" 'Memory', 'feelings', 'life'. Life could be restored with just one stone. It means that memory and feelings will become a matter of time. Which will leave first?... And which of these is worse?...
"The only difference will be which of them will be in more pain."
The master of the house returned and the couple of wizards were waiting for the children in the library. When they entered the room, they were both in a good mood, tweeting as if nothing had happened.
"Well, let's say that we were lucky. I got the poison." The man caught his son's searching gaze. "Be assured, it works properly. I checked it out. The healer was alive when I left." After these words, the girl's indignant look fell on him. However, she quickly realised that she herself would not want to have a single drop of doubt about the effectiveness of both remedies, and, ashamed, bit her lip and lowered her eyes. "So. The pendant can be removed; it won't be a problem if we take it off after the poison takes effect and put it back on before giving the antidote. The vital activity of the body will be maintained only to the extent that it prevents the cells of the body and brain from dying. Thus, the poison will preserve the status quo. We'll have a maximum of twelve hours to give the antidote. I think that should be enough for us. We'll schedule the ceremony for the latest appropriate hour, for example, at nine. They will make sure that there is no deception with the body; perhaps, to be sure, they will keep watch at the crypt for the night, will not notice anything strange and will leave. Then we'll come and get you out of there."
"And if after some time they decide to make a revision?" There was a pause.
"We'll think about it later... Maybe... we'll raise a doppelganger."
"Another act of dark magic?!"
"One crime usually leads to another."
The girl looked at the guy in fright - his father's words and his mother's horror could reawaken his guilt. Then, everything they had achieved today would have gone to waste. To her surprise, they didn't seem to bother him at all.
"Let's not try to solve all the problems at once," he said it terribly calmly.
"Then, let's prepare for the funeral. We need to write letters to the guardians and to the school, take measurements for dresses and... order flowers, mourning ribbons, buy everything for the reception, prepare a place - there are a lot of things."
"But... everything will be modest, right? After all, this is all fiction."
"We have an immersive performance, everything should be real. Go to your room, I'll come to you soon with the maid. And the men will take care of the letters and the place."
Nevertheless, everything was organised without pathos: private, elegant. The young man insisted that the dress be white. It was made in the manner of the turn of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries and fell to the floor in a cascade of fine lace fabric, self-sufficient in its beauty.
"Come in, don't be afraid, I'm not a bride."
"It depends on how to look at it." The guy was standing in the doorway. He held a large white rose in one hand, in addition to the small white buds woven into her hair, and a glass vial in the other.
"The dresses look so good on you. Why don't you wear them?" he handed her a flower.
"Because I don't like people staring at me."
Yes, he looked at her the same way that night at the ball, but she didn't have time to notice it. He blocked her path when, barely getting out of the crowd of rampaging students, she was just a few feet from the door to leave the hall and secretly follow the fake professor. The guy didn't come off and she decided that he could be useful to her, but he retreated as soon as he realised what she was up to.
("Are you completely out of your mind?!" He was yelling at her in a whisper. "He's got a magic eye! Does this mean anything to you? He saw us with the back of his head! He knows that we are spying on him! What will he do to us now?!"
"Nothing. Precisely because he saw us very well, he has no reason to suspect us of espionage." She glanced through the keyhole, then took the mirror out of her pocket, quietly opened the door and looked into the reflection. "He's turned somewhere, we need to hurry." Taking off her shoes, the girl pulled out a wand from another pocket and transformed them back into sneakers. "Are you with me?"
"What for?!"
"You'll only find out if you go. So, are you with me?"
"No! You're just crazy, I'm not going due to your..."
"Then listen. If anyone spots us leaving the ball together and begins to ask questions, I will say that you wooed me, and I refused you since I am not interested in small predators. This is not blackmail, this is what it was most like from the outside. I don't have time for bickering and inventing something else. Go back to the hall, you still have all the odds to pretend that you went to the restroom. Have a good stay."
By the end of the tirade, his cheeks burned with a hot flame, and his eyes blazed with cold hatred. But she had already cast a few spells, worn her sneakers, put the eye on the floor, which without delay crawled ahead, stretching the nerve more and more. Therefore, without waiting for him to reply, the girl started off noiselessly down the corridor in search of the professor, peering into the mirror. That was the only reason she accepted the invitation to the ball. Well, okay, not the only. It would have been interesting for her to look at this action with at least one eye, but for this she needed a partner, and where would he come from? Nevertheless, he did.
"No, no, no, no, no. Don't even think about it. Never! I'm not going anywhere, to any ball, forget it!"
"I'm sorry, but he asked me very much, forced me, blackmailed me, I almost made the vow!"
"But you don't understand..."
"Oh, take it easy. It's going to be cool."
"My reputation is already in flames because of you two..."
"Then it's settled."
"I'm not coming!!" the girl shouted after the fleeing guy.
"See you there!!"
"Disaster..."
But then she thought and it dawned on her that the ball was a time when the vast majority of people and their regards were focused on an extremely small area of the school territory, a time for doing things that need to be hidden from others. The girl leaped out of the bed, took a piece of paper and wrote: 'I accept the invitation with one condition - you will lend me the eye.' Then she crumpled and straightened the sheet several times; rolled it into a thin horn from a longer edge and pinched a couple of inches from the wider end, twisting them into one and a half turns. The next morning during breakfast, the note, lowered to the floor, wriggled to the opposite end of the hall and wrapped itself around the leg of the youngest of the red-haired twins. The sound of a thud was heard, first on a wooden table, and then on the stone floor. "Oops." At lunch, a giant toad made the same way back, a very realistic one. It stopped behind her and croaked in a pleasant baritone. It had 'Kiss' written on her upper lip and 'me' on her lower lip. "You... assholes!" - a hundred percent they came up with it together. She opened the bag, and the toad jumped inside. "Are you going to kiss it?!" A grimace of disgust was displayed on the face of the girl sitting beside her, one of those whom she shared the bedroom with. And yes, she kissed it: pulled her hair back, squeezed her eyes shut, and very quickly pecked where it was written - chocolate melted on the girl's lips, and the contented creature rose on its front paws and altered into a huge white almond-shaped bud, which instantly opened. The lotus bloomed in front of her, and in its centre resided what she asked for. "Someone's going to the ball tonight."
She did her best with the dress then. She came to the wardrobe and made a brief revision of its contents. After that, she shook out the textbooks and notebooks from the bag and stuffed the eye, a spring rim, sneakers, a T-shirt with a wide neckline, a skirt and a tie from the spare uniform instead. For her luck, there was also a three-year-old mantle. There was only one place in the castle where her plans could be fulfilled. Only this time her requirement was a workshop in an atelier.
First of all, the sneakers were pulled on the mannequin and the height of the future heel were adjusted. The T-shirt got cuts made along the upper fold of the sleeves till the shoulder seams. Then it was fitted tightly to the body and fixed with pins. The skirt was just put on as it was. The mantle lost its sleeves totally and acquired three new cutouts: at the back and on the sides. Preliminarily crumpled into a ball and compressed for the time necessary for wrinkles to remain, it was added on top of the previous constructions. No matter the mantle was already too small for her, it had to be adjusted so that it would not hang like a bag. The tie, which took on the role of a belt, was the last that was used as a consumable. Now the most complicated thing had to be done. She placed the mannequin in front of the mirror and, slowly rotating it, began to examine the reflection, picturing to herself in detail how this rag should be transformed to make a dress. As her gaze roamed from one element to another, the reflection in the mirror changed and eventually acquired the desired appearance. Rearranging the mannequin and the mirror with the outfit imprinted in it so that she could see both at the same time, she took the wand and began the process. The T-shirt and skirt combined and turned into a light translucent fabric. The slashed sleeves of the T-shirt flowed smoothly down. The skirt grew to the heels, its angular dense pleats became soft and rounded. The tails of the mantle also lengthened and now ended just above the petticoat. Its wrinkles created an embroidered pattern, similar to the one that leaves frost on the windows. The same ornaments showed on the belt. All the extra creases flattened. The colour was obvious. The silver of the snake from the former mantle's emblem spread over the fabric and made it glisten with rime. The underdress coloured in pearly white, with a light tint of green. "Shoes. Crystal? It's too much." Emerald atlas, on a narrow, not high heel. The dress fit perfectly. "I can do everything if I want to." The hair, lock by lock, was picked up from the outside inwards, covering the rim worn backwards and fixed. "Makeup? There is no time - the festive dinner is coming to an end. I wouldn't be late for dancing." Very conveniently, there were pockets in the pieces of fabric that used to be a mantle, and she hid the tracking device and the wand there.
Everyone appreciated the dress: the partner (he appreciated her coming as such no less: "You did it! You kissed it! Awesome! They assured me that you wouldn't come, but I believed in you, I told them that you have... courage for that!"), his brother's girlfriend, and the fake professor, although it was scary to imagine what the latter saw.
"So what, success?"
"It's hard to say." The girl was about to take the eye out of her pocket to give it back, but she hesitated. As it turned out, it was for the best. The professor suddenly arose next to the guys. His eye, as always, was spinning madly in the eye socket, keeping order.
"How's your evening going, Miss Greenwood?"
"Fine, professor. Thank you."
"I didn't expect to see you in such company but, by all accounts, you had a nice time." Both of his eyes were now looking at her shoes. With one hand she held the skirt of the dress so as not to step on the hem, since she was without heels. Sneakers peeked out from under it.
"Yes... I danced non-stop." He began to leisurely walk his gaze over the girl's outfit. It absolutely did not bother him that it might make her uncomfortable.
"I hope the dress wasn't conjured up for you by a fairy godmother. Then bear in mind that it's almost twelve." The breath hitched in her throat. "Twelve points to you for such an inventive use of technique. Good night.")
"I'm sorry," the guy stared at his feet.
"I can make an exception for you. Don't. I already have a ton of makeup on, and it's already late." She brought the flower to her lips to feel the tenderness of its petals, then slowly and deeply inhaled its delicate fragrance.
"The young master is right!" The elf couldn't help herself. She looked up at her as if she were a goddess. "You are so beautiful, so beautiful! What a pity that this is not a wedding outfit." From the look of the 'young master', the maid realised that she had said too much, and cowered in anticipation of punishment.
"It depends on how to look at it." The girl said softly and gently patted her on the shoulder. At the same time, she gave a meaningful look to the young man.
"It's time!" came from the corridor.
They were left alone.
"Are you sure? Think again. If you..."
"Done." She took the vial from his hands and emptied it in one gulp.
Holding their breath, they stood in the middle of the room and waited for the effects of the poison to manifest. The minute passed unbearably slowly in silence. The girl swallowed.
"I'm cold. And my head is spinning."
"Sit down." The guy sat her down on the sofa, sat next to her and, leaning her back against him, hugged her tightly. She clung to his hand with icy fingers. "I'm with you. Don't be afraid. Everything will be fine." However, by the second, his heart was pounding faster with fear. At the same time, hers was slowing down by the second. "Forgive me, please forgive me. What have I done?" His eyes glistened with tears. She did not answer; the only thing she was trying to do was force her conscience not to scatter from panic, but to keep it concentrated on itself. Foundation, blush, lipstick, gloves, all this hid the changes taking place with the body. Information about her condition was transmitted by pulse, diaphragm and temperature. Another minute passed. Her fingers relaxed and slid down, her chest stopped rising, and her head felt noticeably heavier. The young man barely restrained a groan that was about to escape. A moment later, he was already putting his beloved in a coffin located in one of the living rooms not adjacent to the library.
How quiet it is. And it is dark. Is it because my eyes are closed? Are they closed? Is it because I'm dead? Finally? The body is feeling like lead. So am I still alive? Alive, something is still thinking... is still recalling. They'll do everything right. They'll come for me. Just in time. You can trust them - they will do everything possible, they are doing it for their son. You just need to wait. Twelve hours. It's not so much. Too few to go crazy. But it's impossible to lie down, I want to walk. Get up. Let's go. Where? Forward, backward... right, left... it doesn't matter, you won't get lost - you didn't come here horizontally, so the exit won't be in this plane, so it doesn't matter where you are at that moment. And don't be afraid of the dark - there's nothing in it, you won't meet anyone here. Only yourself.
'This is one of your father's favourite books...' 'He killed your whole family...' 'Why are you thinking about a snake?' 'Why did you choose this particular house?' 'Evelyn Greenwood-Riddle!' A pair of giant snake eyes is emerging out of nowhere and staring at me in puzzlement. I'm barely restraining myself from crying out. A coldness of angst is running through my spine. I'm looking into the snake's eyes and in their reflection, I'm seeing an old wizard stealthily withdrawing his hand holding a wand under his mantle. 'Don't turn to them! Don't stand still! Go!'
What was that?
'They were also fervent proponents of blood status. There was time, they were even accused of using dark magic... It's just surprising that they refused him.' 'You're not going to align with him, are you?' In the semi-darkness of a room, two people are standing across from each other. The space is illuminated by several torches hung on three walls. The fourth is entirely composed of windows, raindrops glisten on them. In the fluttering light of the flames, the outlines of solid wooden furniture, stern faces in portraits and the mantles of the speakers are swaying. Their own faces are not visible - the one with grey hair is obstructing with his back the second. 'You have been staying away for so many years, why now?...' I know this voice 'Indeed, too many. And that was a mistake. You can behold for yourself what this has led us to. We have to act before it's too late...' 'One spell was applied to you...' 'Death one.' 'Why are you so sure about this?' 'Because I remember.' The grey-haired man is giving someone a subtle sign with his hand. A silvery light is twitching in the windows - a fox is making a big leap into the darkness, a capercaillie is flying after it. 'Run!' The woman, not young, holding me in her arms is shouting, and she herself is rushing down the corridor into the depths of the house. She's opening one of the many doors, gently putting me in a cradle, kissing me and jumping back out, closing the door again. ... I'm alone in the dark. I'm scared because mom was very anxious. I feel lonely because everything has trailed off around me, as if there is not a soul left in the house. I'm weeping, but no one responds. Bright light is cutting through the darkness. It's approaching me and I'm beginning to distinguish the features of a horse in it. It has a spiral thin horn on its forehead, and wide wings behind its muscular back. The horse is straightening them and hugging me. I'm calming down. Through the silvery veil of wings I'm seeing a flash of green light. It's flying towards us rapidly and swallowing us up. 'Someone wanted you to pull through very much...' A man is kneeling at my cradle. His shoulders are shuddering in sobs, tears are streaming down his beautiful face. This face is very familiar. It's strange, I'm seeing him, but he's not seeing me. 'I had to work a little with the reporter's memory...'
'Don't you see, she is one of us.' The headmaster and both heads are leaning forward in anticipation of my reply. ... We're entering the magic wand shop, the most thrilling place among the others on the main market street of wizards, beginners and sophisticates: you are not the one who makes the choice here, you are the one who is being chosen. The counter is abandoned, there is no one in the hall either. 'Just a minute! I'll be right there!' I'm seeking for the source of the sound and stumble upon an open door at the back of the hall. In the doorway I'm seeing the owner and an old man with a long grey beard and the same long grey hair. They're discussing something in low voices. Noticing me, the owner is nodding to me with a smile, but it disappears from his face when the interlocutor is uttering another phrase. The craftsman is trying to look at me again, but is not able to dare. I'm leaving them alone. 'There's nothing to worry about.' 'Maybe I am what everyone claims I am?' 'The daughter of the monster. You're a monster yourself!' 'As if you can run away from yourself...' I'm bending over the body of a man drenched in blood, inhaling its smell with my nostrils, feeling the taste of metal on my lips. 'Did it happen during the day or at night? Did I kill him when he was already a wolf or when he was still a man?' He's groaning and stretching out his weakened hand to me. 'Did he beg for mercy? Did he say something before he died?' 'You will leave the school immediately... You will spend the whole summer in another place that neither they nor the Ministry would ever think of. Once you almost ended up with them, we can't take any chances. You won't be dating anyone, you won't correspond with anyone. You'll sit there quietly and not give yourself away.' 'It was because of him that I killed... because of his dread that I would be discovered.' 'The old man knew that you would do it, that you are capable of it... He never doubted you...' the bloody body is wheezing and exhaling its last breath. 'Why did he make me live in that house... It's his fault.'
Ah, that's it! My father tried to confuse me in this way so that I would take his side. No one remembers its entire life from and to. Events are erased from memory if they do not carry anything significant. And those that do, can be transformed and deceive you - that's how the brain plays tricks. New details arose one by one in old episodes, they mixed with those that I retained well. He had plenty of them since I had provided them for him myself. The more you need to hide, the more difficult it is to do this, and the less plausible the whole looks - some memories had to be sacrificed. I only hid the most important things. He still managed to get to one of them before I realised that through dreams that I had never seen about real events, he was studying my memory. Thus, this blend of old and new details, flavoured with joyful moments eventually became an equal part of the story. And as equal, I began to scroll through them in preparation for his night invasions. I showed them to my father myself, and in the morning, I woke up with a strong impression of misunderstanding.
The unnatural silence is shattered by the heart-rending cry of a child. Gradually, it's turning into a man's wail full of fury and despair. Somewhere in the distance, a dim green light is cutting through the pitch darkness. A black figure is crouching at its centre, emitting this terrible sound. Then it's harshly straightening up and lunging at me. I'm not budging. The face, hideous in itself and distorted with anger, is halting a couple of inches from me.
"How could you!! What have you done!! You killed yourself! You attempted to kill me!! How dare you!! We could have been together! Rule this world together, make it the way it should be, and now... Ha-ha-ha-ha!" It is the laugh of a madman "And now I don't need you. The boy is dead. I killed him! Now no one can beat me! I don't need you anymore!"
I'm mutely looking into his red eyes. My face's remaining impassive, with only the corners of my lips slightly raised.
"What are you smiling at?! What?! What are you hiding from me?! Speak! Speak!!"
His shadow and the green light surrounding it are slowly being pulled away and are eventually disappearing into the darkness, which again is sinking into the initial hush. Behind me, a silvery glow is flaring up and illuminating the abyss unfolded in front of me. Mesmerised by this vision, I'm standing motionless, gazing towards where the power of light is able no longer to overcome the darkness. Once, I was irresistibly drawn to go down there.
The thin tissue of a black shroud covering the skeleton from head to toe is beginning to suck in where the mouth should be, showing an abyss of total emptiness. I'm looking into it and seeing nothing, listening and hearing nothing. I'm overwhelmed with the feeling of longing, so inescapable that it's begetting a wish to weep, grieving for what I never had and will never have. The desire to fill this void is so burning that it's concentrating all intentions on itself, so unendurable that it's taking on the gravity of a matter of life and death. And now... now is the realisation that I'm not able to fill it... just not able to... A lump is swelling in my throat... The funnel is tightening. The black figure is rising into the air and is floating indifferently above me, intending to move on. I'm trailing it with blurry vision. Stunned by the discovery, I'm slowly turning back, and suddenly: 'length - 13 inches, body - tulipwood, core..., length - 13 inches, body - tulipwood, core...' - "Void..."
(On Sunday the student finally managed to cross paths with the head. Without enthusiasm, but still, he agreed to receive her. They walked to his office, and it caught the girl's eye that he was limping. So the collision with the troll was not one of the most successful. She told him about her research on the subject of the wand, which, by the way, he was pleasantly surprised at, as well as an effort at using magic directly in order to find out its components.
"Was it effective?" He held his breath barely noticeably.
"I'm not sure." She was sad to disappoint the professor. "It was late and I think I fell asleep and what I heard was actually a dream. The wand kept repeating three phrases. 'Body - tulipwood', but that was my guess. 'Length - 13 inches' - I did not measure it, for my shame. And 'Core - ...' was accompanied by silence and then again about the body. I wouldn't count on the wand speaking to me, elsewise I would've learned something new... besides the length that my fantasy could invent."
The craftsman who sold that girl her wand didn't furnish her with any description at all. After they tested all the wands on her (literally - every single one) and a blast was their only reaction, the old man leaned against the counter, running both hands into his dishevelled hair, and drilled her with his eyes. There was no trace of the old enthusiasm in them. The girl's step-parents were terrified, and she was totally depressed. "What does it mean? That I'm not a witch? But it can't be like that! I know it! The candle was lit up when I, furtively daring to repeat the trick of the strange guest, evoked in my memory the sensations of a burn on the skin of my fingers and irritation on the retina of my eye from a flash of light! What does that mean?" Her voice was trembling with barely suppressed tears. "It only means that I haven't created a wand for you yet." He said tenderly and took her hands in his to calm the child down. Having done that, the craftsman altered his mood again: without letting the hands go, he bent over them and began to listen to... them. There was something he liked about what he was hearing, something he manifestly didn't. Then he straightened up and walked slowly into the workshop, muttering something like "Nose... not only... but the nose comes first..." Just in a minute he came back with a wand. It appeared fairly different from the others: of plain shape, without any decoration, with a very elegant self-pattern of light pink polished wood instead, thin and long. That time the master requested not just to wave it, but to lightly touch, after certain gestures that he showed, a piece of paper lying on the table and levitate it. "And without any excessive excitement and unnecessary movements!" The girl took a deep breath to relax and acted as he said. And, oh, a miracle! Nothing exploded! Actually, nothing happened at all. The craftsman didn't surrender, as before. "Magic is inside each of us", he said, "and a magic wand is an assistant, a potent assistant, but still. It is much more important what is inside you, not inside the wand. And one more thing: if you're conjuring, you must be sure of the result, you must be sure you want to get this particular result." So she tried again... and again, and again...
"Well, the length is easy to check." The professor produced a marked wooden stick from the desk and handed it to his student. "How much?"
"Exactly 13 inches... Then why didn't it mention the core? Professor, all three of you felt something when you touched my wand the day after sorting. What was that? Please, tell me. It's important to know. Isn't it?"
"It's not that we felt something." He said after a brief hush. "Only an experienced wandmaker can read a wand without the spell. An experienced sorcerer can only feel the magic of the most active element in it - the core." His sharp gaze pierced through. "The fact is, we didn't feel anything." And he paused, waiting for her reaction.
"Does my wand have no core? But... What does that mean? Is it not magical? How should I use it then? How do I ever use it?... So was it the wand talking to me that night? Did I do magic that night without one?"
"You'd better speak to the headmaster about it."
"The headmaster said back then that I took it after my mother. She was 'ancient'. What does it imply? 'The great power will not leave you'... did the 'ancients' possess any exceptional magic? Some kind of knowledge? Did my father come to them for this? And they are no more..." The thoughts were crawling out into the light, clinging to one another, and from each subsequent one the girl's excitement was only increasing. Wonderment was growing on the head's face.
"You're the last one," he said slowly.
"But only half, it's not the same. Not that at all."
"Regretfully.")
Father... He's spreading his arms, inviting me into his cuddles. This gesture is seeming fake - it is so out of keeping with the expression on his face, his sight which is emitting the chill of death. And this void again, desperate to be filled. Unfortunately, the person standing in front of me will never allow anyone to do this. But that being isn't my father, it is my fear. Fear of the same void in myself. Not in the wand - in myself... The craftsman gave me all the instructions, I simply had not taken them. For two years, I had been striving to overcome the passivity of my wand, but I needed to overcome one within myself.
The farewell passed quietly. The inhabitants didn't have to pretend: the guy had no face from the experience, and his parents were well aware of the considerable likelihood that the illusion could develop into reality. The girl's guardians, the headmistress and two representatives of the Ministry attended the ceremony. It was these two who entered the house first, and then the room; they scanned everything with their wands as they went. Only after they thoroughly examined the body and made sure that there was no deception, everyone else was allowed inside, including the owners. During the half an hour, the participants said goodbye to the deceased and talked, introducing each other to some facts about her and her life, especially about her last year, exchanging memories and expressing gratitude to each other. Then the lid was closed, the coffin rose into the air and slowly flew towards the cemetery. They all followed it in silence. There, they stopped at the only surviving crypt, so old that the wind had long ago leveled the digits carved into the stone, and stems and leaves of the plants that entwined it became an integral part of its decoration. Just like the first time, the ministerial people went inside first. When everything was done: the coffin was installed, the doors were sealed, - one of them took the mourners aside, and the other began to perform some manipulations with the wand at the building. Three pairs of eyes darted nervously in his direction. The two of them quickly regained their composure.
"May I ask what he is doing?"
"He is setting up an enchantment that will signal us if someone or something, magically or physically, penetrates their barrier. I'm sorry, but these are necessary precautions."
"What the hell! Can't I go in there?! Can't I get to her?!"
"Why would you do that?"
"To see her! To be with her!"
"Son, listen to me..."
"I'm not your son."
"You shouldn't do this. I'm sure your parents will tell you the same thing."
"It's not up to you to decide! And not up to them. Let him stop it now, or I can't vouch for myself... hey, you!"
The guy reached for his wand, but was stopped by his father, who had been silently and very carefully watching how the shimmering substance spread like a solid transparent wall from a point above the crypt all the way to the surface of the earth. No, an inch before. The man stopped his hand halfway to his pocket.
"Don't do anything stupid. We already have a lot of problems. Let's get out of here, we have nothing else to do here."
"What? Father! No! I'm not going anywhere until they take this trash away!" Then he grabbed his son with his arm and, ignoring the screams, "I'll go in there! You can't stop me!" and attempts to escape, dragged him towards the house.
"Darling, please stay with the guests and give them my apologies. Calm down," he said to the boy when they were far enough away, "this is a dome. We can still get there from below."
"From below??"
"Yes. I saw a manhole cover on the floor and I have no doubt that this is another exit. We just need to find the way there. That's what we're going to do right now."
When the mistress returned from the cemetery, she found men in the library at the large massive table, bent over scrolls of parchment with house plans from different centuries.
"The tunnels have another exit - the crypt. Apparently, the passage was blocked up. We are trying to find the right branch."
The woman nodded understandingly and also came over to the table. "Everyone's gone. No one was even left on guard."
"Great. One less problem." However, the hours passed, but the case did not move. "I don't understand. We searched through all the available plans of the house, the castle, all the floors and basements, all the extensions and outbuildings and did not find a hint of the passages. They couldn't build without a plan! Was everything destroyed?"
"Even if they had! Judging by the drawings, the castle was huge, ten times the size of the house. That is, the house is built only on a part of its foundation. But which one? I don't see any similar basement locations."
"This entrance" the man jerked his thumb at the shelf behind him "would have given us a clue."
"If it is one of the original entrances at all, and not embedded later."
A soft female laugh was heard from the corner. The blonde sorceress had long since moved away from the table with a stack of dirty, battered letters that had fallen out of the folders with plans, and was studying them while sitting in an armchair by the floor lamp.
"Documents can be silenced, but human vanity cannot. This is a letter from one of the owners of the castle, addressed to his brother. In it, he writes about how he is going to deceive the king and engage in smuggling with the help of ancient labyrinths found under the castle. He's talking about two disjoint systems. He made an entrance to one of them through wine cellars with exits to guess where... the church and the mill. In the second, through the reception hall with exits to the cemetery and... not to read - the letter is splattered with blood. Obviously, the messenger was intercepted. But it doesn't matter to us."
"I can hardly imagine it, but let's assume that our entrance is the wine cellars. Where is the reception hall in relation to them?"
"Apparently... somewhere at the end of the garden. Should we dig up the garden? We don't have that much time! There's a well there... by the way, you didn't say anything about the forester's hut, and this is our system."
"Alright, let's go check the well. Honey, you're just a smart girl."
But there was no passage at the bottom of the well. The men returned in silence. The father was afraid to tell his son that he had run out of ideas. The son didn't want to tell his father what he was going to do if his plan failed. They were already walking through the house when the young man suddenly stopped. "Humans... of course!" He turned around and went to the room where the farewell ceremony was taking place. It was a spacious living room with lots of portraits hanging on its walls. All of them were the previous owners of these lands. He ran his eyes over the years of life depicted in search of the earliest of them.
"Are you looking for someone, young man?" It came from somewhere above. The boy flinched in surprise. "If you ask, we will be glad to be helpful. You can't even imagine how unbearably boring it is to be in the company of the same people, even..."
"Yes," the initial shock had passed, "I'm looking for the owner of the castle, who has unearthed an ancient labyrinth systems underneath it."
"Ha ha," was heard from the corner. "You won't find him here. He was so passionate about this work that he did not take care of the portrait before his execution. You see, he got involved in a game he didn't know how to play. And the payback came very quickly. For there is still faithfulness in this world..."
"Khek!" The portrait from the opposite wall grunted. "There was. You were the king's last rat."
"How dare you! He was a smuggler!"
"He supplied medicines."
"Potions!! As a reward for my service, I received his castle. And do you know what I did first? I found these two secret passages and blocked them up."
"What a hypocrite! And he himself commissioned a portrait to the wizard in order to leave his bad head in eternity. To do this, he had to give his blood, since he was not a sorcerer. Did you know what the penalty is?"
"Two? Were there two of them?" Judging by the clothes, this man was several centuries away from those who were talking. "Damn me! I searched everything, but with the exception of the hole I fell into, I found absolutely nothing. It happened in the forest. The ground literally fell out from under my feet and I found myself in a cave with a broken leg. Here and there, steps of a stone staircase emerged from its earthen walls. I did some digging and discovered a labyrinth. Most of the paths ended in dead ends, but two of them led me to the mill and to the church."
"And the forester's hut?"
"The forester's hut? Is it really still standing?" he laughed. "I built it, exactly above that cave. But tell me, servant of the king, where did the second labyrinth lead?"
"I have no idea! And have no interest in knowing either."
Silence ensued.
"But... doesn't anyone else know anything? I need information about the second passageway system. The entrance to it was through the reception hall, one of the exits in the crypt. I need to know where the second exit is located. It exists, that's for sure."
"So if you know where the entrance is, what's the problem of finding the exit?"
"I can't find this entrance. The castle is gone. And I can't get into the crypt from the street either. I need a third point. I have to get to the crypt. Please. Anyone." The young man was already beginning to lose his composure, but then he caught sight of a portrait of a very old man with a castle behind his back. "What about you, grandpa, please wake up!"
"Don't waste your time, he won't wake up, I've never seen him awake yet."
With a heavy sigh, the boy rested his forehead against the painting. He brought his eyes together and his gaze stared at the light green-blue paint strokes, designed to create the illusion of a building located somewhere very far away.
"What's this? Is that... water?! And there are... rocks?!"
"Yes, it's a lake. The castle walls encircled it almost entirely. Oh! It's a very beautiful and sad story. I'll tell you now." The guy tried to shut him up, but he quickly realised that if he didn't let the man talk, he might not get any answers at all. "Once upon a time, there was a dark wizard. When he was young, he received a prediction that he would marry a beautiful and powerful, but cold-hearted sorceress, and that she would bring him only grief. He fell in love with her only by description and spent his whole life searching for her, but unsuccessfully. He met her only when he was already a very old man. She turned out to be the daughter of the oracle who uttered that prophecy. The girl agreed to fulfill her father's will, but during the wedding she changed her mind and, despite the fact that there was no lover for whom it could be done, she ran away from the altar as soon as she said 'yes'. The groom stepped on the tip of her veil to stop her, but it was too long, so the bride kept running away. Then the sorcerer cut off his leg, which was standing on the cloth, turned it into a tree, and rushed after her. The length of the veil finally ended and the girl fell to the ground. The groom was already close and ready to grab the fugitive when seven brothers came to her aid, blocking his way. A battle ensued, during which the wizard turned the brothers into mountain peaks. However, the sorceress did not want to give up and turned herself into a lake; the veil became a stream flowing into it. The sorcerer sank into deep sadness. He built a castle around the lake and spent the rest of his life there."
"These are all fairy tales!" Threw another portrait irritably. "The castle was built by a wizard who had hunting grounds in this area. Once, during a hunt, an attempt was made on him. However, his loving wife noticed the danger and sacrificed herself, shielding him from the deadly curse. She fell off her horse into the lake and came out of the water unharmed. Then, the wizard decided that the water in the lake was the water of life and grabbed it for himself, blocking access to it with a wall. Well, he built the castle for his wife as a gift for loyalty."
"Alright! Then why do you think the wife didn't die?" The first one asked him sarcastically. "Ha! Because the bride was the goddess of reborn nature, consider it Life. And the old dark wizard was Death she had run away from. Legends, not fairy tales." At these words, the turmoil that had gripped the young man until now was replaced by extreme interest.
"Drivel!" The second one continued the argument. "She didn't help the lord himself. Five years later, a second attempt was made on his life. He thought he was saved when he crawled to the lake with his last strength and plunged into the water. The servants took him out of there the next morning, dead. Or would you say that the goddess favored only women?"
"Don't get your hopes up, boy." A tired voice rang out. It belonged to a man with a kind but at the same time detached face and eyes covered with a white veil. The man who has never been seen awake before. "They're both telling the truth, but they're both wrong. The bride was indeed a goddess, the goddess of fate - cold-blooded and inexorable. And the sorcerer was Time, bringing her closer every day. His destiny was the pursuit of the unattainable, an eternal flight that brings only disappointment and the pain of loss. When he reached her shores, he dipped his hands into her waters. After drinking them, he wandered forward, lame, with an empty heart. He walked around the Earth and returned to her to repeat the ritual for the next round. So he walks to this day and will continue to walk until he drinks his fate to the dregs. That lord's wife was not destined to die from the curse, unlike the lord himself. So think carefully before touching the mirrored surface of this lake.
"I think I've already done that... Thank you. Thank you all. Now I know where to look for the second entrance." Still dazed, he wandered to the door.
"Is there a girl in the crypt who was buried today? Your sweetheart?" The face on this portrait was distorted by long and seemingly incessant suffering. "Mine was in it once, too... The second exit from the labyrinth is in a village tavern. The one that stands right next to the old road. The village grew up around it. I hope this helps you."
"The castle was not here, but in the forest. There are no watchtowers by the lake, these are the towers of the castle itself. The forester's hut is one of the original entrances - through the cellars. The second one should be looked for in the rocks - they were practically its wall. And the other way out of this system is in the old tavern."
"But... how?"
"I addressed the predecessors directly."
"Great. Let's not waste any time. I'll go to the village, you and your mother will go to the forest. We'll share the antidote. It is better, of course, to drink the full dose at once, but if there is not enough time, then we need to give at least some. Do not put the pendant under the dome, as well as do not shift under it, just in case." The man squeezed his son's shoulder and caught his eye. "Everything will be fine. We're getting close." It was beginning to get light outside the window.
Two figures stood in front of the giant wall of stones, almost completely covered with vegetation, and the remains of the building of people of the past, which was not so much inferior in monumentality to the creation of the great architect. The scene was similar to those found in Romantic period prints depicting Roman ruins. The woman waved her wand and the green curtain collapsed at their feet, revealing the imprint of former structures. The young man spread out several drawings in front of him, placing them on top of each other, and began to compare.
"We should be practically at the ground floor level - the soil has not risen much, it is clearly visible from the entrance stairs through the cellars. The reception hall was on the second floor. He said he had blocked them up. It looks like we need that strange masonry." Another wave of the wand blew up a part of the wall under the indicated arch and revealed a blackening void behind it. "I'll look around and come back for you."
A moment later, the guy was already standing on the threshold of this emptiness. He sent a shaft of light into its depths and it illuminated a chain of metal suspended steps thrown from one stone block to another. Fixing each one before stepping on it, he carefully began to descend. Ground floor. Dungeon. The level of the known system. The bottom. The tunnel.
"I found it." They entered the corridor, damp and dark, which did not require lighting, and walked together to the first fork. "We'll split up here. Will leave marks so we know who's been where.
"Be careful."
"You too... Mom! Thank you."
For hours on end, the three wizards wandered through the depths of the labyrinth, encountering each other's signs, bumping into their own ones, running into dead ends. The allotted time was running out, the messenger did not appear from anyone, the nerves began to give way. Finally, panic completely took over the young man's mind; he was just dashing from one fork that he could remember to another, randomly choosing a corridor, not making any marks and not paying attention to others. When he once again found himself at a dead end, he could not stand it and, with a cry of rage and despair, tried to detonate the hated stones - he was only thrown back by his own blast wave. Then he got up, turned around and left the tunnel system. The winding trunks of the forest rose up in front of him. A few confident steps and they gave way to an alley ending with a tall wrought-iron gate. A few more similar movements and the shimmering dome appeared at the end of the road. The guy walked towards his goal without taking his eyes off it, greedily inhaling and angrily exhaling the heated air, gaining courage. Halfway there, a glowing dove flew out onto the road and persistently fluttered around him.
"Oh, Mother!" A groan of relief and gratitude escaped.
The woman stood in front of the open coffin, white as a sheet, nervously shifting the vial from one hand to the other, clenching and unclenching her trembling fingers. A man ran up to her, out of breath.
"You're already here. Did you give your part?" She shook her head slightly to the side. The man stood in front of his wife and looked into her eyes. In turn, the woman looked into her husband's eyes. He understood what she was thinking, he knew what was tormenting her. He carefully took the vial from her hands.
"Don't tell him, please." The man gently cupped the back of her head with his hand and pressed her forehead to his lips.
"Call him before he does another stupid." The mother's eyes widened with the unexpected realisation of all the consequences of the delay she had provoked, and she hurried down the stairs back into the tunnel to release the bird from the wand.
The young man ran headlong through the dark corridors after the shining guide. He did not slow down under any circumstances, even when cornering. Crashing into the sharp stones of the walls, he only pushed off from them with force, giving himself acceleration. Finally, he saw three figures ahead. One of them knelt on the ground and supported another figure lying on it. The third stood a little apart and looked anxiously in his direction. The son ran up to his mother and looked at her with eyes full of love. The mother smiled uncertainly and averted her face, which was slightly flushed with shame. The boy did not notice this, because he immediately rushed to the girl's body, took her from his father's hands, put on the pendant and poured the last part of the antidote. Everyone stiffened in anticipation. After a couple of minutes, the movements of her chest became apparent. After a few more seconds, she took a deep, steady breath and opened her eyes. They immediately began to glide from face to face, and then quickly went over the walls, ceiling and floor.
"Did something go wrong?" Everyone exhaled at once.
They moved into the house. The owners exchanged a few phrases, and the young man took the girl to her room. There, from the uncurtained windows, a bright light hit their eyes. She glanced at the clock on the dresser, and for a second her skin felt cold again.
"Eve..."
"Everything is alright." She hurried to hug him, clasping him tightly. "It's over. You've done well. Everything will be fine now. Don't say anything, you'll tell me later. Lie down. Get some rest." She laid him on the bed and put herself down opposite. He did not let go of her hand and did not take his eyes off her. "I'm here with you. I will not go anywhere anymore. It's all over. Everything is alright. Get some sleep." She stroked his neck slowly, rhythmically with her fingertips, soothing him, lulling him until he closed his eyes and finally fell asleep. How she would like to be there in all such cases, to be able to smooth out the lessons of life, not only in future, but also in the past. How she wanted to do the same thing on that rainy summer day when she betrayed him once again.
(It was a nasty weather day. With nothing to do in the garden, the girl was sitting upstairs with a book in her hands. More precisely, with no fewer than five of them. She was in the mood to read something, but couldn't find anything relevant. Finally, she gave up and peered out of the window to meditate on the fuzzy outlines of objects, which were constantly altering due to increasing and subsiding downpour. Bizarrely, at some point, this indeterminacy became the foundation for a sense of uncertainty. A bit later, it was recognised as an obscurity, which in turn, transformed uncertainty into anxiety. This prompted the mind to search for swaying silhouettes in the floating shadows, whispers in the sound of rain. And thus, after a few more minutes, she stood in the centre of the room, facing the window, waiting for someone to emerge from behind the rain curtain, wishing to escape from there, yet at the same time, not daring to make a move. It was a panic, albeit the girl had no idea where it came from, why, or how to deal with it. Her feet were rooted to the floor, her eyes were glued to the window, her body froze as if under the spell of numbness, but her heart was beating wildly within her. Suddenly, her father's face and the blond nape of a young man standing in front of him flashed through her consciousness. The numbness lifted immediately. She strided headlong downstairs, in hysterics, swearing that it was a matter of the hostess' nephew's life and death, and demanded she call someone from the Order. Anyone, just as soon as possible! That summer, on the orders of the headmaster, she spent time not at home. Her hostess was a very beautiful woman with aristocratic manners. Later, when she met her sisters, she made a note for herself that the best qualities of both were combined in this woman, while the worst were bypassed. The host... It was weird, but his voice sounded familiar to her, although she might have only heard it once and could not connect it with any face. And when he went up to her room that day, mutely put something beside her on the floor and tenderly cupped her head at the temples with his palms to subside the ache that had engulfed her brain after the nervous breakdown like a fire, the touch of his warm, soft hands also seemed familiar to her. So, the woman called her daughter, who then called her mentor.
"This panic is not mine, it's his! He's scared! Whatever my father is doing, he doesn't want it! You have to stop him!" The girl circled the hall, screaming, as the strongest fear refused to let her go.
"How can you know that?"
"I do not know that, I feel and can separate my feelings from others."
"Why can you feel it?"
"What? Why can your student metamorphose? Because I can! Because I care!"
"So, maybe this is a fake vision?"
"This is not a vision, this is a feeling, feelings cannot be fake. And if they can, then for a start, he had to find out about these abilities of mine, and he couldn't, because... I didn't know it myself... Didn't know that I could perceive someone at such a great distance..."
And at close range, she always felt it. That the eyes of one of the two wizards who once came to their house were not evil, just very sad. The joy, satisfaction, disappointment, awkwardness... hatred, grief... that were filling the great hall on her very first evening at school. The train that was invisibly passing by her, slowly as a freight one, and carrying death, instant and imminent: not death per se - a hunger for it. A faint cry and feeble moans in dozens of compartments unheard by anyone else, that soul-wrenching sorrow, terrifying in its loneliness. A woman's scream, distant and close in the meantime, passing through the heart as a needle, - a dying scream. The weeping lake. The turmoil and awe of thousands and the thrill of their superiority of a few spread across the moor and the forest. The exasperation and growing wrath of the boy who peered at her from under his brows while they both waited for the door of the 'old doll's' office to open a crack ("Oh, yes... Miss Evelyn R. Greenwood... I've been curious about what R. stands for." "He told me about you, that man - the false professor. So it was about you. He said you solved him, but it was too late to do anything. Did you try to stop him? He remarked that you are pretty strong and laughed loudly at the fact that no one knew about you. How is this even possible? ... Why do I learn more from enemies than from friends?!"). The longing for death and the panic fear of being dead, the grief and the hope, the pain and the horror, while she... he... they were lying on the cold, wet and dirty black floor slabs on his stomach, while she was standing between the boy and her father.
"You must stop him."
"That's what we're doing."
"No! Right now!"
"And how do you propose we do that?"
"I do not know, you are professionals here!"
"We'll show up with such friendly company, knock on the door, and say: 'Listen, buddy, leave the child alone. Can't you see, he doesn't want to.' "
"Send the one they let in themselves!" For the first time since their clash began, there was silence.
"Are you really willing to risk your teacher's life for a cowardly boy?" She continued to stare speechlessly into the only human eye of the man mutilated by a hazardous job, not only physically, until her eyelashes were yet able to hold two teardrops gaining weight.
"No." The eyelids closed and two hot streams rolled down her cheeks. "No." A stone fell on her chest. And it keeps lying there.
"Good. Take it easy. Everything will be fine with this boy. He won't go defy your father's will, which means he is not in danger of death. We are not a social guardianship service, we cannot take responsibility for every child. There are parents for that..." He shouldn't have said that.
"Parents? Parents?! ...")
Less than five minutes later, there was a pop in the next room and the awkward head of the housey poked out from behind the ajar door. The girl raised her finger to her lips, signaling for silence, then gently released her hand and left the bedroom, closing the door soundlessly behind her.
"They came to see the young master."
"Who?"
"I don't remember the name... from school, she was here yesterday."
"Is anyone meeting her?"
"Yes, the mistress."
"That's good." The girl bit her lip in doubt. "Tell them that he's asleep, that after everything he's been through in the last few days, you didn't want to wake him up. But if it's necessary, then you go get him again." The elf disappeared. And when she returned, she said that the guest had left, promising to return tomorrow. The mistress also went to rest, instructing her to take care of the children.
The boy slept almost until dinner. The girl decided not to leave the rooms, so that when he wakes up and calls her, she can hear it and immediately come, letting him stay in her arms as long as it takes to realise that she is alive and near.
They came from school, from the Ministry too. It turned out that they had seen someone approaching the crypt that night. The dome was also an eye, fortunately, directed only outward. The young man did not deny it - he said that there was nothing strange about it and that he had warned them, he just had mercy on his mother; and also that he would come there more than once. So he did: he made it a rule to walk to the cemetery every morning before breakfast, sit down in front of the crypt and immerse himself in thought. He was thinking about what he had heard in the portrait gallery - about that legend, about how similar it was to his own situation, and about how accurately she felt the mood of that place. There were also hearings at the Ministry. The process that seemed endless; a humiliating process ("So, do I understand correctly that: you were supposed to bring her to your master, but she came to him of her own accord; you were supposed to spy on her, but you were afraid that the results of this espionage might play against you, and therefore you did not follow orders; you were supposed to keep her in your house, but you only coped with it until she decided to leave it?" A wave of contemptuous laughter swept through the hall. "Yes," a muffled voice rang out.); the process that kept him in the past and prevented him from fully enjoying the present.