Chapter Thirty-eight:
A dawning light crept through the stained glass windows of Muniche’s cathedral, casting the nave in morning’s brightening glow while the blue flames upon the candles faded. I lay unmoving upon the altar as the sun’s rays colored my flushed face, my husband’s clothing and mine bunched between my aching back and the wood. Augustin’s muscular body held mine to our makeshift bed, his razor-sharp teeth locked upon my throat, drinking my life for the thousandth time since our final passion had begun.
I had not slept a wink the entire night. Desperation had kept me awake to savor my last moments with Augustin. Muniche’s bonds hampered my satisfaction, leaving me unable to enjoy my husband like I had just one night before. But I had worked to thrust my city’s pains into a back corner of my mind and concentrate on the love I felt for Augustin, my determination to cling to him fiercely, come what may—just as Prince Otto had always pined for Kezia, his chosen love.
The sounds of shouting and vandalism broke the serenity of the cathedral as the sun rose, marking the concluding tones of medieval Muniche’s symphony. My husband released my throat, his light blue eyes burning with desire. He ran his tongue across his lips, consuming all traces of my blood before leaning down to kiss me. I closed my eyes when his fire met my ice, tenderness taking the place of brutal passion at last, his tongue like wine in my parched mouth.
“Oh Swanie,” Augustin groaned softly, “I fear the final act has come.”
“It’s true,” I whispered, for I felt it in my soul—the wracking death throes of my city piercing me afresh, depleting my vitality faster than Augustin’s draining of my blood ever could. We would have to rise now and leave our sacred bed behind, stepping into the morning light to meet our separate futures.
We had exchanged many ardent words throughout that night, pledges of love, reminders of devotion, wishes for a different destiny . . . but our heart-bond had encompassed us with the depth of our relationship more than spoken words. Augustin had seen my love for him in my blood, and I had felt his love for me in his ardent embraces. Both of us would leave so much behind that day, when I closed the book on my eleventh century adventures for good. Neither of us would ever forget.
My husband lifted himself off of me and slid his feet onto the stone floor. His muscles rippled as he stretched in a beam of color from one of the windows, the glory of his naked body prompting my heart to skip a beat. “I hope,” he commented at length, “that our ardor did not frighten your dear friend away.”
A blush tainted my cheeks, and my thoughts turned to poor Freia, a forced witness to the final copulations of a dead man and his enslaved bride. She had retreated to the back pews of the nave, if my foggy memory served me well, and I wondered if she had gotten any sleep at all with our ecstatic cries filling the air.
“Maybe she went down to comfort the sick,” I said, taking Augustin’s fiery hand and allowing him to pull me to his side. “I doubt she lingered anywhere in hearing range. Her modesty would probably keep her away.”
Augustin snickered as he donned his robes and cloak, glancing toward one of the exits, likely listening for signs of life downstairs. “I shall seek her out then, for I must grace the basement shortly to offer the invalids an easy death. Perhaps while I complete my business there, you could ascend to the organ loft and prepare for your departure.” He gave me a considering look, his eyes drifting to the corner of the altar, where his pack lay, along with the score and Prince Otto’s letter.
I looked toward the western side of the nave, where the organ pipes stretched upward to the ceiling far above. “I guess we might as well get on with this before the Saxons or the Toteheri break down the door,” I said.
I pulled my wrinkled dress over my head, wishing yet again that my union with Augustin could last far longer. But Muniche had shackled me now. I felt it constantly nagging at my soul, that yearning for my Keyholder, a craving I could not push aside.
I wondered what would become of me once I returned to the twenty-first century, if Muniche still held my heart. I would have to seek out the Keyholder there, quite likely, and I had no idea who he was. But I remembered that he had refused my elderly mentor. I feared that he may have similar qualities to those I detested in Prince Otto—arrogance, indifference, assumed superiority. My gaze drifted back to my dead husband while I patted my hair into place beneath the hood of my dress. I hoped against hope that my bond with him would survive somehow. His love far outweighed that of any Keyholder.
Augustin took me in his arms once I deemed myself presentable and kissed me for a long moment, his fire invigorating my saddened soul for the tasks before me. “Can you climb to the organ loft unaided, or would you like me to carry you?”
“I think I can do it,” I answered, stretching my tired legs, wiggling my toes inside their clogs. “But I may have to play the song barefoot unless someone left a pair of organ shoes in the loft. That’s going to complicate things, because my feet aren’t as nimble as they used to be.” I cringed at the memory of Augustin’s demonic laughter when he ripped my feet apart eleven years ago.
“You will play masterfully, my darling swan, for you always do,” Augustin assured me with a smile, backing away toward one of the side doors. “I shall return as quickly as possible, hopefully before our enemies interrupt your concert.” He vanished into the corridors a moment later. I retrieved the Prince’s song and his letter, then set my course for the organ loft.
I realized with a start, as I climbed the stairs to the loft, each step shooting pain into my ankles, that I had left both my camera and my Bible back at Freia’s house, now reduced to a pile of ash. Hopefully everything that I had brought to the eleventh century would return to the future with me. Both Beth’s and Joel’s bags had vanished after their deaths, but I did not know whether opening time’s gates apart from death would make a difference. I hoped not, for I had a fair collection of pictures to admire once I had access to my computer.
I glanced at Augustin’s sapphire ring upon my right hand as I reached the loft, frowning at the likelihood that it would remain here in the past, granting me no tangible memento of my lifeless husband. My mauve dress would transform into that ridiculous red-violet thing I had fashioned for the trip. I would be twenty again, with long raven hair and an hourglass figure—oh, how I wished Augustin could see me in my own era just for a moment, to appreciate the immodest attire of the twenty-first century!
I entertained myself briefly with the mental image of his reaction to my youthful body clad in shorts and a tank top. He would probably stare, his eyes smoldering with lust, and then he would throw me onto whatever furniture stood nearby . . . a couch, a bed, the floor . . . rip my clothing from me . . . .
I mentally smacked myself as my hormones began to race. Be happy with what you shared last night on the altar. That’s all you’ll ever get. I looked at the ring again, then at the Prince’s song, clasped in the same hand. Maybe both of those items could come through the dark currents with me if I held them firmly, begging the tides of time to recognize the key that had opened them to me and grant it access to the future.
I turned my attention presently to the organ console before me, my eyes sweeping over it in its entirety. In the dim light I discerned that it had two ivory keyboards, a full pedalboard, and forty available stops. A candlestick rested atop the console; Augustin could light that once he arrived.
My gaze roved around the floor, searching for a stray pair of organ shoes and seeing nothing. Then I abruptly noticed that the impressive instrument before me had no bellows. Instead, I saw gears, pipes and a lever—a hydraulic organ!
I kicked my shoes off and stepped closer to the console, eyeing the gears distrustfully. The Toteheri had dammed the Isar for three days. It had broken free during the storm two nights ago, but would there be sufficient water pressure to power this primitive instrument? Or would I have to ask Augustin to kill me after all?
I frowned and climbed onto the bench, hearing my companions’ footsteps approaching from the stairwell. I unrolled the Prince’s score and spread it out across the music stand, praying a silent plea to God that this organ would work, that its melodies would pierce the bonds of earth.
“You must not delay long, Swanhilde.” Augustin’s voice reached me while I studied the final lines of the score again, my fingers and feet seeking the correct notes on the silent organ. I twisted slightly around to face him and saw that he and Freia had stopped just inside the loft, each of them looking harried and clutching their respective bags. My best friend’s eyes were circled with the blemishes of a sleepless night, but she smiled brightly at me as she took in my stance upon the organ bench. Augustin’s robes and features looked perfect as usual.
“The Saxons are setting fire to the small cottages attached to this cathedral,” he told me with a fierce expression. “They shall undoubtedly storm through the main entrance in less than a half hour. I secured the door with its lock and several pews, but they shall break through that barricade with little effort, I predict.” He scowled in the direction of the front entrance, his eyes flaming blue.
“No one rang the bells for Lauds this morning,” I mentioned, recalling those huge iron bells that I had seen hanging above us the previous evening, when we had crashed into the spire through the window.
“There is no point in tolling the hours for a doomed city,” Augustin said, his countenance grim. “Most of the invalids downstairs accepted my gift of a painless death gladly, as did the two remaining female attendants.”
I swallowed, picturing those withered forms strewn across the basement floor, all of them stiff corpses now, their hearts stilled by the gift of a Black Priest. “What about the ones who wanted to live?” I asked in morbid curiosity.
“Those I left to their fate, reminding them that they would soon fall prey to the Saxons’ swords, or worse.” Augustin frowned as though he could not understand why anyone would wish to die that way.
“And Father Markus?”
“The lady who witnessed your wedding with me said that he left yesterday to fight with the Prince’s army,” Freia said, her eyes downcast.
“Which means he is dead,” Augustin translated, walking forward to scrutinize the mechanisms of the organ. He cast a few flames upon the candlestick in a blink of an eye, then asked me in English, an expectant smile curling on his lips, “Shall we throw the switch?”
I took a deep breath, feeling nervous all of a sudden as I glanced down at my bare feet, with their blisters and crooked toes. “I think I ought to play something else first, just so I can get warmed up. I haven’t played in a year and a half now. I hope I can still sight-read.” I squinted at the final lines again, ordering myself to believe that I had played them before, that I knew them well.
Freia came to stand to my left while Augustin yanked the lever, bringing the gears to life. The ice within me sensed water pumping into the cathedral, preparing the organ for its magnum opus. I turned my attention to the stops, testing each of them in sequence. Pleasure flooded my soul as the pipes pealed forth the sounds of woodwinds, brass, strings, principals, and chimes. This organ was more impressive than the one in the Bayern castle. Each note I touched sent glorious echoes reverberating throughout the cathedral, singing to the sunlight.
“I think I’ll play John Stanley’s Voluntary V first, just to get my fingers going,” I declared once I had finished testing the stops. Augustin said that I had better hurry. My fingers leaped out to prepare the registration, then attacked the keyboards.
The trumpets rang splendidly on the final movement of the simple song I had memorized long ago, when I was in high school. My fingers stumbled at first, but by the end they flew with grace. My twitching feet sought to tackle the pedalboard, awaiting a melody that included those profound notes. My lips parted into a triumphant smile when I concluded the song, and Freia applauded quietly.
I paused for breath and looked at the Prince’s score again, preparing myself to do his unmatched song justice. The thought struck me that unless the music came through the currents of time with me, I might never set foot in the eleventh century again. The death pains of Muniche struck me afresh as I gasped, my mind not wanting to wrap itself around the myriad of things I would lose, the people that I would never see on this side of eternity. And I spun my torso to the left, reaching one hand out to my best friend. “Freia . . . .”
An ear-splitting crack resounded throughout the nave, and Augustin cursed. He whirled away from where he stood near the gears and flew to the railing of the loft, heat rippling out from his body. “Damn it, Swanhilde, play that song!” he roared, his posture rigid. “They are breaking through the door. You have no time!”
I met Freia’s wide eyes for a split second, seeing the terror on her face. Then I cried out to my cursed husband, “Augustin, kiss me!” My heart pounded with desire, frantic for one more taste of his intense love.
He was at my side in an instant, his arms crushing me to his chest, his lips engulfing my mouth in fire. Tears streamed down my face as I drank the depths of his love, praying that I would never forget, not at the hands of Muniche or even of God Himself. He parted from me too soon and stared into my eyes. “Play it now, Swanhilde. Hurry,” he said in a ragged voice.
I ogled him when he darted to the railing and drew his sword. Its blade flashed in the light from the windows as he assumed a defensive stance. I imprinted the memory of his impressive form onto my heart—a magnificent demon clad in black, his ebony hair cascading to his shoulder blades, his visage pale and stern. Then I whirled to face the organ, pulling the proper stops and beginning the opening lines from memory.
The harmonies burst from the pipes, their beauty overwhelming my soul. My eyes ran over the music as the song progressed, my bare feet dancing upon the pedals. Pain shot through my legs as my feet bent into unnatural angles to hit the proper notes heel-toe. I was going to break the arches in my feet, I feared, especially once I got to the end, where the score called for several flourishing scales.
But I pushed the agony to the back of my mind along with the wails of Muniche, focusing instead on the twenty-first century, on that clearing in my backyard, the gazebo, the stream, Hans . . . the black-fired priest . . . .
The sounds of feet pounding upon the stone floor of the cathedral mixed with the glorious harmonies—crashes of metal upon wood, upon glass, windows shattering, pews overturned, voices shouting in a language I did not know. I forced myself to focus upon the music and began those final lines, the ones I had never played before.
The muscles of my feet rebelled, my toes bruising themselves upon the pedals while my fingers glided across the keyboards, majestic melodies resonating around me, singing to my soul. And when I played that final note, its tone deep and enchanting, invoking a mysticism beyond my comprehension, I felt the atmosphere tighten around me, a pulse bursting through the cathedral—and the crack boomed upon its stone walls as the air to the right of the organ split apart vertically, revealing the labradorite gates of time.
My body froze, and my jaw dropped open. I could hardly believe that I saw the gates in the mortal world, not on the edges of death, where my frail spirit waited for my fiery demon to drag me back. This time he stood behind me, prepared to unleash his vengeance upon the Saxons for destroying Muniche, but he would not stop me now.
I lifted my fingers and bruised feet from the instrument while the gates creaked open, the darkness swirling inside, streams of light and color flashing here and there, beckoning me home, to the future, to life. I heard Freia exclaim softly as she viewed the gates of time, a portal she had likely never expected to see for herself. I felt her hand upon my back, a silent urging to go, to save myself, to claim my destiny without further delay.
A thousand thoughts overtook my harried mind while I blinked at the gates, memories, fears, hopes, wishes . . . all of it boiling down to Augustin, my wonderful husband who loved me still, though my heart had been chained to a city, to the very man who had cursed him. How could I possibly meet the future without him?
My eyes tore at last from the gates to stare at Augustin. Tears blurred my vision at the sight of that familiar darkness poised to defend his Lady against the ravaging horde. He sensed my hesitation and yelled at me, his attention still upon the army below, “Swanhilde, get out of here! They are approaching the stairs, and if they swarm this loft I shall have to unleash my death upon them indiscriminately, and I may kill you by accident. Go!”
I snatched the score off of the organ and jumped from the bench. Several of my tarsal bones crunched, driving me to my knees, and I screeched once from the pain. Freia placed her hands under my arms to pull me up again as I rolled the score into a tight rod, gasping when my eyes fell upon the sapphire on my right hand. Maybe if I attach it somehow to the song, it’ll come with me.
“Freia, hold this!” I thrust the score into her hands and braced myself upon the organ bench as I pried the ring from my pudgy finger. I grabbed the score from Freia an instant later, folding one end into a tiny point and shoving it through the ring, closing the fingers of my right hand solidly around my bundle. I heard boots pounding on the stairway to the loft, and my eyes darted from the portal to my best friend’s frightened face.
I pushed myself toward the open gates, then made a split second choice. “Come with me!” I cried out, holding my left hand out to Freia.
“What?” Her green eyes widened, and she hesitated.
“It’s either that or death, and I’m not letting you die on my account! Come on!” I jerked my head toward the gates and snatched her right hand, dragging her forward with all of the strength I could muster. She followed, stumbling as I limped for the portal, panting shallowly—but she wound her fingers tightly around mine.
I paused for one final second right in front of the gates and turned back to regard my lover. He stood ready, his sword raised, his eyes flaming. An intense longing struck my soul, and I cried out, “Augustin, come with us!”
“I cannot!” he shouted back, swinging his head around to glare at me. “This day, I shall avenge you! Take Freia, and go!” He bared his teeth, his expression glowing with deadly triumph.
“Our bond!” I cried, not knowing what I asked, tears welling in my eyes.
“I shall not let go.” His light blue eyes flared with devotion and fury at the same time as he finished, “You had better not.”
“I won’t,” I promised, my soul filled with resolution once more. Then I leapt through the gates, my shattered feet barely granting me the necessary drive, my right hand clutching the Prince’s song, my left entwined with Freia’s . . . and the hands of my spirit grasped my heart-bond with Augustin, willing it to endure.