and walked in. The Mentor was setting plates at the empty table. He looked tired, but happy. Alicia was curled up under the table and wagged her tail slightly when she saw me. I leaned over and patted her on the head. Five seconds later, when I looked back up, the table was already laid, and the Mentor was sitting in his chair holding a glass of red wine. Now, when I think about it, it seems strange, but at that point I was not at all surprised. I just picked up my glass and sat down in front of the Mentor.
“To the harvest,” he toasted.
“To the harvest,” I echoed.
For a while, we ate in silence. I was tormented by a question that I didn’t dare to ask.
“I think it’s time I told you something,” the Mentor said, finally breaking the silence.
He leaned back, and at first, I didn’t understand what was happening. Our surroundings had grown. Now we sat at a long oak table in a spacious dining room. Its stone walls were decorated with old, faded tapestries. The fire was burning in a huge fireplace, driving away the darkness. In front of the fireplace, on the bearskin, Alicia was lying, her position unchanged. I looked around, fascinated. I knew it! I knew all along that a real adventure was somewhere close by! The Mentor was watching my reaction with interest.
“Is this real?” I finally asked.
“Yes, Walter, the house you’ve lived in for almost four months was a simple illusion.”
“Illusion?”
“Which you created yourself. I’ve only shown you the direction, and your imagination drew up the missing details. If you want, I’ll teach you how to create illusions and control the minds of people.”
Of course, I wanted this! Who would refuse to learn magic?
“There is only one condition, Walter,” he said. “There is no way back. You cannot go back to your old life and to those you knew. Are you ready for that?”
“I have nothing to lose” I shrugged. “Of course, I agree.”
I was nervous and excited, but it was a pleasant excitement. I was enthralled by my mentor, a real magician, within this fantastical setting of a medieval castle. I had a feeling that I was part of a fairytale, or some kind of elaborate joke. I was expecting an anchorman from a popular reality show to pop out from behind the fireplace with the film crew hiding somewhere behind the curtains, but nothing like that happened.
The Mentor filled our glasses with wine and motioned me to stand up. I obeyed. He came up and put the glasses in front of me. Like a wizard, he pulled a long needle out of his sleeve and pricked his finger. A few drops of blood dripped into the wine. Then he held out his hand to me, and I knew that he wanted me to do the same. As if mesmerised, I watched as a drop of my blood dissolved in wine. He took my glass and handed it to me.
I took a few sips and felt something strange. My heart grew cold and was beating slower and slower. The chill spread over my body. I was freezing on the inside. I couldn’t breathe, and greedily gasped for air. The glass fell out of my hands and broke into small pieces. Wine spilled over the stone floor. My body faltered as I tried to stay on my feet, but I couldn’t and fell to my knees. I didn’t feel a thing, but my mind had never been so clear. I could see everything that was happening to me. I saw the Mentor, who stood to one side and watched me. I saw Alicia, who was sitting beside him and looking at me too. My mind was now out of space and time. I had no body. I felt no pain, no cold, nothing. Suddenly, everything disappeared. For a split second the darkness fell, and I was gone.
10
I took a deep breath and opened my eyes. A large red canopy was spread over my head. I looked around and realised that I was lying on a huge bed. Across from me, in a chair, the Mentor was dosing. We were in a small room with panelled walls. A fire was crackling in the fireplace. By the window, I could see a heap of my old books on a desk, and my clothes on a chair. I sat up, and my body immediately started to tingle in response. I looked at the Mentor, and found that he was not asleep anymore, but watching me. I gave a start in surprise. A hint of smile flashed on his face.
“Am I dead?” I asked.
“No,” he said, “you’ve just reached a new level.”
“Does that mean I’ve died physically?” I asked, but then thought what a stupid question that was.
“No, Walter,” he smiled. “You are all right. Go to sleep.”
He rose from his seat and touched my forehead. At this very moment, I closed my eyes and fell asleep.
I didn’t wake up until the next evening. When I arrived in the hall, the Mentor was waiting for me. The table was laid and candles were burning. We dined in silence. Hundreds of questions raced through my mind, but I didn’t know which one to start with. I still couldn’t believe that this was actually happening. From time to time, I cast a glance at my Mentor, but his face showed absolutely no emotion.
After dinner, he took me to his study. It was quite cosy, with relatively new looking leather furniture, a large desk and an old bookcase. Was it the bookcase from the small house? While I was looking around, the Mentor sat down in his chair and started to talk.
“What I am going to tell you, you’ve already known for a long, long time. You are becoming one of us, Walter. I’m sure you’ve heard the stories about sorcerers and witches. People have made up stories about us over the years, but they still don’t know the real truth. But I will tell you.”
He explained that magic is not given to anyone, and not everyone can use it to its fullest. He also told me that magic itself isn’t black and white, but it is divided by Sua – beings that possess and command it. Many thousands of years ago on earth there was only one race, human. The human race grew and occupied more and more territory. Under the influence of natural conditions and a new way of life, ordinary man was doomed to adapt or die, and so he started to mutate. That’s how Sua, dwarves, werewolves, vampires and many other creatures came into being. Once they were folklore, and now they are blockbuster stars. Many of them ceased to exist a long time ago, but the human, having no special abilities or outstanding physical strength, survived. Humans destroyed almost everyone who might be a threat. Everyone who differed, everyone who possessed greater abilities to theoretically achieve superiority. As a result, other beings went into hiding or vanished among people, and those who could not were gone forever.
“We’re living in a wonderful time, Walter”, the Mentor told me. “Now everyone can be anyone. The era of secret societies and ancient mysteries has sunk into oblivion. Now you can shout on every corner that you’re a wizard, or vampire, or wood elf. However, there will always be those who will believe you and not condemn you to a mental hospital. But no one will take you seriously. We are a part of history, and it’s not bad at all. We no longer have to hide. We can live among the people, and they think we are just friendly madmen, or freaks if you like. You choose whoever you will become to them.”
“There’s one more thing,” he said. “There is no absolute evil as well as no absolute good, at least to my knowledge. We choose a side. Some of us will always be stuck at the Crossroads, where there are no sides and all the creatures are equal.”
“Which side are we on?” I asked.
“Let me put it this way, Walter,” he said with a sly grin. “It is much more interesting to be a bad guy.”
Now, I would say that it’s easier to be a bad guy. But despite all the pain he inflicted on me later, and how he treated me and those who were dear to me, I still saw him as a kindred spirit. Knowing the truth about him, I still felt we had the same philosophy – and I still do.
The Mentor told me that our power has different manifestations, though we can all influence the material world and the minds of living beings, but in a different way and to a different degree. My path was to create illusions and the Mentor could control weather, which I witnessed first-hand a little bit later. “You should have a strong body as well as a strong spirit,” he told me.
He taught me to fence and hunt. I studied martial arts and philosophy, languages and history, physics and chemistry. What the Mentor told me differed from what I learned at school, but it was much more interesting. I was rediscovering a world that I always knew, and I realised that I didn’t know anything at all! I felt an irresistible desire to learn more, to know more. More, more, more!
Since the day I became the Mentor’s apprentice, I stopped working for him. I had more free time, which I happily spent exploring my new home. What I had taken for a small one-story burgundy painted farmhouse, was, in fact, a huge medieval castle with towers, stone staircases and passages, and endless rooms, doors and windows. Step by step I was trying to understand this phenomenon, and gradually I began to get used to the idea that in this world even the impossible was possible.
The castle was gloomy and cold. The Mentor occupied just a couple of rooms in the south wing, and the rest were empty or locked. The wind howled through the long corridors with darkened walls and ancient suits of armour covered with dust. Heavy velvet curtains embroidered with gold hadn’t been opened for hundreds of years. The smell of damp, mould and old age wafted from every corner. Hundreds of priceless artefacts were rotten, destroyed by time. I wanted to clean out the debris, to open the curtains and let the fresh breeze into the dark stone rooms. But when I approached the Mentor with this idea, he said, “Why do you care, Walter? This castle has been dead for many years. Spend your time on education. It is more important to you now than raising dust and digging out this junk.”
And so I studied.
11
Winter was coming. The first frosts fell. Heavy clouds were hanging over the castle. Now and then the cold, drizzling rain painted the already gloomy landscape into depressive black and brown tones. I had no desire to go outside in such weather. Although inside wasn’t much better. Living rooms were heated by the fireplaces, but it was still pretty cold. My fingers and feet were always freezing. I know I’ll never forget that feeling.
I spent all my time in the Mentor’s study. When he was at home, he was sitting at his desk writing something, or giving me lectures. Sometimes he gave me books that I had to study myself. He had lots of books, old and new. Books with notes, comments and bookmarks. He was serious about my education and was strict in testing me. As a rule, that happened on Tuesdays. He took his chair by the fireplace and started to ask questions on whole topics. Our conversations lasted several hours. He made me think, analyse, evaluate, and scolded me when I was just trying to memorise something. We argued, joked and disputed. What a wonderful time that was in my life … I wish it had lasted longer.
As before, the Mentor was often away for a day or two and sometimes for a whole week, but I was never alone. Somewhere in the castle there were servants, although I never saw them. How else could it be explained that every day at certain times the dining table became crammed with fragrant and delicious food? There was always enough to feed a dozen guys like me. And how else was it possible that every evening a hot bath was waiting for me, and my clothes were always cleaned and ironed? And how they could do it without electricity was another question entirely.
Also, I had Alicia. I guess her job was to make sure that I didn’t do anything stupid. But I didn’t. I wrapped myself up in a woollen blanket and sat with a book on the old couch in front of the fireplace. Alicia was lying with her head on my lap, pretending to be asleep. I was stroking her and telling her about everything; some new stuff I’d read or some dream I’d had at night. Sometimes I spoke to her about Sunny, and one day I noticed that it had become easier to think about him. He felt alive to me, somewhere in a past life. Did I ever have a past life? Or had I lived here for hundreds of years, listening to the winds howling in the corridors and the logs crackling in the fireplace.
Weeks went by, but I didn’t notice. I was living somewhere at the edge of reality, and I was lost in my books. I didn’t know the date, the month or even the day of the week. Once, in the middle of the night, some flashes of light woke me. I went to the window and saw fireworks in the distance. New Year had arrived. I leant my forehead against the glass. It was as cold as ice. Alicia stood next to me with her paws on the windowsill and looked out of the window. I felt sad. I remembered last Christmas when Sunny and I were standing in the crowd in front of the town hall and were counting the strokes. I remember I wished then that Sunny would stop taking drugs and that something interesting would happen in my life. Well, sometimes wishes do come true.
Alicia whimpered softly and I closed my eyes. Blood rushed to my face and was throbbing in my temples. My throat was dry, my heart was beating faster and faster, and the tension in my head grew. I put my hands on the windowsill and clenched my fists. I was losing control. The ground was slipping from under my feet. I thought I was going to cry or lose consciousness, but suddenly the glass cracked and shattered into many pieces. Fresh air hit my face and I jumped back. My self-control was returning, but too slowly. My hands trembled, and my legs refused to hold my weight. Alicia looked at me and pricked up her ears. Was she hurt? I examined her from all sides. She was fine, but I wasn’t. My right cheek was bleeding, but in my current condition it seemed so trivial, so I patted Alicia on the head and went back to bed. Alicia lied down beside me and began to lick the wound on my cheek. The pain gradually subsided, and I found that I liked the feel of her rough tongue. Then she buried her nose into my neck and made a soft noise that sounded like “don’t be sad.” I hugged her and soon fell asleep.
The next morning, the chatter of my teeth woke me. Sleeping in a room with a broken window is practically the same as sleeping outside. I tried to fix the glass myself, but to no avail. I didn’t have enough magic for it. So, I went searching for something to fix the window with. I wandered from room to room but couldn’t find anything suitable. Alicia was following me like a silent black shadow. I walked through a room filled with antique cookware and broken china, and into a large hall. The afternoon sun was streaming through the curtained windows, driving away the darkness and illuminating the walls which were covered with antique muskets and swords, maces and spears, rapiers and crossbows.
On one of the walls there was a huge painting of a battle scene. A castle in the background reminded me of the Mentor’s home, but it was engulfed in flames. In front of the castle was a rider on a black steed. His dark armour and copper tinted hair glistened in the firelight. His face was contorted with rage and his eyes… that piercing, cold stare. I saw that same look every time I looked at the Mentor. In one hand the rider was clutching a spear, and its tip had pierced the chest of a knight, who was lying on the ground. This knight’s blond hair and pale armour were stained with mud and blood, but he was not defeated. It seemed that he was trying to repel the attack with his sword. I went closer to examine it. The blade was beautifully engraved with an inscription in Latin, but I didn’t have the knowledge to understand it.
I looked into the face of the white knight. The paint was faded and peeling in some places, but his eyes were alive and full of determination. It seemed to me that any moment he would come to life. I was fascinated by him. The artist who depicted the triumph of the black rider was certainly on the side of the white knight. And so was I. My heart was overflowing with pain. I didn’t want the white knight to die. I reached out and touched his painted forehead. It was cold and dusty. Alicia, who had been standing next to me the whole time, suddenly growled and attacked me. She sunk her teeth into the hand that was touching the wall. Her grip was firm and deep, but short-lived. She let go of me almost immediately.
“What are you doing?” I shouted, rubbing my wrist. It was bleeding. She was just staring at me. “Mad Dog!”
I went to hit her, but she didn’t move.
“Ah, to hell with you!” I waved my hand and walked away. She wanted to follow me, but I turned around and yelled at her.
“Get out of here!”
She froze.
“Do not follow me, dumb animal! Get out!”
She sat still, and I went into another room and slammed the door with all my might. A piece of plaster fell on my head. I shook it off and looked around. In a mildewed corner, there were a few canvases covered with cobwebs. Years later I learnt that these were the priceless works of sixteenth century masters, but then I just used them to fix the window and warm up a little.
After that incident, I ignored Alicia for several weeks. I let the mysterious servants take care of her. I didn’t need such a crazy dog. Besides, the Mentor had been away for so many days that I had even started to worry that something had happened to him, but then he returned.
It was a winter evening. A snowstorm was howling outside. I was sitting at his desk drawing a medieval castle with a quill pen. My fingers were stained with ink, but I had nothing else to draw with – not a single pencil! Sometimes I felt sorry that I’d left my comic books at home in Germany. What adventures I could imagine for my beautiful Amazon now!
In came the Mentor. He was wearing a summer shirt and shorts that were definitely not appropriate for the blizzard that was knocking on the windows. The Mentor looked tanned and fresh. Alicia, who was lying on the coach pretending to be extremely bored, immediately jumped up and sprinted towards him.
“My dear,” he said as he patted her on the head. “Hello, Walter.” He came up to the table and put a pile of books in front of me.
The books were new with that wonderful smell of paper and ink. Economy and Law. Astonished, I started to leaf through them. They were so different from all the books I had studied before, and they certainly didn’t belong in this world I was living now.
“Soon you will need such knowledge,” said the Mentor.
I wanted to ask him something, but his attention was fully on Alicia. He got down on his knees and stroked her. For a moment, I had a feeling they were talking.
That night, she came up to me and buried her nose in my neck.
“You want me to forgive you?” I asked.
She put her head on her paws, and her eyes were glistening in the darkness.
“Oh, you know I can’t stay mad at you forever,” I said, “but don’t bite me again, ok?”
She nodded and made a quiet sound.
“Missed you,” I said as I stroked her. Though she couldn’t answer, I was glad that she was near.
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.