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Stiyl enjoys reading books. Maybe, this is also one of the reasons why the adults at Necessarius call him “The Wonderkid”, despite him still being very young. His teacher would often brag about him.
Stiyl has just begun his life and he has already read so many books, with such meticulousness and devotion that he gained a great amount of knowledge about magic and its history, and such that he has mastered runic magic better than any other adult member of the organization. However, only a few people know that Stiyl is not only interested in books about magic.
The private library of St. George’s Cathedral, in London, owns a vast choice of volumes about various topics – however only few books deal with novels or made-up stories. For this reason, and with the permission of the Archbishop, he has also started to visit one of the public libraries in London and to buy the books he likes most. It’s a small reward for his diligence.
Now, he’s sitting on a bench in the inner courtyard of the cathedral, and he’s holding the last of the books he’s bought. It’s a poem centered on the ancient Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. Stiyl already knows this story thanks to another book he has already read months before, but he enjoyed it so much that he decided to buy this one as soon as he saw it in a bookshop.
He’s almost gone through half the poem when he hears small, muffled steps approaching behind him. He recognizes them.
He hasn’t known her for too long, but, by now, Stiyl has learned to recognize her presence without having to necessarily see her. After all, it’s his job to keep an eye on her.
“Hello Index” he says without turning around. He hears her stop immediately.
“How did you understand it was me?” the voice of the little nun is a high-pitched and delicate sound. It reminds him of the little bells usually attached to the Easter chocolate bunnies that adults give to the children of the Cathedral, or the ones that often decorate the Christmas wreaths.
“The only child dragging their feet like that here is you.” Answers Stiyl while he keeps reading. “You should learn to walk like a normal person.”
“It’s just that this gown is too long…” she mutters and then she sits next to him. Stiyl can clearly feel her gaze on him and the book he’s holding in his hands. “What are you reading?”
“A poem.”
“A poem… So is it like, a story?”
“Yeah.”
“And what is it about?”
“It’s a reinterpretation of an ancient Greek myth. It’s about a man who decides to embark on a journey to the Underworld to find the soul of his deceased lover and bring her back.”
Stiyl gently turns a page of the book. The melodious sound of the paper accompanies the sigh of wonder of the tiny nun.
“It sounds like a really fascinating story! I would really like to read it!” she says with clear enthusiasm in her voice.
“I don’t know if you’d like it. It doesn’t have a happy ending.”
Stiyl keeps his eyes on the book, while Index silently watches him. Actually, he’s not even reading the book – he couldn’t do it either way, with her sitting next to him and, from what he senses, wishing to spend some of her time with someone. He focuses on some words on the page without paying attention to them. Then he hears the rustling of her Walking Church, while she tries to sit more comfortably on the bench. Stiyl peeks at her out of the corner of his eye.
Index is sitting cross-legged, with her elbows on her knees and her chin resting on her hands. Some wild, silver hair strands are out of her headdress, dancing in harmony with the wind. She seems lost in her thoughts and boredom, her gaze lazily fixed ahead, towards the opposite side of the courtyard.
There are so many things Stiyl still doesn’t know about her: he doesn’t know how much her wish to make people happy pushes her to cast aside her own well-being, he doesn’t know about the crushing tiredness filling her mind and body – every day more oppressing, more difficult to ignore and to hide. The existence of someone like Index is a miracle, for Necessarius, and as such she must be protected and used at the best of her capacity.
Yet, now, in his eyes, Index looks just like a bored girl, a child who wants to get rid of that uncomfortable gown and put on clothes that children of her age should be allowed to wear – to be able to run and play in the meadows, or jump into puddles during rainy days. She’s just a twelve-years-old girl bringing a massive weight on her shoulders and locking corrupting and dark knowledge from another world in her mind – things that would be unbearable for Stiyl.
Stiyl – a child himself – turns towards her. Index notices him and turns towards him, as well.
“I would like to ask you a question” he begins, closing the book, but still keeping his hand between the pages he’s reading. “You possess a huge number of prohibited grimoires. We could say that is your role here, to collect them in your head. However… I don’t understand your relationship with books, in general. For example, you say that you want to read this book, here, but… Well, since you have to absorb so many books for Necessarius, I thought it would be tiring for you to even read extra ones. You would memorize them anyway. So… Isn’t reading boring for you?”
Stiyl thinks that if he was in her shoes, he wouldn’t love reading as much as he does now. To absorb dangerous grimoires is already exhausting per se, and if he was forced to do it, he would surely prefer to spend his time doing something else not involving books.
For a moment Stiyl could almost swear to have seen a different shine in Index’ green eyes – big and pretty like emeralds. She smiles.
“Why should I find books boring?” She stirs her back and folds her hands as if in prayer. “I like adventure tales and romantic novels! I’d really like to read something that doesn’t involve magic, for once. Even if the Archbishop and the adults often tell me not to read anything I shouldn’t memorize, I like to take a look at the Cathedral’s library and search for interesting stories. Once I even found a book completely illustrated! Incredible, isn’t it?”
Stiyl is pretty sure that Index’ enthusiasm got lit up for a comic book. Indeed, it is strange that she didn’t know of their existence before. Index closes her eyes and lifts her face towards the sky. Sunlight brightens her pink cheeks and pale forehead.
“I possess many grimoires, as you said. But I never really had a book I could call mine… as a person, and not as the Index Librorum Prohibitorum.”
For the first time, Index’ words make Stiyl’s heart clench. It’s strange, he thinks; he never felt such compassion for anyone else, before. It’s a feeling that pushes him to act in a way he thinks is right – to do something to comfort the anguished soul of a child who just wants to live her life. He slowly removes his hands from between the pages, carefully closes the book, and then he hands it to Index.
“I see. Well, if you really care this much… You can have this book.”
Immediately, Stiyl sees Index open her eyes, utter surprise on her face. The small nun looks at the book he’s offering to her and then at him again.
“But…” she whispers. “But… It’s yours…”
“Yes, it was mine. But I’m giving it to you, so it is yours. I know the story already, anyway.”
Now, Index seems to be speechless – but Stiyl doesn’t need to hear words, when he can see the whirlwind of emotions living in her heart right on her face. Her red cheeks adorning her pale, innocent face, her shiny eyes and parted lips all give her a genuine look, and he thinks she’s cute. Stiyl averts his eyes with embarrassment, feeling his face burning. To finally convince Index that yes, he’s gifting her the book, he searches in the internal pockets of his black robes and finds a pen. He opens the book’s first page and writes her name in capital letters.
INDEX
“Here” he hands her the book a second time. “Now it is officially yours. But I can’t guarantee that you’ll like the ending.”
Stiyl can’t hold in a smile when he sees Index’ face brighten even more and her lips widen with happiness. As she takes the book, their fingers touch for a second. Index studies it in her hands, kindly caressing the cover, and then opens it to the first page – where Stiyl wrote her name – to brush the paper with her small fingers. She looks at him. Stiyl has never seen a more beautiful tonality of green before.
“Thank you, Stiyl!”
III
It is a midsummer night. Stiyl is in his room and, despite it being already very late, he is unable to sleep. He put on his pajama, but his bed is still untouched. He’s sitting at his desk, with his elbow resting on it and his left hand holding her chin. He’s slowly leafing through the same poem that once belonged to the first Index he knew.
Almost two years have passed since the day he gifted her that book, and one year since she was forced to give up her memories to survive – mostly because she was the Index Librorum Prohibitorum. Shortly before that, her health became worse day by day, to the point that she couldn’t even stand up from the bed. Stiyl vividly remembers the warmth of her small hands holding to his with all its strength. She cried and cried because she did not want to forget him nor Kaori, and he was there – powerless in front of her pain, but repeating to her countless times a promise that he will never break.
“Index, I’ll always be with you. Even if you won’t remember me.”
Stiyl lingers on one of the notes that the no-longer existing Index once wrote on the pages of the book. Mostly, they were opinions, thoughts, or descriptions of her feelings next to underlined parts of the poem which, probably, she’d liked the most.
Sometimes, Stiyl likes to take a look at what that Index had once thought about the poem. He knew her favorite character was Orpheus, and that her favorite part was when he succeeds to make Persephone cry with the music of his lyre and to convince her to bring Eurydice back to the World of the Living. All the things she wrote only emphasize the fact that, after all, she was just a little girl – a girl that was happy to own a book just for her.
For some time now, Index’s health has become increasingly frail once again. After learning how bad extra notions are for her, Stiyl has always avoided to teach her unnecessary things – he often has to hide his notes about runic magic, because he knows she’d be curious about them. One year ago, immediately after the ritual to delete her memories, he resorted to all his strength to bear the pain of taking the book he gifted her away from her room, before she could take it and find out her name on the front page and all the notes her old self wrote. The new Index never knew she’d owned a book like she always had wanted.
In a few days, her new memories will be deleted once again, and he will have to see her die and revive for the second time.
While these thoughts fill his mind, Stiyl feels his heart sink in misery and pain. He doesn’t know if he can stand it another time; he doesn’t know if he will be able to look again into the despair in her teary eyes; he doesn’t know how many times he will be forced to do it – to take her happiness away from her just like he did with that poem, and to wait for the moment when she will look at him and ask: “who are you?”.
Someone knocks at the door.
Stiyl – already wound up like a spring – shudders in his seat. For one moment he thinks that he might have imagined it, but then he hears knocking again. While he lazily stands up, he wonders who could possibly want him this late in the night.
When he opens the door, he is surprised to see the small white figure looking at him with her big emerald eyes.
“Index?” he says worried, but keeping his voice low. “What are you doing here? You should not even stand up from your bed!” he scolds her, but Index does not really seem to care that much.
“Stiyl… I can’t sleep…” She whispers, joining her hands. “Can I stay with you just a little bit? Pretty please?”
At any other time, he would have told her to go back to her room – that she should rest in her current state, and that she shouldn’t do any efforts. Yet, in that moment, his mouth doesn’t let any word out, even if it’s open. She’s there, in front of him, looking at him with tiredness and exhaustion. He perfectly knows that she’s trying to convince him with her big, pretty eyes, and he also knows that she’s doing a huge effort to stand there, even if she’s trying her best not to show it.
Stiyl sighs. He takes a peek at the corridor to see if someone else is there, then he looks back at the small nun in front of him. He would be a hypocrite if he did not admit to himself that he’s not doing it just because she asked him to.
Because if he could control time, then he would stop it to stay with this Index forever.
“Fine. But just for a short time! And then, you have to go back to bed. Okay?”
“Thank you, Stiyl!”
Index’s sweet smile makes him skip a heartbeat. Stiyl mutters something incomprehensible, while he closes the door of his room behind her, once she gets in. He asks her to sit wherever she’d feel most comfortable, and she chooses his bed. He goes back to sit at his desk, forgetting about the book on it.
Index looks around with a relaxed smile, moving her legs back and forth – she’s so small that her feet don’t touch the ground. Stiyl thinks about what he could possibly tell her, but he doesn’t even have time to open his mouth when Index interrupts him.
“What were you reading?”
Once again Stiyl’s heart skips a beat. It’s incredible how easily this girl can pull the strings of his heart, and in so little time.
“Nothing that could possibly be of your interest” he says, taking the book away from her view. He sees Index’s face sadden a bit.
“How do you know it won’t interest me?” she answers, almost annoyed. Nevertheless, her lips curve immediately once again in a smile. “Oh, let’s do this! What if you read it out loud for me?”
“I’m pretty sure you already know the story, and also… You know very well that I can’t do it.”
Even though the book is, by now, well rooted into the large library in Index’s mind, there could still be some risks to give her additional useless information through the listening of Stiyl reading the book. It would only hurt her more.
Index sighs, unhappy.
“What a pity… you never wanted me to read your books. But… I would really like to know what you like to read, until I can. I guess it’s beautiful to own an adventure book that you can read!”
Until I can.
The girl in front of him looks at him with her usual happy and light-hearted smile on her lips, but Stiyl knows very well that sadness and fear reign within her – her fear to lose herself forever. There are only a few days left until the ritual, until the moment her fear will become reality. Stiyl clenches his fists. It’s useless to overthink about how unfair this is, about how much pain she bears within her, about how much he’d love to take all the weight she carries on her shoulders and put it on his, even though she’d complain about it. It seems that the only way to pacify her tormented soul and to ease her pain a little bit is on his desk. Stiyl knows how much she really cares.
“I can’t read out loud the whole book. It would take all night long, and both of us need to rest. Also, it is probably in your head already. But, if that’s fine for you… I could still try to tell you the story. But I can’t guarantee that you’ll like the ending.”
Index’s eyes shine once again. She joins her hands in prayer with enthusiasm.
“Ah… Stiyl, really? I mean – yes, please! I would be very happy!”
This time, she shows a truthful smile. Stiyl can’t hold a smile himself; it’s the last memories she’ll have of him, after all. When the tiny nun waves at him to ask him to sit next to her, he ignores the warmth burning on his cheeks and silently accepts her request. Then, he begins to tell her about the heartbreaking story of Orpheus’ love for Eurydice and of his tormented journey through the Realm of the Dead.
When Stiyl finishes, he gives her a look. He sees her worried eyes – probably because of the sad ending of the story – but before Stiyl can even think he’s done a mistake to tell her that story instead of a happier one, she smiles at him enthusiastically. The fact itself that Stiyl really told a story from one of his books to her chases away any negative thought or feeling from her heart.
“Thank you so much, Stiyl! Even though I already knew about this story, I truly enjoyed to hear it from you! The part when Orpheus plays the lyre for Persephone to move her heart is definitely my favorite one! But it truly is a pity that the story had a sad ending… If only Orpheus didn’t turn towards Eurydice when she called him, they’d be together again!”
Stiyl prefers not to delve into the numerous studies and theories about the meaning of Orpheus’ choice, nodding instead to show that he agrees with her. However, he feels a deep, insisting anguish making its way into his heart and his mind; the words coming out from his lips are faint, yet clear enough for Index to hear them.
“And that’s it, the last memory he has of her. Her soul disappearing in front of his helpless eyes.”
Just like Index, and just like me.
What else can be the loss of one’s own memories if not death itself?
The girl slowly stops moving her legs back and forth. Realizing what he’s just said, Stiyl shakes his head and moves to stand up, but before he can do it, he feels Index’s small hand clenching on the sleeve of his shirt.
“Stiyl… Would you follow me into Hell?”
He doesn’t even need to think about his answer.
“Next time, I won’t turn. I promise you, Index.”
III
Sunsets are Stiyl’s favorite part of the day. Wherever he is, and if his missions give him enough time, he never misses one. Actually, right now is the perfect time to enjoy the sunset beauty; after all, he’s not necessarily needed anymore – he knows that now there is that despicable guy anyway to take care of the task he once had to fulfill full-time.
The sorcerer slightly shakes his head to chase away that annoying thought constantly tormenting him. No – this evening is for himself alone, without idiots with spiky hair who make his blood boil and archbishops with confusing intentions who send him on missions all around the world. Now Stiyl is far away from London crowds and rush hour traffic, and he is finally allowed to relax in front of the setting sun of Academy City.
Sitting on a bench along the river banks, Stiyl lazily looks at the pylons in the distance, the wind turbines giving energy to the city, the skyscrapers, the airships and that thing they’re still building – a thin building that stands out very high in the sky. Then he looks at his hands on his lap – hands covered in rings, hands not belonging to a fourteen years-old boy. He doesn’t look like a fourteen years old boy: it seems like his body was forced to grow up along with his soul. He had to grow up quickly.
Stiyl inhales to take another drag to the cigarette in between his lips and then he sighs. He searches through the folds of his black coat until he finds the book that, by now, he always brings with him.
Because that is the only thing he has left of Index. His Index.
The book is not that old and doesn’t have yellowed pages, however it doesn’t even have the look of a brand-new book: the cover is a bit wrinkled and the print on it is also a bit damaged. Additionally, there are old notes left on some pages inside.
Stiyl opens the book to the first page – he always opens it like this, to see her name still written on it. Then, he leafs through it until he reaches the pages where he’d stopped reading the previous time. Sure, by now he knows the poem by heart, since he periodically re-reads it – but every time he discovers something new, be it the meaning of something or a detail in the writing.
The sorcerer calmly begins his reading. However, he doesn’t even go past two pages when he suddenly hears a very familiar voice in the distance. It makes him unwillingly wince.
“Sphynx!”
A tiny calico cat runs fast towards him. The delicate sound of the little bell hanging around its neck brings back an old memory in Stiyl’s mind – a memory of when both him and his first Index had a moment to feel like children in a lazy summer day, sitting in the inner courtyard of Saint George’s Cathedral. That sweet memories merges together with the voice of that tiny nun in white robes, panting and chasing the kitten.
It’s the same voice, but it sounds so different.
Not even thinking twice, the cat jumps on the bench where Stiyl is sitting, then stops and sits next to him, licking its paws. The young sorcerer gives it a glimpse and sighs. It really looks like the cat chose that sitting spot among many others on purpose.
The sound of the girl’s steps echoes in the air, fast at first, until it stops. Stiyl keeps his gaze on the book, trying to appear calm, but he perfectly knows that its real owner is standing in front of him.
“Ah… But you are…”
Index stops – she doesn’t say his name. Indeed, she’s never done it since her third awakening. After all, for her, he’s just the evil sorcerer that wanted to hurt her.
As if tired of its efforts to escape its owner and eager to be cuddled, the cat approaches Stiyl to sniff his hand and to convince him to kindly place it on its tiny head. How bold of you, he thinks, irritated. It’s because of that cat if he finds himself all alone in front of the greatest regret and failure of his entire life.
“It’s getting dark. You should go back home.” He just says.
He almost gives in a smile when he hears the tiny nun puff loudly. Even though he’s not looking at her yet, he’s sure that she put her hands on her waist like she usually does when she is annoyed.
“I’m not a child! I perfectly know how to preserve myself.” She says, irritated. He understands her; anyone holding tons of prohibited, world-destroying dangerous grimoires in their mind would be deeply annoyed to be underestimated.
A brief silence grows among the two, while he keeps reading. Stiyl has finally surrendered to the silent requests of the calico cat, who now dozes languidly next to him, enjoying his lazy cuddles.
He feels them – her big emerald, curious eyes on him and on the book. The same book she never knew she owns.
“What are you reading?”
This time Stiyl is not worried at all – he doesn’t have reasons to, after finding out that the limits of her dearest friend’s mind were just lies and that there is no unnecessary knowledge that could potentially harm her. Index is free now – and so is her rampant, innocent curiosity. Nevertheless, when she asks him that question, he feels his heart clench.
“A poem.” he answers, controlling his voice.
“A poem?” she repeats, taken by her curiosity. It almost seems like she doesn’t care anymore about her personal spite towards the same sorcerer who haunted her for one whole year. He hears the rustling of her white robe and imagines she’s just crossed her arms to her chest.
“I’ll be honest. I confess that you looked more like that kind of person who always and only reads about magic, to me.”
This time Stiyl doesn’t hold back, when a smile appears on his face and his lips let out the hint of a laughter. He brings a hand to his mouth and holds the cigarette between his fingers, then he puts it out against the metal of the bench. He knows how much she’s annoyed by cigarette smoke.
“And you? Do you like reading?”
Index doesn’t wait longer than one second to answer. Her happy voice reminds him once again of the little bell hanging around her cat’s neck.
“I really like comic books! I read lots of them at Touma’s house, you know? I like adventure tales and romantic novels!” she says enthusiastically. “But I have to admit that I wouldn’t mind to read a book like the one you have there, sometimes. Of course, I have sooo many in my mind already, but to read a book… normally, to linger on the words and on the character’s actions… well, it’s satisfying.”
While he hears her speak, Stiyl slowly closes the book on his lap. He lingers once again on the cover: one of the corners is damaged. Stiyl slides his fingers on the scratches and bumps suggesting the passing of time. He sighs.
It’s time to turn the page.
“You can start with this, if you want.”
With his arm stretched towards her to hand her the book, Stiyl finally looks at her, his heart racing faster and faster. Her beautiful eyes, shining like jewels, are focused on the book. Surprise is painted all over her childish face – the face of a young girl who can finally live like one.
“Huh?” she stutters.
“I’m pretty sure you know this story, already. But you might find something interesting, in here.”
“But- what about you? Weren’t you reading it?”
“I’ve read it many times already. You can take it.”
Index raises her head and, finally, their eyes meet. Her beautiful eyes sparkle like stars, giving in the excitement of receiving something she considers precious as a present. But she doesn’t know that Stiyl is not only gifting her paper and inked words; he’s offering her his dearest memories, a part of his heart, and all the love he ever had and will always have for her.
He’s giving her back something that she’s lost forever.
Her hesitation dissolves in thin air when Stiyl shows her the sweetest smile he never thought he could ever be capable of. But before she could take the book in her hands, the sorcerer speaks again.
“But you better go home to read it. Alright?”
This time, Index doesn’t snort, nor protests. She just nods, and Stiyl wonders what she’s thinking about. It seems like his kind behavior left her puzzled.
When Index takes the book, their hands touch for a second. The sorcerer gives the cat sleeping next to him a last pat – then, he stands up and starts walking away, taking another cigarette from the pocket of his coat. Behind him, he hears how Index’s fingers gently flip through the pages of the poem. The sound of paper fades away as he walks further away.
“Wait!”
Stiyl stops. He knows that Index is watching him, but he doesn’t turn.
“I… Thank you.”
He smiles again. He lights up the cigarette between his lips with the tip of his index finger.
Next time, I won’t turn.
“I can’t guarantee that you’ll like the ending.”
Stiyl starts walking again, between one cigarette drag and the other, leaving the person he loves most in the world behind. He made her a promise in the past, and he has no intention of withdrawing.
After all, he already lives in Hell for her. He just learned how to master it.