Page 28 of Gift from the Tree

“It is on purpose because you have no control and no idea what you’re doing. Hence why you’ll spend the week learning as much as you can from Gaster, then you’ll be in classes next week,” he commands as he turns on his heel and leaves the room without another word or look toward me. I catch Tillman’s eyes, searching to see if he’ll finally speak to me or not. He doesn’t. After a moment, he turns and walks out as well.

“Well, looks like it’s just me and you, Gaster. Let’s go,” I say as I blow out a frustrated breath and run my hands through my hair.

Our walk to his home takes forever even though it’s on the same land as the big-ass mansion I’m currently staying in with the four assholes. Well, three assholes. I can’t really deem Draken an asshole yet.

Tucked away in the trees, Gaster’s cottage is big for it to only be him living here, but it’s homier and reminds me of a house right out of a fairy tale. Beautiful dark hardwood floors flow through the open space, with windows that let lots of natural lighting in. He has candles, stones, gems, plants, books. Anything I’d think to see in a fairy-tale story, I’m pretty sure he has here. It’s clean and neat, but obviously lived in and loved. I could crawl up on his couch under the window and go right to sleep. But alas, we apparently have work to do.

“What do you feel more comfortable starting with, Willow? A little history lesson or trying to look into the Memoria stone?” Gaster asks, offering me a choice. It may be a small choice, but I doubt he realizes how much it means to me that instead of telling me what we’re going to do, he gives me a choice to make on my own.

“Maybe a little of both. I’d like to know what’s going on with me and this stone, but maybe you can give me some more information on it before we dive right into it.”

Gaster walks over to his desk and starts collecting books and parchments that are rolled up, then brings them to where we’re sitting in the living room. He must’ve already started his search when he realized what my necklace was.

“Like I’ve said, this type of stone is extremely rare, so there’s only so much research on it, but from what I know and what I’ve gathered already, it’s a stone as old as Elementra herself and not completely understood other than what I’ve told you. I believe that someone, probably the person who left it for you, bound your abilities and some of your memories to try to keep you safe,” he tells me gently.

“Well, they sure as shit failed at that, Gaster. I was in danger every day of my life at the estate. I never knew if I was going to wake up the next day or not.” I scoff.

Way to make this a sad fucking moment, Willow.

“I’m sorry, Gaster. I didn’t mean to bring that up or make this awkward. Please continue,” I say shamefully. I don’t want to come across as weak or as a victim. I never have and never will. I didn’t allow Donald to break me and I sure as shit am not going to let this new world take me down in just a day.

“I don’t have any more information than that to give you, but I’ll continue to search my personal records and the archives at the academy. I think we should see if I can pick up anything from the stone directly, if you are okay with it.”

What if all hell breaks loose again and it’s just us here and I hurt Gaster?

Reading the direction my mood is taking, Gaster grabs my hand gently. “You won’t hurt me, Willow. I may be an old man, but I promise you I can handle myself.”

I chuckle at him because for an “old man,” Gaster’s a badass in my book. I pull my necklace out and lay it over my chest. I’m not willing to take it off, but whatever he needs to do, he can do while I wear it.

“I’m just going to hold it in my hand and see what I can pick up from it. Are you ready?”

I nod, too nervous to speak out loud.

When Gaster grips the stone, he begins to speak quietly in a different language, and the stone vibrates through the chain around my neck, but that’s all it does. He lets go of it and huffs out a frustrated breath.

“Why did you tell the stone to open?” I ask curiously. He said more than that, but the gist of it was to open.

“How did you understand what I said, Willow?” Gaster swings his eyes up to meet mine, shock evident across his face.

It takes me a minute to understand his question before it clicks. How did I understand that language he was speaking?

“I have no clue. I don’t know any different languages, especially whatever it was you were just speaking. It didn’t sound like anything I’ve ever heard before.”

We both sit staring at each other in shock. I try to rack my brain for where I could’ve learned a whole other language, but I’m coming up empty. I wasn’t allowed to go to college, so everything I’ve learned since high school was self-taught through my own readings and curious nature, and I know for a fact, I didn’t teach myself a language then forgot about it.

“What did you pick up from it?” I ask, focusing back on problem number one. We’ll add me knowing another language to my list of problems going on right now.

“It’s bound with a personal spell. I’m not going to be able to unlock it with a spell of my own making,” he disappointedly admits.

“What do you mean bound? What’s a personal spell?” I question his entire statement.

“Bound means it’s locked up, restrained. We can charm our stones with spells, such as a poem or saying, of our own making, usually something with a lot of personal meaning to us. This allows us to be the only ones who can access the power we’ve put into the stone to work. It’s a safety mechanism to keep others from taking advantage. Whoever meant for you to have this, bound whatever’s being stored within it with a personal enchantment spell.”

My heart pounds, and my mind races, fear and excitement fighting for dominance in my body right now. With everything happening around me, I’m going to end up having a heart attack from the ups and downs and information overloads that keep coming my way. Swallowing, trying not to throw up everywhere, I watch as Gaster stares at my necklace and runs his hand down his beard in thought.

Clearing my throat, I whisper, “You…you mean like a lullaby? Like a lullaby you don’t know where you learned it from, but know it by heart?”

Wide blue eyes meet mine just as I close them, and with the Memoria stone in my clutches, I begin singing in my mind. The lullaby I’ve sung probably a million times since I was six years old. Never knowing where it came from but basking in the comfort it’s always brought me.

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