The Book and the Memory (continued)

He made sure that he stayed ahead of her, preventing her from asking further questions as they approached a small cottage near the edge of the village towards the crossroads.  A small kitchen garden was filled mostly with herbs at the front door and a well-established Rowan tree stood just next to the gate.  A red ribbon kept the gate closed.  Nervously, Mnemosyne reached up to touch the red ribbon around her neck.1

The man stopped at the gate and turned to watch Mnemosyne tuck the daffodil into her belt so that her hand could hover over her sword.2

Without saying a word the man turned and unlaced the ribbon, pushing the gate wide he stepped aside to allow Mnemosyne to enter first.  Warily she walked past the man, fully aware that she really should not be entering a strange man’s house, she glanced at the rowan and the ribbon for reassurance, but still turned to walk backwards, watching the man as he followed.3

He stepped around her to unlatch the door, strangely conscious not to block her escape routes.  Mnemosyne frowned and entered- noticing the iron horseshoe above the door as she did so.4

"Why did your father not come himself?  What news has he sent you with?  Please tell me Mnemosyne, what news do you have from the Islands?"  For a moment Mnemosyne stood, mouth agape at the mention of her father, but she quickly recovered.5

"Why don’t you start by telling me how you know me?"  She countered- hoping to gain an advantage in his desperation.6

"I knew your father- some years ago, you were three or four at the time, but you look so much like him now that you couldn’t be anyone else but his daughter.  Please Mnemosyne, tell me, what news from your father- why has he sent you alone?"7

Mnemosyne shrugged- what was the point in not telling him, whatever her father meant to him, it seemed that this man deserved to know the truth.8

"My father’s dead.  He died four years ago."  The distance that those years had put between Mnemosyne and her fathers death felt sharp for some reason, her hand automatically went to the ring he’d given her which hung around her neck on a long chain.  It felt warm, and though not sticky it reminded her for some reason of blood.9

"Averill?"  The man quickly sat down on one of two chairs in the cottage, clutching the table in front of him.  "How?"10

"I want two questions answered before you get my answer."  The man nodded mutely and Mnemosyne sat down on the other chair.  "What’s your name?"11

"Tristan."12

"What news were you expecting from my father?"13

"News of a mutual friend- but please, tell me what happened to Averill?"14

"How much do you know about him?"15

"You’ve had your answers, please- give me mine."16

"I need to know, so that I can tell it properly."  She explained 17

"I know that he was an adept sorcerer- he taught me all I know."18

"Do you remember a book?"19

"His magic book? Of course, he was always very protective of it- gave it a separate charm even, whatever we did."20

"Well someone killed him and took his book."  Even without naming the man or the book the words sounded ominous to Mnemosyne, as though it were against nature, against the fates- which, of course, it was.21

Tristan shuddered.22

"That doesn’t sound good.  I take it he fought well.  Were you there?"23

"Not when the book was taken, but when he died, yes."  She remembered him, broken in just about every sense of the word.  His body was battered, many of his bones had been shattered during the fight, she could sense that he wouldn’t have had the strength to perform even the simplest spell, and he was crying as he lay in her arms, dying.24

"Did you avenge him?"  Tristan asked in a small voice.  "Did you get the book back?"25

"Not yet."  Mnemosyne shook her head.26

"How old are you?"  Tristan suddenly looked her in the face, looking beyond her similarity to her father, she suddenly didn’t seem old enough to carry a sword, or to pass as a traveller on her own with no family.  Except - around the eyes, here at least there was evidence that she was older perhaps than the rest of her features suggested.27

"Sixteen."  She replied.28

"Dear God!"  He closed his eyes and shook his head in disbelief- she was too young to carry that sword and to be travelling alone.  "Sixteen?"29

"This is what I was raised for- my father knew that I would be by myself one day, and he taught me enough to survive."  Mnemosyne told him defensively.  "If I couldn’t take care of myself I wouldn’t be alive today."30

"I suppose you’re right."  Tristan admitted.  "Can I offer you a cup of tea? I know I could do with one."31

"Certainly" Mnemosyne smiled.  Now that her fears had subsided and she felt more at ease with this man’s character, she began to look around his cottage.  There were herbs, hanging from the ceiling to dry out, and straw dolls were arranged along the window ledge.   There was a collection of bells along on wall, hanging on hooks or resting on small shelves- all of different sizes, different metals, some with woven cloth handles that held designs of power, some with inscriptions etched into their side.  Salt sellers were also in abundance, again of different sizes and all looked easy to hold- not the usual design found on the table.  There were collections of twigs, bundled and tied together by red ribbons leaning here and there throughout the cottage.32

"Just how much did my father teach you?"  Mnemosyne asked.33

"He was here for five, six months.  I’d disturbed things I really shouldn’t ‘ave, and he helped me deal with them.  Then he stuck around for a while and helped the folk in the hereabouts- I was so fascinated that I tagged along.  He stayed with me, and told me stories, and pretty much made me what I am today.  When he left, it was up to me to help those hereabouts with any otherworld problems they had.  Like I said, he taught me all he know."  Tristan stood by the table; he’d filled the kettle from the jar by the door and left it over the fire.34

"Though, really I guess it’s hard for me to say now, what he taught me and what I’ve learnt in the years since he left."  Tristan stared into the middle distance for a while, his brow furrowed as though he saw something that pained him.  Mnemosyne watched cautiously.35

"Do you mind if I remove my pack and coat? It’s rather hot in here."  She asked.36

"Of course not! I’m sorry- I was a little preoccupied.  I guess I’ve not exactly been polite to you today; it’s just been one shock after another.  When you first walked into the Lightning Tree I just couldn’t believe what I was seeing."  Mnemosyne let her pack fall to the floor.  "Then I felt sure you had bad news, about her- that was the only reason I could think of him not coming himself."  She shouldered off the coat, standing so that she could turn and catch the length of it.  "Now I know the truth of it- I’m just not sure about anything."37

Unsure what she should do about the coat, she draped it over her arm and remained standing awkwardly, but her host didn’t seem to notice.  Tristan shook his head in remorse and returned to the fire to make the tea.38

"So, you’re a sorcerer?"   Mnemosyne asked, though she’d gathered as much already she desperately wanted to keep the conversation going in order to avoid asking about the mysterious woman who was obviously the cause of her father’s involvement with this man.39

"Of sorts, I guess."  Tristan called back, as he poured the boiled water into a teapot.  "Is blackberry tea okay?"  He asked, but didn’t wait for an answer.  "I help those in the area at least- banishings, advise- that sort of thing.  If someone has elf stroke, I’m the one they call.  But for as far as those passing through are concerned, I’m too small time for their attentions, they pass on through with their problems to find someone of real knowledge.  I’m not very good."40

The man brought a brown earthenware teapot to the table, and set it down in front of Mnemosyne- it smelt quite good.41

"I hope you sell your tea- it smells delicious."  She told him as he found an old jam jar for himself and heavy mug for her in a somewhat rickety cupboard.  He smiled at her for the compliment as he poured her a mug full.  He took her coat as he handed the mug over and hanging it rather unstably on an upright bundle of sticks by the door.42

"I remember you so small- so inquisitive."  He said as they both sat down again.  "I guess you learned everything I did in those six months, you were always there.  And such a quiet child.  Your father said you were listening, but I’ve never met a child as quiet as you- not even changeling stock!"  Mnemosyne smiled, she didn’t remember much from her childhood, in fact it often felt that her whole life started when her father died in her arms, but it was somehow comforting to hear from someone who knew her then.  She blew on the hot tea to cool it down and watched the steam curl away.43

"Why did father stop here?"  She asked, always keen to hear of the days she couldn’t remember-then suddenly realised she must have broached the conversation she’d been trying to avoid.  She held her breath, waiting for his reaction.44

"Many reasons I think- the Lightning Tree first attracted his attention as far as I know.  The inn was named after three trees that were struck by lightening on that spot some while ago.  I think your father was concerned about its proximity to the crossroads.  He was worried about it being a place of power where those from the other world could cross over.  As it turned out the crossing place had been sealed."  Tristan told her.  "Until I came along, I guess."  He seemed to keep steering the conversation right towards everything Mnemosyne didn’t much want to talk about.  Many people who had known her father, and indeed her when she had been much much younger felt that they were close friends and that she should be given a window into their private lives and told their deepest most shameful moments- especially as these were usually closely tied in with her father’s work.45

"What did you do?"46