Chapter Thirty-five:
Eventually, I regained consciousness, my spirit gradually returning to my broken body. I heard murmuring voices as through a fog, felt the pain of a metal knife slitting my wrist, sturdy fingers holding it still, healing the wound as abruptly as it had come. I breathed shallowly, my hands barely feeling the cloth beneath my skin. The absence of pain in my chest and limbs surprised me, for I remembered the fiery cuts of the stone knife ripping my body apart.
Somehow, the sorcery of the ritual had repaired the injuries to an extent not humanly possible. A fleeting memory crossed my brain, an image of my Opa Hobart, who had quadruple bypass surgery several years before I embarked on my adventures with the Torstein. It had taken him months to recover, weeks to feel no pain. Yet here I lay, still as a corpse, having undergone a surgery far more complex . . . sensing no pain in my chest or limbs, just an overwhelming weakness that pinned me to the bench.
I heard Augustin’s voice addressing the crowd, stating rather impassively that my blood now stood at ninety-six percent Teutonic and Freia’s matched mine exactly. My lips began to form a feeble smile at this news. An animated murmur raced through the audience, and I heard my master speak the closing words with an air of finality: “It is done.”
So it worked. Freia and I both survived. We’re Teutons joined forever by blood. I wondered whether my blood would still be ninety-six percent Teutonic once I returned to the future. Technically, time travelers returned unchanged from their adventures, yet I had read something that made me contemplate . . . though I could not recall where or what.
There was a bit of commotion around me, murmured phrases in a language I did not understand—Rhenisch, I realized, Augustin and Freia. Thus far I had not opened my eyes, working instead on gathering my strength, overcoming the weakness of profuse blood loss. Freia’s blood flowed through my veins now along with my own, and I imagined that I could detect a difference, a new vitality.
I felt the heat of the noonday sun upon my naked flesh, and I flexed my fingers slightly. It was time to live again, to push aside those awful memories of drowning in my own blood, of Wuotan’s hands upon my spirit, pushing me toward the gates of time. Augustin had given me a second chance.
When I opened my eyes, blinking against the bright rays of the sun, I saw my savior’s face hovering above me, his blue eyes aglow with concern. I stared at him in adoration, disregarding the blinding sun. My lips parted, but I found that I could not speak as I looked into his mesmerizing eyes, their beauty rivaling that of the ocean. “Can you get up?” he asked me quietly, his gaze roving once over my naked body before focusing on my face.
I still could not speak. I stared at my master desperately, silently longing for him more than ever before. I wanted to feel his powerful arms around me, granting me their strength. He pulled me back from death . . . and he argued with Wuotan for my life . . . I love him . . . he loves me . . . .
My heart throbbed with yearning, and Augustin’s lips twisted into a discontented frown as he leaned down to wrap my exposed body with the cloth. “You need not fear anymore, Swanhilde,” he told me while he wound the fabric around me, taking my head in his hands when he had finished. “The blood-transfer is done, and it was successful. Both you and Freia are now ninety-six percent Teutonic.”
My eyes tore themselves from his face at last, rolling to the right, where my best friend had lain. “Freia?” I choked, my voice barely audible.
“She is fine. I helped her off of the platform. She likely washes herself now, in the basin of water that has been brought from the well. You need to do the same before the blood dries on your skin. You do not want to irritate your wounds, my darling.” The touch of his hands upon my face sent my hormones racing.
I did not know whether I could manage to stand yet, so I simply gazed at him, ordering my voice to break free from the weakness. “You . . . saved me.”
He scooped me into his arms, a wry smile spreading across his face. “Yes, I did.” A hint of triumph appeared in his eyes.
“You . . . argued . . . with Wuotan.” I could not think of what to say, how to express my amazement at the boundlessness of his love.
“You heard.” His smile grew a trifle sneaky.
“‘I love you too much . . . to let you die . . . this way.’” I breathlessly repeated what he had said when he had pulled me back to the river of agony, that magnificent promise that had carried me through the final moments of pain.
He smiled at me tenderly and traced my lips with the fingers of his right hand. “I suppose I should be angry with you, for almost taking yourself away from me like that. But now, as I stand with your living body in my arms, I feel only relief . . . and gratitude.”
He paused, having carried me off of the platform to the walls of the enclosure, behind which I could hear Freia splashing water over herself. “You must not do this to me again, Swanhilde, no matter how attached you become to some foreigner. I cannot bargain with Wuotan indefinitely for your soul. I feared today that he would refuse me, that I would have to leap through those gates behind you, though it would kill me.” Distress clouded his face, and he held me closer.
The passion in his words struck my heart, and I leaned my head against his chest. “Augustin . . . I want to stay with you,” I moaned. Forever after, anytime I faced death, I would return for him, if he called me.
He fingered my lips again, desire burning in his eyes. “And you must,” he crooned, “you must stay with me . . . for without you . . . I have no hope.”
He set me carefully upon my feet a moment later, hovering over me while I steadied myself. I realized that most of the weakness had finally left me. My blood coursed strong and fast, and I needed to find Freia, to welcome her into the companionship of the Teutons. “Once you have cleaned yourself and dressed, both of you should return straight home to rest and regain your strength, to allow your new blood to run its full course,” Augustin advised.
I nodded at him, then remembered that I had planned to meet Joel for dinner once he got out of work at Vespers. Freia had pledged to do the same with Heinrich Denlinger. Both of them would want to make certain of our survival, and both of us would have to argue one last time for them to cancel their plans for the next day. “We’ll go back, but we have to eat dinner with Joel and Heinrich first,” I told Augustin, my voice finally sounding normal.
His expression grew slightly caustic. “Of course. Perhaps now that you and Freia have experienced the blood-transfer yourselves, you may be able to convince those foolish boys to reconsider. I highly doubt that my brother shall go to such lengths to preserve their lives, should one or both of them choose the path of death, like you did.” Augustin eyed me scornfully.
“You’re probably right.” I shivered once at the thought. “We’re certainly going to try, but I doubt they’ll listen.” Augustin smirked and turned to go.
I took a step forward, reaching one hand out to him from underneath the red cloth. “Augustin . . . .”
He halted, and I thought fast, unsure what I needed to ask of him, what I desperately wanted of him. When he turned slowly to face me, a glorious demon ensconced in black, I choked out the words, “When will I . . . see you again?”
“Tomorrow,” he answered without hesitation, his eyes glittering with expectation. “I never miss a blood-transfer, Swanie, for there is always something to be learned from such ghastly ceremonies. You shall see me there.”
I sighed in relief, though part of me could hardly stand to wait that long. By then I would be completely distracted by Joel’s mad act of bravery, unable to discuss the events of today in detail . . . ending with my master’s valiant dash to save my life. How could I possibly love Joel if this wicked priest would throw such things in a demon’s face, disregarding his own soul for mine?
“Augustin . . . .” I gasped when he turned from me again, “I . . . I . . . thank you . . . for . . . saving me.” The words were horribly insufficient.
He stopped his retreat and flew to my side, his fiery eyes staring into mine as he whispered thickly, “I would pull you back from death a thousand times and again . . . my love.” And he kissed me, his arms completely enveloping me in black, our lips taking each other’s hungrily, a playful striving of fire and ice, inestimable glory. When he parted from me, returning to the platform to clean up the mess, I ran my tongue across my lips, wishing to taste Augustin forever, whatever the cost.
Freia and I met Joel and Heinrich on the front steps of the ironworks at the first bells for Vespers, both of them bubbling over with excitement at the success of our blood-transfer. We spent most of the afternoon recovering in the count’s carriage, sipping wine and consuming the crackers and fruit, marveling at the lack of pain from our healing wounds, recalling the deep red scabs we had seen on our bodies when we washed. Jarvis drove us to the ironworks shortly before the end of the workday; he and the count returned to the Meldorf estate afterward. The count ordered his servant to bring each of us a horse for the journey back home after we shared dinner with our respective lovers, and Jarvis promised to tether them outside the Denlinger house for our use.
Dinner was festive, though short, the entire Denlinger family present at the table, including Heinrich’s sick father. It was the first time I had met the elder Master Denlinger, a gray-haired ghost of a man who coughed frequently, his skin yellow with illness. Despite his obviously poor health, he conducted himself like a model gentleman, congratulating Freia and me on the victory of our blood-transfer, welcoming Freia into the sphere of the Teutons. Heinrich’s three sisters chattered with us constantly. They asked all sorts of questions about the blood-transfer while their mother ordered them to be still, stating that such discussions were not fit for the dinner table. Once the meal ended, Joel and I went outside for a private chat while Freia accosted Heinrich. Twilight had already begun to descend, but I was determined to try one final time to dissuade my naïve companion.
“Okay,” I began, speaking English as we sat upon the Denlingers’ stoop, “I have a lot to say and no time to say it, so you’d better get ready to listen.”
“I’m ready, but first, can I ask one question?” I sighed impatiently, and Joel leaned forward on the steps, placing his hands between his knees. I noticed that his fingers appeared a lot more limber after almost a year of hard work at the foundry. Beneath the sleeves of his brown tunic, his arms also looked impressive. But that’s nothing compared with . . . .
“I was wondering why that executioner officiated your blood-transfer. I thought it was supposed to be the Prince.”
Of course he would have to bring that up. “Well, that’s kind of a long story,” I hedged, trying to come up with a decent excuse for Augustin’s involvement. I had kept my dealings with the eldest Bayern brother a secret from Joel following that organ concert of mine; he had no clue about the relationship we had nurtured in the shadows. At last, I admitted part of the truth.
“As it turns out, the Teutonic blood-transfer is, like I said, the most dangerous ritual known to our people, because it involves Wuotan directly. Augustin von Bayern doesn’t cringe back from devilish rituals like most of the priests around here, so Freia and I decided that it would be smarter to let him perform the ceremony.” Before Joel could speculate on this, I added sharply, “And we were right, because in case you didn’t notice, we both survived, which happens less than ten percent of the time.”
Joel made a snorting sound, then shrugged. “I guess that’s good, but I have to say, seeing him up there ripping you to shreds really scared me to death. The whole time, he looked like he wanted to eat your flesh, seriously.”
I rolled my eyes. “The Prince will probably look at you and Heinrich the same way tomorrow, assuming you haven’t had a spark of intelligence and decided not to do it. The priest has to be merciless for the blood-transfer in order for it to work. And Joel, you really, really need to reconsider. Honestly. You have no idea what you’re about to do . . . I didn’t know . . . until today.” My voice cracked, my lips quivering as I searched for words to explain my newfound horror.
Joel looked into my eyes, his face troubled. He put his left arm around my shoulders and pulled me close to him. “Tell me what it is, Swanie.”
I drew a shaky breath, then met his gaze as I spilled my story. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever done in my entire life. It was worse than watching my brother die, and for years I thought that was the worst pain possible. This was beyond the bounds of earth. In the beginning, I thought it wouldn’t be so bad . . . when they put that stuff in your eyes to blind you, it’s uncomfortable but not unbearable. Even the first cuts, the fire and stone . . . even those weren’t so terrible . . . at first. But once the priest finishes cutting you . . . that’s when the horror begins . . . when your soul leaves your body—”
“Wait a minute,” Joel interrupted as I shuddered at the memory of forsaking my body with no elemental protection, “are you saying that your soul actually leaves your body . . . for this ritual?” His face looked slightly nauseated. “That’s not possible . . . according to the Bible . . . for to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord . . . our souls can’t do that.”
“The souls of outsiders can’t,” I corrected, wondering how to properly deal with this issue. “You know about the powers of the Teutons. You’ve mentioned the elements and the blood control. Well, one of the other things Teutons can do is to separate their souls from their bodies, leaving their elements behind . . . and that’s what makes this blood-transfer really dangerous. I think it may be Wuotan himself who pulls the soul from the body . . . without protection.”
Joel drew back from me, his expression disturbed. “This is more serious than I thought,” he muttered, a bit of uncertainty crossing his features. He glanced toward the pair of horses tethered not far away, his lips twisting into a grimace.
“It’s far more serious than anyone thinks,” I agreed, warming to the subject now. “Wuotan pulls your soul from your body and plunges it into a river of fiery blood, and when you’re there, you can’t think of anything else. You feel like you’re drowning in blood and burning in the flames of hell at the same time. You can’t remember what life was like before you ended up there, because the pain is so terrible. You want it to end somehow, anyhow, even if it means death. That’s the danger, the worst aspect of the blood-transfer. Once you think you’ve been in that horrid blood and fire for all of eternity, you’ll take any way out, no matter who offers it. And Wuotan is the one who will come to you, offering you relief. But his definition of relief is death, not success.”
Joel gawked at me when I paused for breath, fingering his beard nervously. “Did he . . . did Wuotan . . . do that to you?” He sounded horrified.
No reason to deny it. “Yes, he did,” I said, drawing my arms tightly around my body at that dreadful memory. “And I thought I was ready. I thought I knew enough to refuse him. But by then, all I wanted was relief, an escape from that bloody torment, a quenching of that fire eating my spirit. So I believed him. It was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. He dragged me from the blood too soon and shoved me toward the gates of time.”
Joel gasped at this admission, his hazel eyes bulging. “You mean . . . you saw those gates . . . the ones we jumped through to get here?”
“I did . . . and I couldn’t turn around, even though I tried.”
“You nearly went home to Beth,” Joel murmured, a faraway look in his eyes. “I wonder how she’ll react if I return home with Teuton blood like you.”
“She’ll probably try to convince me to offer my blood for her. She’s already tried that before.” I cringed. “But I could never do the blood-transfer again, not for her or anyone else. It’s going to infiltrate my nightmares for years, I think.”
Joel held his peace for a while, and I chewed on my lip at the thought of my cousin learning that I had done the very thing I had urged her not to do ever since I had first told her about my Teuton blood. She would doubtless feel betrayed. If the ritual succeeded tomorrow, and Joel achieved the magic she longed for . . . .
“If you were so close to those gates, how did you manage to come back?” Joel’s question brought me back to the present, though now I feared the results of the upcoming blood-transfer either way.
I sighed at his query and kept my answer as simple as possible. “Augustin pulled me back, because he has some sway with saving Teutons from death. That’s another reason you shouldn’t do this tomorrow, Joel,” I declared, nodding at him significantly. “You and Heinrich are planning on having Prince Otto officiate, and he doesn’t dabble in heathenry. If Wuotan decides to kill one of you, he’s not going to do anything to stop him. You’re going to have to save yourselves, and believe me, it’s nigh impossible when you’re drowning in that burning blood.”
Joel sighed, his eyes studying the darkening sky. Freia appeared in the doorway a moment later, speaking her farewells to Heinrich. Joel and I stood and stepped onto the street to give them some privacy, pointing our feet toward the horses Jarvis had brought. “If Heinrich hasn’t changed his mind, I’m still going to do it,” Joel said when we halted beside the tan mare. “I want to be a Teuton no matter the cost, and if both of us resolve to not listen to Wuotan, we should be fine.”
He took my face in his hands and leaned down to kiss my lips. His gentleness inspired nothing in my bound heart. The selfish part of me thought that it might not be so bad if the ritual killed him tomorrow. Then Augustin and I could go ahead with our plan to bleed Paulus and flee this era for good.
After Freia and I mounted our horses, I faced Joel one final time. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow at Sext,” I said in parting.
“No, actually the Prince moved the time to None.” I started in surprise, this news taking me off guard. “He sent a message to Heinrich while we were working this afternoon, saying he has other business to accomplish first,” Joel explained. “That might make things better for us, since most of the trades don’t stop on Saturdays. There may not be such a big crowd.”
I frowned thoughtfully, recognizing the truth of this. Maybe Freia and I could get a better view with fewer people in the crowd, since as women we would be confined to the outskirts. Despite my misgivings, I was insatiably curious about what the blood-transfer would look like as a spectator. I had not really seen much of it thanks to the blindness. We parted ways from our respective counterparts shortly thereafter, guiding our horses toward the eastern gate of Muniche.
When Freia and I undressed for bed later that night, I stood at the mirror for a long while viewing my naked body by candlelight, tracing my fingers down the scabs on my chest, legs, and arms. Augustin had said on Tuesday that they would soon fade to scars, the edges of which would vanish with time. But he said that the four lines closest to the heart would remain as permanent reminders of our ultimate act of friendship. I wondered if those would disappear in the currents of time, or if I would have Freia with me always.
The two of us dabbed a poultice of herbs mixed with silver oak leaves onto our scabs before crawling into bed. Gretchen had recommended it to quicken the healing process. I came to sit beside my best friend on her bed once we had clothed ourselves in our nightgowns and snuffed most of our candles. “I want to see something,” I told her seriously, looking into her beautiful green eyes. “Don’t move.”
I focused on my ice, bringing it forth from my spirit while she watched me, reaching out to her, seeking . . . and I found a glowing warmth, a radiant luminosity brighter than the sun, pulsing with Teutonic life. I smiled, calming my element, and met Freia’s gaze. “So you are light.”