by Olivia Ali
"A woman?" the voice said. "She wouldn't have gone with him she wouldn't!" He must have been referring to this lady who resided with Hagen. But either way, whoever she was, why did it matter?
"Thanks for that Monty," Frankie said coming back to the bar. "See ya later!"
"Frankie who is this lady that lives with Hagen?" Tristan asked when he came back over.
"I don't think she's there out of choice to be honest with ya. We never really see her unless it's at events like the seasonal formals and folk like us can't afford that. All I knows is her name...Myrina; means sacred in Salysman."
Myrina. The name niggled somewhere in his mind making his head pang with pain. He could hear Dante and Frankie talking amongst themselves, distracting his attention from focusing on whatever was niggling at his mind. Shaking the thought from his head his eyes were caught by a woman standing by the podium. She was just stood there staring at him and when she noticed he was staring back she looked to whatever the sheet was covering next to her. Looking her up and down, he realised who she was; Dagnen - which probably answered for why her appearance there seemed ghostly. Her brown hair was parted at the sides of her ears, a green and brown smock dress clothing her. It wasn't a dress she'd been wearing in any of the photos Tristan had found of her and them together so he couldn't associate the way she looked with a memory. But she kept looking at the sheet...
"What's under that sheet?" he asked without turning back to look at Frankie or Dante.
"Oh that, it's just a piano," shrugged Frankie. "It's not been played in years but I just can't bring myself to sell it like everything else that were in here."
"Why not?" as he asked, Tristan rose from his seat to walk over to where she was standing.
"There used to be a girl who would play it, Dagnen her name was you should remember. Anyway, she used to play at it, the locals loved her music. The place was always so calm and happy when she would play that I just couldn't get rid of it."
Pulling at the sheet, a cloud of dust shrouded the room as the fine organ was revealed, the veneer finish shining beautifully. The sight marvelled Tristan and he watched as Dagnen sat at the cushioned stool. No dust settled on the keys or anywhere on the piano so he sat beside her and lifted the cover that protected the keys. The white and black keys seem to speak to him and tell him the tune to play as did her hands as she motioned the movements he should make. Starting a few keys down, he began to mirror her movements, a sweet lullaby of a tune radiating from his fingers as he pressed down gently on the keys. He smiled as he went, realising it was the same tune the music box played.
Dante too felt peace in the melody he was playing, staring into his ale as though all of his problems were drowning within it. He almost didn't notice Tristan walking out of the bar in a daze almost and staring out at the sudden outburst of rain.
"Well what ‘ya know, I ant seen rain in these here parts in as long as I ant seen the Keepers."
Frankie's words bought him away from his thoughts long enough to notice Tristan standing on the deck outside. By the time he got up to stand with him Tristan was already prancing around in the rain as though he were dancing with an invisible maiden.
"Tristan," he called out, remaining under the shelter of the deck. "What are you doing?"
"Dancing in the rain!" Was his reply, the glee in his voice seeming to block out the darkness.
"But why?"
"That's life...learning to dance in the rain..."
Shaking his head in wonderment, Dante watched him prance in happiness. In that single moment, he saw Tristan differently and the life he was remembering. It was a life filled with happiness and simple pleasures, a life he once shared with his own sweetheart. Tristan was right, life wasn't about waiting for the storm to pass, it was about learning to dance in the rain.
Chapter 24 - The Shrine of Unity
The next morning Tristan woke in an elated mood, however Dante didn't look like he had slept much. The two nodded to each other as Tristan washed and dressed before they headed down to the Dining Hall for some breakfast. "Tristan I've been thinking," Nielson said after they had all finished eating.
"Merlin's told me about some of the lessons he's been giving you about your past, is that correct?"
"Yes," replied Tristan. "He's been teaching me about the History of the Keepers, just like you used to."
"No magic then?" Basso questioned, chewing on the pulp of an orange.
"No, my marks only came back a few weeks ago so that would probably have been a bit premature."
"Well, I was your teacher in magical Glyphs and Runes so why don't we have a few lessons? See if we can get that old brain of yours ticking?"
"Okay, sounds good!"
"Shall we say noon in that old classroom then? Gives me chance to spruce it up a little that way. Merlin can join in if he wishes and your welcome too...Daxon."
"I think I'll pass!" replied Dante, shrugging off the offer.
"Suit yourself. I'll see you there Tristan."
Getting up from the table, Basso left the dining hall as Merlin and Nielson began cleaning up the plates.
"I'm surprised he didn't try to convince you to join in," joked Tristan to Dante.
"To be honest I don't think he has a good feeling about me," Dante said perplexed. "Then again I suppose the feeling's mutual."
The two of them shared a look. Why Dante didn't trust him Tristan had no idea. All he knew was that when he shared eye contact with Basso, his head filled with screams and a shiver ran down his spine as though the man struck him with instant fear. If there was one thing his father had taught him it was to always go with his gut and his gut did not like Basso as harmless as he seemed to be.
"After your lesson meet me in our dormitory," Dante ordered. "There's something I have to show you."
Another look was shared, despite the vast age gap and personality differences, the two always seemed to be on the same level when it came to understanding each other without the need for words. Dante brushed himself down and then left the dining hall, probably to spend the morning in a pub somewhere no doubt.
Later that day, as agreed, Tristan met with Basso in the classroom just opposite the library. He was thankful to see Nielson also in the room as well, not trusting the man this was a welcome relief. The classroom had definitely seen better days, especially with the state of the scratched chalkboard. It was clear Basso had done his best to put the room into some order but even with the desks all pushed to the sides of the room and a longer one placed in front of the board, it wasn't a vast improvement to the room.
"Good to see you Tristan," Basso said, taking him by the hand briefly. "I hope you don't mind but Nielson has decided to sit in on this session?"
"No, that's fine." Tristan shrugged, pulling up a chair and taking a seat.
"Okay, then we'll begin. We'll start with some basics..."
"I hope you don't mind Basso," Nielson interrupted causing a certain hacked off look on Basso's face but he nodded in approval anyway. "How about we see what Tristan remembers about Glyphs and how we use them."
Again Basso nodded, shrugging his shoulders and leaning against the table, probably feeling a little useless now. Feeling the pressure, Tristan sat back - truth be told he didn't remember that much at all about the Glyphs, just how to use them. He gulped, peering up at Nielson who winked at him hoping to reassure him not to worry.
"To be honest I don't remember much at all," Tristan begun, making Basso smirk. "But I do remember the start of your first ever lesson."
"Well let's start with that!" inclined Nielson, seeming to take more of an interest in Tristan’s current memory than Basso.
"I remember Basso saying the Glyphs are all around us. They are what make the world the way it is. They control everything from the direction in which the wind blows to the colours of the flowers in the Spring. They are essentially nature!"
"Excellent!" exclaimed Basso, a little surprised if anything. "Almost as though those were my exact wor
ds..."
"Guess it proves how much I'm remembering." Tristan could sense his tone and it wasn't a nice one so his response was with the same likeness.
"Alright then Mr Cocky, how about you show us how much you really remember?"
"Alright then!" Tristan was mocking him now - Dante would've loved to have seen what he was about to do.
Tristan stood up from his chair, making it move aside without even touching it. Clearly, he was showing off and it was clear as crystal that Basso was seething underneath his cool composure. Nielson on the other hand, grinned shaking his head as though he expected nothing less.
"I remember something Nielson told me," Tristan explained. "Just because it's happening up here," He pointed to his head, "Doesn't mean it can't happen out there."
"Show me fire," Basso demanded, ignoring his sarky comment.
Smiling cheekily, Tristan held his fists out before him. With his right hand, he pointed up with his index finger, a flicker of flame sprouting from it. His left hand he opened out and spread his fingers wide, a vast flame roaring from the centre of his palm.
"Which would you prefer?" he asked rhetorically, a devilish smile bringing life to his face. Truth be told he didn't know where any of this magic was coming from but it was certainly having the desired effect on Basso.
"Show me water." came Basso's demands again; clearly he wasn't going to give up seeing whether Tristan would fail anytime soon.
Again, Tristan obliged, in the same attitude he had done with the fire. Tracing along with his finger, he drew water in a line. Time and time again he made Basso even angrier, displaying the rest of the elements along with a couple of moving objects for added effect. When at last it seemed that Basso had had enough, he stormed from the room without saying a word, an almost worried look on his face.
"What did I do?" asked Tristan, coming down from his showing off high all of the sudden.
"I'm not too sure to be honest with you," Nielson was indeed confused by his behaviour too. "But if you don't mind, I wish to do a little demonstration. Pull up a chair at the desk and take a seat Tristan."
Nielson took the vase of the windowsill; it was nothing special just a plain porcelain vase of no colour worth noting. He placed it on the desk in front of Tristan.
"Break the vase," Nielson ordered. "And then put it back together again."
Tristan nodded, focusing on the vase. Within seconds, he had caused it to smash to pieces. A couple more passed and he put it back together again; piece by piece so that it didn't even look like it had broken in the first place.
"Excellent, now tell me how you did it." Nielson commanded, a commendable smile upon his face.
"I don't know," Tristan was telling the truth, he honestly didn't know how he did it. "I just pictured it happening and then it happened, I can't explain it."
"Wrong, that is what you can do." Noting Tristan’s confused look he decided to fill in the blanks himself. "As a Keeper you passed through three of our stages. You started as a Scribe, progressed to become an Acolyte and then you became what you are now; a Runebound. There are other stages but I'm sure Merlin covered that much. Anyway, a Scribe does not learn how to use the Glyphs but they learn that they are there. An Acolyte learns how to call upon the Glyphs in their hour of need and a Runebound can manipulate and make the Glyphs work for them to their advantage. The difference between an Acolyte and a Runebound is the latter of the two doesn't have to find and draw upon the symbol they need…they simply picture it in their mind and it is there.
"When you were first inducted as a Runebound this would've been the first trick you learnt. You would've learnt to sense the Glyphs around the vase, put them to one side and then find the cracks within the vase and force the Glyphs into the cracks so that it smashes. In doing so you would have changed the purpose of whatever Glyphs are around you to do what you want them to do. You do the same to put it back together again."
"It sounds pretty amazing when you put it like that."
"Well as a Keeper, it is important that we remember that it is not the Glyphs that control us but we who control the Glyphs. If we do not remember that I guess we already forgot because the worst has happened in what you see around you."
"I see!" Tristan’s head was beginning to feel heavy with exertion and Nielson could tell.
"I think that's enough for today, don't you? Why don't you go get some rest?"
Tristan nodded, rising from his feet and bidding Nielson good day, leaving the classroom to head back to the dormitory where Dante would probably be waiting for him.
Back in the dormitory, Tristan found Dante dosing on his bed against the wall by the bookcase. The slamming of the door bought him around and he sat up, leaning against the wall and yawning.
"How did it go?" he asked, only half interested but it was the courtesy really.
"I put Basso in his place," smirked Tristan. "He stormed out of the room after I did every trick he asked of me and more."
"That's my boy!" Getting up from the bed, he clasped Tristan tightly on the shoulder in congratulations.
As Dante let go, a light flashed across Tristan’s vision over by the bookcase. He pursed his lips, a pang of suspicion suddenly taking over his senses. He strolled over to the bookcase and glanced at the spines of the books. Tristan wondered if they were unwritten like those in the library but one in particular seemed different. He pulled on the book, but it didn't leave its place on the shelf, instead part of the wall near the window began to move aside to reveal a small alcove with a staircase.
"After you," Dante motioned with his hand for Tristan to lead and he followed behind as though he had been waiting for him to reveal the passageway the whole time.
At the bottom of the passage that opened in front of them of them was a dark oak staircase which they descended into a dark hallway with no apparent source of light. Wishing he had bought a torch down with them, Tristan took a few tentative steps into the unknown, not even sure whether Dante was still following. After a couple of steps, a strange noise filled the darkness and suddenly flame torches emblazoned along a wood floored pathway that led in between several rows of bookcases.
“What is this place?” Tristan asked, suddenly very confused as to how he got here.
"Tristan," Dante said, stepping into the lead and presenting the sight before them. "I give you The Shrine of Union. The place itself is enigmatic meaning it can be accessed from any Compound. How you ask, by the Scribe passages; a series of passages created by the second generation who were the ones who built the Shrine in the first place. The passages were sealed away after every generation was disbanded but each new one has managed to reopen them."
"That's impressive!”
“And now that we’re here…" Dante headed down the centre passageway and then to the left side bookcases around the blue flame. Coming to the last shelf, he sat on the floor at the end of the row, following with his finger across the numeric titles on the spines. "Now it's pretty clear that we can't act out and make you remember everything that you did as a Keeper and that is where these handy little books come in."
"Little?"
"You see the ally doesn't just help the Brothers of Union on their way," Dante continued ignoring the comment. "They compile the annals of that generation so that their legacy is preserved long after they are gone. I thought maybe they would help fill in the blanks. At least I would…but they’re not fucking here!"
“What are you looking for?”
“Your Annals…they would have been written by your ally."
“Cedric?”
“Yes. They tell of your legacy as a Brother of Union.”
“I have those!”
Dante stood and turned slowly, a puzzled look on his face.
“How do you have them; I mean those books can’t leave this library?”
“Well they did. They were in a box of things that came back to Az Lagní with me. My father gave them to me before we left.”
Dropping his arms agai
nst his side in annoyance, he sighed. His brilliant idea had turned out not so brilliant after all.
"Written in those books," explained Dante as he finally came over to him - "Is everything you and your brothers did as Keepers, well everything you did that Cedric knows about anyway. They should help and that was what I was going to show you!"
"I guess it’s the thought that counts."
Tristan shrugged and took a seat at one of the desks, an open book upon it. Dante had looked over in time to see Tristan go very pale. When he called out to him, no answer came, instead his eyes just widened like a wild rabid dog’s. A burning sensation in his left hand, causing his head to pang with pain. Staring at his palm, a strange mark appeared before becoming part of his skin, concealing itself within the lines on his palm. The mark itself was one Tristan recognised instantly, the word 'Betrayer' echoing in his mind. His heart began to thud in his chest, his breathing heaving as he struggled to catch it. As he looked away from his palm, a figure appeared near the blue flame. The figure resembled the scarred version of himself he had seen back at his house. Once again, the scars were less than before but this time they seemed to resonate around a symbol which was scratched into his chest, the same symbol of Betrayal which had appeared on his own palm.
Concerned now, Dante came back to stand in front of Tristan to see his eyes fall into the back of his skull leaving only the whites visible. Slipping from the chair, he hit the floor and began to fit in a seizure of pain and breathlessness. The sight shocked Dante and pained him too as he could not do anything except try to stop him hurting himself in his twisted torment. As he held Tristan steady, he whispered words of encouragement, begging him to come back into the light, a single tear leaking from his worried eyes. Eventually, the fitting subsided and Tristan lay still, his eyes slowly closing as his heartbeat steadied. Dante sat with him, waiting for him to wake, hoping to God that whatever he was remembering was an easy memory and not something that would rip out his soul, especially after the struggle he had just witnessed him experience.