by Olivia Ali
“Yep,” Balderick turned to Tristan, showing him the glyph upon his palm. “I was Freedom…”
“Like Jacques was?”
“Yes, well remembered!”
“You weren’t banished like Dante and the others?”
“Oh no I was…but someone bought me back. I think it was an ally from one of the other generations of brothers. I never saw his face; he was apprehended by other Keepers shortly after he bought me back. I barely got away myself. It’s why I cut off all my hair; so I wouldn’t be recognised. I disposed of my key so I couldn’t be tracked. Then fifty or so years later I met Marcine and well…you know the rest I‘m sure.” Tristan nodded. “Shall we,” he asked, motioning inside. “I’m sure Marcine has set up Balde’s room all ready for you.”
Chapter 9 - The Truth at Last
The city was a calmer notion in the surprisingly mild afternoon. Tristan observed the stall owners of the Exotic Market as he passed them; how they talked up their wares to potential customers who then attempted to barter down the price. More than likely this bartering would usually fail and the customer would settle on the asking price. As his mind drifted elsewhere, he pictured a younger him dragging a woman through the stalls – a short petite thing in a flowing green dress that was corseted at the waist, her brown hair falling just below the middle of her back in short curls that sprung joyfully around her face as she was pulled along at the hand by Tristan. Both had faces of glee as he took her in his hands, tempting foreign sweets before her eyes before placing them delicately in her mouth to taste.
As an old man knocked into him, he was forced back into reality – unsure of whether what he had seen was a figment of his imagination or a dream of what was once real.
“Sorry my boy!” When Tristan didn’t answer, the man gave him a sharp slap on the arm. “Wake up my boy, come back to reality.”
“Merlin?” Tristan murmured as his vision came back into focus.
“By all means remember the past lad but do not linger in their world – it’s the past for a reason.” Tristan nodded warily. “How about you step in for some tea?” he motioned to his accommodation above the stables, a concerned look upon his face.
Tristan hadn’t even noticed how close to the square he was, how he had been starring at Jenni as she emptied a bucket of murky looking soapy water into the alley by the inn before heading back to serve the lunchtime rush. He followed Merlin up to his apartment and slumped onto the couch as the storyteller set his affairs in order and placed a pot of water on the fire that ignited no sooner had he placed the pot above it. Whilst he was waiting for the water to boil, he perched himself next to Tristan, a moment of silence passing between them.
“I want to apologise; I admit that I knew about your daughter.” Despite what Merlin expected, Tristan remained silent, so he continued. “The reason I never told you was because believe it or not I was under the impression she was dead - to lose both your wife and daughter twice is quite a lot, especially if you do not remember either of them. With the condition you were in, I didn’t want to make things worse…my plan was to tell you all in good time…when I thought you were more stable to handle the truth. Part of me was also hopeful that I was wrong about her being dead and that was what I was clinging to. I know now that may have been selfish of me and I should’ve told you right from the very beginning.”
“Why did you believe her to be dead?” Merlin was amazed how patient Tristan was in asking that question.
“After your…accident…I went to the inn where you and Dagnen had been staying to collect her.” Tristan could tell that Merlin was being careful not to say her name – it was obviously something he wanted Tristan to remember on his own. “You see after what happened to you happened, most of the Keepers faded and as far as I knew only the Prodicals would be spared. My plan was to fetch her with Myrina, whom you named her godmother, and bring them back to Az Lagní with us when you were well enough to travel. However, when I got there the inn had been set alight and the City Watch guards were stood all around. I pushed my way through the crowd and spoke to one of the guardsmen and he told me three bodies had been found in the upstairs; that of a man, a woman and a baby. Their faces were unrecognisable but certain features were still noticeable such as the woman’s blonde hair of which the man shared the same colour. I thought it was….”
The pot on the fire had begun to boil now, water spurting over the edges and provoking the embers below. Merlin jumped up, stopping his words and tending to the pot. As he did so, Tristan thought over everything he had said so far – it was obvious where the story was heading but there was something in his mind that told him that perhaps Merlin’s tale had a different ending. He tried desperately to suppress his anxiety, feeling hot tears escape the fences in his eyes – he had only found out about his daughter just yesterday and now he had to come to terms with the possibility that she, like his wife; like his brothers, was dead. The grief inside him began to boil over and he couldn’t contain it any longer.
“Is she dead?” Tristan asked, exasperated, his voice breaking slightly. He watched distressed as Merlin appeared to ignore the question, coming over to where Tristan sat and calmly placing a tray with two cups and a teapot in the centre on the table. He spooned a heap of sugar into his cup before pouring in some tea, smells of cinnamon and various other spices masking the aroma of manure from the stables below. “Merlin, answer me!”
“I wonder Tristan,” he said, completely ignoring the question. “Have you had any visitors lately…to the shop I mean…people looking for you?” He waited for an answer, blowing his tea to make it cool.
“What do you mean?” asked Tristan, slumping back in his seat frustrated as to why Merlin was changing the subject. The old man obviously meant well though, he wouldn’t do it without good reason.
“Has anyone come into the Smithy claiming to know you?”
“No! Wait…yes, there was a man who came by. Said his name was John Basso.”
“Basso’s back…that’s interesting. Who else?” he grazed over the point, frustrated as to why Merlin didn’t even bother to explain who this John Basso might be.
“Well, no one!”
“Are you sure? I could’ve sworn I saw him…”
Merlin went off into a stupor, mumbling to himself in no understandable language. Tristan thought about who Merlin was expecting him to have seen; of all the strangers that had come and gone since he started remembering – Dante, Basso…that mysterious Baldwin character…
“There was another man I met yesterday,” Merlin stopped muttering and looked at Tristan straight in the eyes as he placed his tea back on the table. “Lionel told me yesterday that there was a package in the store room for a client who would be coming to pick it up in the afternoon. He told me the collector went by the name of Baldwin.” Merlin’s eyes twinkled in disbelief as Tristan said the name, but he remained silent, almost as though he was waiting for Tristan to correct himself. “The man came in not long after Basso, picked up his package and left. That was the only other man!”
“What did he look like?” Merlin asked slowly, his voice bereft of any feeling.
“He,” Trying to remember him was difficult, it was like the event itself had wiped itself from his memory, like he wasn’t meant to remember the man who had come into the Smithy that day by the name of Baldwin. “He wore a rather regal attire, a brown leather jacket with gold trimmings,” he tried to focus on the small things that he did remember, hoping that once they were put together, they would form a bigger picture. “He had pale skin and a natural smile almost, but one that seemed secretive and full of sadness despite the nature of it. Blonde hair, cropped around his face at different lengths, locks that sprang as he stepped. A slight stubble framed his mouth, a sublime feature and his eyes…they are green like the trees.”
As Tristan described the man, his image appeared in his mind but the vision wasn’t from the other day. The man stood before him; his attire slightly shabbier; the leather j
acket was to be replaced by a beige canvas kind of top that was tucked into black trousers which were also tucked into even blacker boots. The trousers were belted and his stance relaxed as he stood before Tristan, his hand outstretched ready for a shake. ‘My name is Cedric,’ he says with a voice that seemed to chuckle as it spoke. ‘I live next door with Percy and Trevor. Guess that makes us neighbours!’ Tristan takes the hand but his voice is silent as he greets; any reaction that he makes void of sight.
“Ceric Baldwin!” Tristan said aloud, the name seeming to leave him in pain as he clutched at his tunic, feeling for the picture the man had dropped yesterday.
“So he lives!” Merlin said after a while, his eyes facing down at the floor. “As you’ve probably guessed I thought he died in the fire. I knew that if he didn’t fade after the incident that he would go back for her…I thought he was dead…but all this time…” he looked over at Tristan, his face pale and for the first time showing his true age. “Did he say anything to you?” when Tristan didn’t answer, he placed a hand atop his which was trembling as they gripped at the knee. As the touch was felt on his skin, Tristan jumped, looking over at Merlin with eyes that spoke a thousand hardships. “Did he say anything to you?”
“No!” he said at last. “But he did drop something.”
“What did he drop?”
Tristan reached inside his tunic this time and pulled out the picture, giving it to Merlin. The old man unfolded it, his eyes widening as he gazed at the content. He smiled, handing the picture back to Tristan who took it and stared into it like it was a window to what was; he with his arms around his Dags and a young baby between them barely a few months old. A laugh shared between the two as they looked at each other, the baby none the wiser.
“So if Cedric is alive, does that mean she is too?” Tristan asked quietly, his eyes pleading with Merlin.
“I think so yes! If Cedric got out alive then so did she, he wouldn’t leave her in there. He is, after all, her godfather. What on earth is the man playing at though, showing up here and not even saying so much as a word to me or to Theorryn for that matter. I dread to think what he believes about your daughter…”
“Why won’t you say her name?”
Merlin wasn’t sure how to answer. Of course, he knew why he wasn’t letting that slip – Tristan had to remember on his own but how was he to explain it to him in a way that he would agree that was what was best?
“Tristan I would love to tell you her name! Heck there are thousands of things I would love to tell you about your past, your brothers, the Keepers, so many beautiful moments I watched you and Dagnen share. But you see that’s where telling fails, to remember you must step into your past, reconnect with it. You can’t just be told about it, you can’t just recall it, you must become a part of, become one with your past.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You won’t, not until you remember everything. I mean you can’t just forget someone, once you’ve met them that’s it! You never really forget them…it just takes a while for the memories to return.”
“Tell me how to remember…tell me how I know whether or not my dreams are dreams or memories of what was. These days I don’t know the difference Merlin, these pictures are all I have. But how do I…connect with them as you say?”
“Who we are as people is made up of what I like to call moments of impact. These moments make us who we are; they are memories, they are feelings, they are events which shape our true matter. These moments are what makes our lives memorable, some of them even make it worthwhile. These moments become our strongest memories and they are the ones we cling to when we feel lost, empty and alone. Think of it as though there is a box inside your head and these moments are within the box. All you need to do to reconnect with them is merely find the key.”
“And then what?”
“Well as Felix once said; if you have a key, you must infer that somewhere out there is a lock that it fits into – perfect partners. Once you’ve unlocked the box, you’ll no longer be lost, empty…or alone for that matter. The first step is to accept that this is how you are now; lost, empty, alone! Accept that, and only then will you find your true path to being found and surrounded by people you love.”
“Then I guess I know what I need to do.”
“Then you’ve already taken the first step…now climb those stairs, and you’ll remember her…you will remember them all!”
A smile crept into the ends of Tristan’s lips as he placed the picture back inside his tunic and rose to his feet. He felt a little lighter now, as though a million answers had now been presented to him, all he needed do now was find the right one and follow it through, find the key and then unlock the box…just like Merlin had said.
“Thank you Merlin!” he said, turning his head as he opened the front door.
“Not a problem my boy, you know where I am if you need me,” he replied, taking his tea in his hands once more and sitting back as Tristan left the apartment and headed back into the bustling city streets.
chapter 10 - Sweet Revenge
The city was a lot busier now as he came out from the stables, people were moving amongst the stalls buying the many wares of the sellers. Weaving in and out of the people, he made his way towards the fountain in the centre of the square, its water flowing generously into each stone bowl, each a little bigger than the one before. The sound bought Tristan a sense of peace, one that was all too easily disturbed by the sight of Jenni storming out of the inn with a bucket of soapy water in her hand.
He didn’t know where this sudden annoyance for her came from, just that it seemed bent on discovering some form of secret she may or may not have been keeping from him. He watched her a while – trying to gage what might have caused her bad mood. Observing her attire, he noted yet another red dress; this one was lighter than her last though, probably more of blush red than the cherry red that had been on her the other day. It hugged her figure rather tightly and touched the floor as she turned on the windows, placing the bucket precariously on the sill. She was mumbling to herself – how he wished he could hear her rants.
He felt a prickling sensation on his left hand, the feeling sending a ringing through his ears as he looked down to observe the mark that disappeared beneath the skin on his palm. It was a strange mark that seemed to form a rather pointed eye shape – he had seen it before, but he couldn’t think where from. As he took his attention away from his hand, a voice crept into his ear and he turned around to find the source. But no one was around him, as the voice became clear, he realised it belonged to a woman; Jenni. Looking over at her, he saw her mumbling to herself still – whatever that mark was it somehow had made him an ultimate eavesdropper.
“Why should I have to clean the windows?” she said under her breath. “I’m the barmaid, he’s just the hired help. Oh Jenni doesn’t mind cleaning the windows, she’s a woman she likes to clean. I’ll give him likes to clean!”
“I hope you’re not talking about me?” asked a man whom Tristan hadn’t even notice approach her until he heard his voice in his head just like he did Jenni’s. The man’s appearance had startled Jenni as she looked up at a hooded man who seemed to have appeared from the alley down the side of the inn. His voice seemed familiar to Tristan, one he had heard all too recently.
“What?” she jumped, her voice rather high pitched. “Oh, it’s you.” As she stared into the hood, the hidden appearance of the man she recognised seemed to steady her demeanour. “I heard you were back in town.”
“Flying visit really.” The man’s voice was very well pronounced with a twinge of a southern accent.
“What are you doing here? What do you want?”
“Nothing really! Just came to see how things were going with your beloved Tristan.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she asked sarcastically, crossing her arms across her chest accentuating her cleavage which seemed to complete the otherwise disappointing red dress.
“I heard that he�
��d gone rather mad. Was raving about another woman, his wife I believe…”
“Dead wife!”
“Oh, touchy subject I take it. You seem intent on making sure she stays that way?”
“Tristan is with me now…” she hesitated. “There’s nothing that will come between us.”
“Not even his daughter coming back from the dead?”
The phrase shocked Tristan. The hooded man had to be Cedric to say something like that. However, the phrase didn’t seem to shock Jenni, not even phase her – she had to have known the whole time that Tristan had a daughter and that she was alive. But how did Cedric slot in with her?
“Because she’s alive you know,” he continued to taunt. “And it’s about time he got to know her.”
“Why now and not three years ago?” she piped back. Tristan could feel the anger boiling inside him, she had to have known this whole time but how could she do this to him; the man she was supposed to love above all else.
“Face it Jenni,” the man leaned in close to her ear but that didn’t stop Tristan from hearing him. “You lost him eight years ago when he left you behind and chose her.”