Читать книгу Crystal Garden - Ewa Bash - Страница 14

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.