A Leaf From The Tree Of Memories

Some things should remain hidden forever from others. Such as our thoughts and long-buried memories.

A Leaf From The Tree Of Memories

I woke up in the night and decided to have a cocoa — a bad idea. On my way to the kitchen, Encsi bumped into me. She was surprised and wanted to call out to me, but I turned around and marched back to my room. I decided to try to smother myself in a pillow again.

I was not surprised when I found myself back in the consciousness of Lordling.

"Your task is the same as last time," he instructed me.

I walked to the tree, but to Lordling's surprise, I didn't start climbing it. Lordling was so perfectly in control of himself, until now I had no idea that when I was in someone's mind I could sense their feelings.

I smoothed my palm over the rough bark and closed my eyes. I heard Lordling jump up in alarm, but by then it was too late, a handful of leaves had parted from the branch and I was sucked into a black vortex of memory.

Lordling was an apprentice mage, alongside a middle-class mage. Back then, he liked to spend his time lying in the grass of the field, thinking, inventing new spells, or just relaxing.

People didn't like him. They hated the colour of his eyes, which they found so disgusting and repulsive. Even his master never looked him in the eye, and he knew he only took him because there was no one else, and he needed the money that Lordling's family offered. Even his parents didn't look kindly on him, so he didn't spend much time at home.

Lordling's eyes were like that from birth. Not as red as a vampire's, more of a dark fuchsia — yet most people were reminded of the killers of the night. He could have used a little magic to change this colour, he only needed his 'master' to keep up appearances — he hadn't taught him much, Lordling had been learning on his own from the start.

However, he did not change his irises but kept his original awe-inspiring appearance. It simply reminded him, that he was not one of the ordinary people, and that people should be afraid of him.

Lordling knew. He had known from the very beginning that he was different from other children — what worked for with blood and sweat, he could do almost naturally.

Then one day another boy came to the meadow. He must have been his age, which meant he was about fourteen or sixteen.

My eyes widened in shock when I saw Gironde Mehisto's face. His reddish hair was cut short, his eyes sparkled with the light of life, and his grin was cheerful and sincere.

He addressed him, but Lordling did not answer, nor even raise his eyes to him. Then the intruder rose above his face, blocking out the sky. Their eyes met, and Lordling looked at him with the most hostile look possible. The look would have made most villagers run for the hills, but the boy just smiled happily.

Lordling remembered his exact words.

"Wow, what an unusual colour! You have beautiful eyes!"

These two sentences were the beginning of their friendship. Gironde was a red-cheeked, freckled, scrawny boy, the middle son of a mediocre noble, and an apprentice mage like Lordling himself — though Giro was mediocre at magic. He had no insurmountable problems — and if he did, he could count on Lodrling's help — but he could not be said to be particularly gifted.

Nevertheless, they did everything together, plotted pranks against the villagers together, fled together after stealing fresh loaves from the baker, ate together, practised the art of magic together, grew up together, became real, sought-after mages together, and, yes, fell in love with the same girl.

Nancy finally chose Giro. Lordling didn't resent his friends, but he couldn't smile with them either. There is nothing more reassuring, yet more disturbing and painful, than when the two people you love the most fall in love with each other... And now that they have filled each other's hearts, there is not enough room left for him in them — so Lordling set out on his journey.

Years passed, and he only visited home occasionally, to the house where his only family awaited him. The last time was when he received a letter from Giro telling him that Nancy was dying. Lordling was late. By the time he arrived, Nancy had not breathed for three whole days, her heart was not beating and she was not alive.

Then something happened that should never have happened: Gironde tried to revive his dead wife.

Lordling didn't notice. He cursed himself so much for not noticing! Giro was never the same. He no longer had any emotions, only his infatuation for Nancy remained, which had turned into a sick obsession.

After that, even though he knew he should stay, knew he should try to change what had happened, Lordling left. He simply could not bear what had happened. He had lost his love, he had lost his best friend — he had lost his only family. He shut the painful memories away in the back of his mind and moved on. Because all you can do is move on.

Until the day he met Gironde again. Until the day he betrayed him. Lordling clenched his fists, but his hand went limp the next moment. A necromancer needs no emotion. A necromancer's job is to maintain balance between worlds and pave the path of Fate. Nothing more. And when he was cast into the Mirrorworld, Lordling did not protest.

My chest hurt. Even after the memories had dissolved into a mere puff of mercury smoke before my eyes. When I opened my eyes, it was that dark fuchsia gaze that I first saw.

I glanced towards my chest, for the pain would not go away. Most of the many scars covering my skin were barely more than two inches, but they were far more painful than one would expect from such an injury. The wound was healing, though considerably more slowly than it would in reality.

"This is to protect my memories," he said quietly, "Each letter leaves a cut, the more important the memory, the more the wound grows in size. It hurts more than an ordinary wound because it is not on your body, but on your mind. The memories have to be looked through in order, so by the time someone gets to the most important secrets, they are no longer useful."

He sighed deeply and closed his eyes for a moment. I knew that the only reason I was still in one piece was because Lordling had protected me.

"How much of it did you see?" he asked in a voice meant to be light but wasn't.

"I think all of it," I confessed.

I didn't really want to look him in the eye.

"I see," he whispered, "It was my fault, I didn't think you'd really find out the secret of the tree. I underestimated you."

"In fact, I had no idea what I was doing," I said, "I just put my hand on it and the next moment it pulled me into the memory."

"You got attuned in an instant..." he said, a little disbelieving.

I could almost palpably feel Lordling's nervousness, which he was trying to hide at all costs.

"I think I should go," I said, and he nodded.

I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling for several minutes.

(...)

The Weasel had gotten way too drunk again and was picking on my favourite vampire. For a few moments, I watched with a devilish grin as the guy tried to get the heavily illuminated teenager with a bemused half-smile off his back. Weasel of course didn't budge.

"Come on, old man, just one beer," he demanded, 2You really should buy me one! After all, it's all thanks to me you finally managed to pick up the hag! If I hadn't told you, you wouldn't have noticed her interest!"

What? It's this bastard's fault?!

"I don't think you should drink any more," said the vampire defensively.

"Don't worry," said the Weasel's mage friend, 'I'll brew us something for the hangover tomorrow. Now give me a beer!"

I was there in a flash, snatched the glass of water from the vampire's hand, and with a graceful gesture poured it over the weasel's head. The cold shower made him jump up with a small scream.

He looked for her attacker with flashing eyes, but when our eyes met, he backed away. His mage buddy next to him was laughing and holding his stomach. At the weasel's angry glare, which he tried to pierce his friend with, he finally took pity on him, and after a spell, he was dry — of course, the apprentice mage didn't stop laughing for quite some time after that.

I sent back the drunken youth to their table, then took a seat opposite the vampire. I crossed my legs and gave him a devastating grin. He returned it, embarrassed and much more subtle.

"So, my dear Ervin," I said, and his eyes widened, barely perceptibly. He must have been aware that he hadn't introduced himself before, "I decided it was time we got to know each other a bit. I'll start," I offered graciously. "My name is Shaytan. Pleased to meet you."

"Nice to meet you," he nodded.

"First of all, I'm interested in your intentions," I laced my fingers together and rested my chin on them. "What exactly are your plans with my boss?"

My intense gaze made him tense. When I sat down at the table, I consciously let him sense my presence, which secretly and almost imperceptibly dominated the whole place. I wanted him to know that this was my territory.

"Plans?" he asked, confused.

 "For me, it's enough if you can prove that you don't want to suck her dry," I said.

His eyes widened in disbelief, he opened his mouth almost in indignation, but I beat him to it.

"I know the nature of vampires," I stated coldly, as I drilled my icy gaze into his and bared my fangs so that only he could see, "I am partly vampire.

"I had no idea," he admitted, breaking eye contact and staring fixedly at the tabletop, "Your scent is unusual, but I don't smell vampire essence."

"Indeed, I am mixed-blood," I explained.

He looked up at me again, and I read the alarmed shock in his eyes.

"Now," I continued, "say that you do not intend to harm Hajnal! However, I warn you, I have the ability to find out if you doubt your words even a little — and if you do you will regret the moment you first crossed the threshold of this pub."

He swallowed hard and held my gaze.

"I don't plan to harm Hajnal."

I grinned. "Okay."

He looked a little surprised.

"That's it?"

"That's it," I shrugged.

"I thought you were going to throw me out," he admitted, but he seemed to be in a better mood.

I put it down to the fact that the menacing presence that had been looming over him had disappeared.

"Oh, if you hadn't meant it, that would have been the least I would have done to you," my grin widened.

He laughed in embarrassment.

"You're not just her bartender, are you?" he asked softly.

"Haven't you heard the rumours?" I said instead of answering.

"About you being her watchdog? Or that she's hiding some monstrous beast?" he inquired and I nodded slowly, "I thought they were exaggerating."

I leaned back comfortably in my chair and sighed deeply.

"Not all of them," I replied.

He leaned in closer.

"So it's true then that you confronted the Behemoth when you were fourteen?" he asked.

I flashed him a dangerous grin.

Of course, no one knew the whole truth — my pride couldn't bear that.

I had only been working for Hajnal for a few months at the time. Of course, I'd seen her fight with the Behemoth boys and chase them away with her ridiculously tiny revolver — I just didn't care. I figured it was none of my business, I didn't like the hag very much, she was always yelling at me and making me work my soul out for next to nothing. Why should I help?

They kidnapped me — I guess they planned to threaten Hajnal with me. When I woke up, I informed them that their plan would not succeed, as Hajnal would not move even a finger to rescue me. Of course, I got a slap for talking back and questioning their intelligence so I decided to execute them all under the cover of night.

I could have easily escaped from the ropes, but hunters are always taught patience and waiting for the right moment first. I could almost see myself silently slitting the throats of each member of the gang, one by one. These images made up for the boring minutes. That day, I might indeed have waited the night out and wiped the entire Behemoth organization from the world in a single moment, had not Hajnal ruined my plan.

Suddenly, three thugs appeared and threw a pile of dirty, bloody clothes on the ground that smelled all too familiar. When the dirty pile groaned, my breath was caught on my lips. Hajnal's body was stained blue-green everywhere beneath the torn clothes, her face dirty with smeared, silent tears.

The three monsters fell dead before they could realize they had been attacked. The loud thuds caught the attention of the other thugs, but they didn't move. They stood in disbelief as the smell of their fellow gangsters' blood slowly filled the air.

"What are you doing here?" I said without any kindness.

"I couldn't let one of my employees be kidnapped," Hajnal gave a hoarse chuckle, but her laughter turned into a cough "Although I don't see you as needing my help."

"You stupid woman..."

A monster crept up behind me, but it had no chance to attack. The dagger with which he tried to take my life got embedded in his thigh. The man lay on the ground screaming. I ran my murderous gaze over each member of the Behemoth and then lifted my boss. No one tried to stop us again.

As I paced slowly, accompanied by the weight of Hajnal's sagging body and the pounding of her heart, she suddenly groaned again. Her voice was ragged and sharp, like the clatter of broken glass on the floor.

"I am pathetic."

She sobbed silently.

"I've seen a lot of pathetic people," I stated, "you do not resemble them at all."

She smiled weakly, then closed her eyes and gave in to the darkness.

You can say many things about Hajnal: she's always angry, an old fury, or a stupid fool, but you can't say she's pathetic. After all... how many humans would venture alone, with a single, almost ridiculously small revolver in their hands, into the nest of monsters?

That was the first time someone came to my rescue.