Memory Chest
Chapter One
There were green wreaths everywhere.
Lucian was having trouble keeping his attention on the road with the decorated street-abutting gates and deserted crossroads shrines pressing in upon him from all sides.
As it were, every glimpse he caught left its ghost in his mind's eye long after they weren't even a speck in the car's rear-view mirror.
It was late spring, he was driving in a too-perky morning light after a last-minute and very long flight from the other side of the world, and as such, the incongruousness of his wandering thoughts was likely nothing more than a bout of whimsical reverie on his part.
Most assuredly, he was not fleeing a new beginning to tie up some loose ends.
A heartbeat later, Lucian snorted at himself.
A better man would have seriously contemplated the matter some more, deliberately added the weight of its implications to the burden already stooping down his shoulders, dutifully identified it as remorse, and, with piousness guiding his behaviour, would have nonetheless once more straightened up his spine--but not one whit of gluttony or hypocrisy would be acknowledged within his actions--so that, with the misstep thus accounted for, he could get back on track and continue working on his lifelong goals of penitence and betterment as a living being.
Smirking, he shifted his gaze to meet his reflection only to fall upon the willow tree garland thrown on the back seat, and all trace of mocking mirth left his face.
He'd almost gone with the linden tree branches that the old lady on the sidewalk had been working so hard to unload on him by virtue of capitalising on the last-minute purchase rush. They'd smelled good, and he'd been so very tempted. He still had an hour to get through while confined inside with this can-sprayed fake new car scent that was stubbornly and persistently clinging on everything despite the open windows treatment Lucian had hastily applied against it.
Lucian shook his head. He'd refrained because he could very well imagine Arkan being upset by the wastefulness of using linden flowers. His old friend would have been even more horrified if this was done on his behalf and for such an occasion, too. The implication that his ghost would wander restless between the living would have been impossible for the man to confront. It would also mean that Lucian had broken his promise...
Which really only made Lucian even more regretful for not having followed through on his impulse.
Besides, the flowers were lost already, weren't they? Maybe he could have even worked in a promise to safeguard some for his tea.
He frowned at the meandering road ahead of him.
Maybe he should, once and for all, try to enlighten Arkan about the fact that willows trees could also be of use to one's corporeal body, and not just for guarding one's spiritual health at certain times of the year.
Momentarily taken with the all possible ways the scenario could play out, Lucian wondered--for the umpteenth time--what the best bet would be in terms of winning himself a new reaction from Arkan. Tackling a novel topic along with their regular conversation, and going straight for the outrage that was bound to result from having disregarded one of his friend's beloved customs and beliefs was his first choice.
With a heartfelt sigh, Lucian tore himself away from the temptation, taking a moment to send a reproachful glance toward the mobile phone discarded, albeit still close by, on the front seat next to him.
It felt like there were too many changes happening too fast. On top of it, with every new bold achievement and readjustment, it seemed that the momentum only gained in strength, instead of dissipating itself upon fulfilment. As a result, Lucian's previously established borders were all over the place, and this propelled him to attempt to convert even more of his previously daydreaming landscape into some kind of new, tangible reality.
On cue, or perhaps responding to some un-worded incantation lurking somewhere in the depths of his newly claimed but as of yet unexplored mental territory, the piece of technology keeping him company chirped sharply at him from its place on the passenger seat, its screen lighting up beseechingly with Melian's contact info.
There was no privacy to maintain, alone in the vehicle and surrounded mostly by open country as he was, so Lucian let his smile spread as freely and true as he could make it these days, and reached for the phone.
"Good morning, Lian," he spoke, remembering to use the diminutive.
He hoped to convey only some of the warmth that had started to spread through him once the phone screen had come to life, while keeping anything else pertaining to the complex tangle of confusion and hesitant yearning--and who knew what else was permanently blooming close to his skin whenever this particular young man was concerned--firmly hidden behind unreachable doors.
"Hey," he heard back on the tail of an unmistakably relieved breath. "Lucian, there you are. Hi. Sorry to bother you so early in the morning," the--his?--young man explained.
"Not at all," he reassured, the sun's glare hitting him squarely in the middle of his forehead. "It is never a bother to hear from you."
Things had changed, were continuously changing, between the two of them. Still early stage, true, but the shape of their relationship was becoming more solid by the day. "It's almost noon around these parts," he found himself confessing.
A pause. Then, his point hit back at him with the combined force of a boomerang. All Melian did was whisper an indescribably soft, "Ah."
Lucian's smile widened, an army of ants marching under his flesh, while words soon poured out from the other side of the wire.
"It's not that you--I mean, you didn't say, not that you have to say, of course, and I did say that I was needed here, it's our family Sunday meeting and everything, but we'll meet Wednesday for drinks as usual, yes, after work?"
Too loud church bells chose that moment to punctuate the question on behalf of Melian, but also pointedly cut off any assurances Lucian had been just about to advance himself.
Impatiently, he jabbed his finger on the button to close the window.
Not fast enough.
"What was that noise?" boomed from the receiver in the now insulated car.
Thankfully, modern transportation speed combined with the isolating properties of glass made of him less of a liar when he promptly dismissed the interruption as nothing more than: "The usual traffic interferences I think is the proper term."
He was answered with a dubious, "Yeah, I guess."
There was no follow-up, though. Melian moved on to say, "Look, I need to go down now that I'm up, help Mom since my sister's still rocking this cold war treatment around, but, well, Marty woke me up. Your boy mumbled something about being worried about you. At least, that's the gist I got of it, anyway. Said that you've gone abroad? Asked me--accused me of not knowing--What's this about you being somewhere in the Balkans region, if he's got it right? I just saw you Friday night. That's not more than thirty hours ago."
The spoken and unspoken implications behind the words drew a chuckle out of Lucian. "He's started snooping through my things, has he, now?" he marvelled. Perhaps this trip had served to, at long last, jump-start the relationship with Marty, the last of his blood. Nothing could change the years spent in foster care, of course, but time worked in strange ways, Lucian was finding out.
"Lucian," Melian huffed reproachfully. "Yes, he is getting more involved in your life. Happy about it? That's nice, but is that all you've got from me calling you at barely five on a Sunday morning?"
The warmth he'd been feeling ever since his phone rang was now an all-encompassing thing of marvel that obeyed neither rhyme nor reason as far as he could tell.
But then, Lucian mused, he'd never describe himself as the sort of man whose behaviour did well when measured against any established pattern.
He let his gaze fall onto another roadside cross adorned with--had that been a walnut tree wreath? Huh, these new generations were getting bolder with each passing year. Overcoming the superstitions of the past, cutting walnut trees, what was the world coming to, these days?
He didn't bother to suppress his enchanted chuckle.
"Don't worry, I'll be back with plenty of time for our date, darling," he intoned, still caught up by the invigorating nature of his reflections.
Melian's irritated huff brought his feet down to earth again, and, in a more serious tone, he took a stab at appeasing the man, and himself too, honestly.
"Maybe we can even see each other the day before, what do you say?"
He made some rapid calculations. His long absence was mostly on him for not having kept up with the changes carried out over the years. Today's ubiquitous technology was one more thing he had to look out for, so it had all boiled down to him choosing to travel in compliance with the mundane transport systems this time around, rather than appear out of thin air in a place that might no longer be as it once was. He could take a shortcut on the way back, though.
"Well, yeah, I'd like that, yes," Melian murmured back, and Lucian fancied he heard an accompanying flustered smile in the rushed words. But, of course, after a brief pause, the tone changed, and Melian, was soon asking, "But does that mean Marty was right, those plane tickets, you're not here, Lucian?"
Lucian did not like the hesitation with which Melian said his name one bit.
He swiftly backpedalled from his default attitude. It was as faithful to his character as it could be, which of course didn't mean that it was the right fit for them at this moment in time, all the same.
"Just checking that my memories photo album, if you will, is still intact after long years of neglect, that's all," he answered, and left it at that. Coming clean over the phone about an impromptu visit with the ghost of an old lover was probably not the best way for them to have this conversation.
Lucian let his gaze fall away from the town line already darkening the horizon of his windscreen. It was growing bigger by the second. All of a sudden, his destination seemed to be approaching all too fast, and the oppressing weight that Melian's presence had somewhat helped dispel was back, stronger than before.
"Is just that time of the year," he stated.
The realization had hit him soon after he'd parted ways with Melian, some thirty hours earlier, but right now, he wished the recognition didn't feel so much as an excuse as it did to his own ears.
Each way he turned, he was still feeling like he was bailing out of something, although he'd be hard-pressed to properly identify to what or to whom he owed this impression to. He couldn't even tell if it was in relation with his present or past ties.
What was for certain, though, was that the niggling at the back of his mind had taken on this looming, unavoidable quality, and he'd had no choice but to search for a way to satisfy it. The idea of this long-neglected trip had smacked hard him on the top of his head, pretty much the same way the town's skyline eating the kilometers in front of him was doing right at this moment, too, and he'd wasted no time in getting to it.
"I don't understand." Melian's voice cut through his ponderings.
Lucian nodded. "I'll explain it later on, Lian," he offered sincerely.
"Everything?" He was then shrewdly asked.
The comeback managed to elicit a faint ghost of a grin from Lucian, against all odds. "You'll have to be specific with your questions, of course."
It was Melian's turn to finally laugh. "Is there's something I need to do?" his young man prodded. "While you're not here. Should I worry about--"
"Nothing's changed, Lian," he quickly reassured, not willing to venture upon those matters, especially not when he was on the other side of the world from that particular hotbed of trouble. At last, the witches seemed poised on the brink of real revolution. Who would have thought it, right? "This is just a very short and wholly personal side trip, and I will tell you all about it once I return back home."
His tongue tripped a bit over the ‘home' part, but hopefully, it wasn't noticeable enough to draw more attention to it than it merited.
"I should've told you about it before embarking on the journey," he conceded, and frowned. "But this's been a..." Lucian searched for the word, his mind going back over the chain of events. "A spur of the moment kind of thing," he settled upon, with a wince.
He was unaccustomed to giving an account of his movements, anymore. If he'd ever been, at that.
"Fine then." At long last he was granted a reprieve, but the phone's speaker did nothing to mitigate the sigh accompanying this concession.
"There's nothing to worry about, Lian," he reiterated, truthfully.
Melian's only answer before the final click was a noncommittal, "Hmm."
End of the excerpt.
