“Hold on, my lady,” Orlando said. “Just another minute . . . we’ll be safe in just another minute.”
I turned my face toward Orlando’s chest. I hoped he was right. I hoped there would be a safe place for us at the end of this journey. But deep in the black place where my memories used to be I feared it would be a long time before I felt safe again.
The sky above was dark and clear, but the air tasted of a coming storm.
Chapter 4
When we reached the other side of the plaza, Orlando slipped into the shadows of an alleyway as narrow as a throat before setting me on my feet. “Can you walk?” he asked, holding tight to my forearm in case I fell. His breath plumed from his mouth and nose like steam. His eyes darted from me to the plaza behind us, searching, watching.
I gulped down huge breaths of cold air and nodded. My leg still ached, a sharp pain racing from my hip to my ankle, like someone had stretched a rubber band next to my bone and then lit it on fire. “I can make it,” I said, hoping it was the truth.
“Are you sure?” he said, glancing past my shoulder. “We need to keep moving.” He shifted his weight forward, his chest still heaving from his run, and I knew he was eager to take flight again.
I followed his glance. Two men were hunting through the plaza, stopping each person, checking each couple. Silver moonlight lined the edges of their bared swords. I could almost hear the time ticking away while we stood in the shadows of the alley. I knew the longer we waited, the more danger we were in. There were still people in the plaza, but not many. It would take only one person to say, yes, they had seen us run past, one person pointing in our direction, and our precarious hiding spot would be exposed.
“My lady?” He squeezed my forearm lightly, but the urgency in Orlando’s voice was clear.
I nodded and took a step forward. My sore leg crumpled under my weight.
Orlando caught me, concern filling his eyes.
Goose bumps lifted on my arms. A brisk wind kicked up and my teeth chattered. My skin remembered the touch of summer’s warmth and rebelled at the sudden change to winter’s bite.
“I don’t think I can make it,” I said, feeling cold tears sting my eyes.
Orlando rubbed his hands briskly over my arms, but between the shocks I’d already endured and the cold that seemed to be turning me to snow, I couldn’t stop shivering. My body felt encased in frozen air, my bones as brittle as icicles.
“I’m sorry,” I managed as the tears spilled down my cheeks. “You should go. I’ll be fine. I’ll catch up—”
Orlando cut me off with a gesture. “No. I’m not leaving you behind.”
I blinked as an image flashed behind my eyes. An alternating rhythm of red and yellow lights, the sound of fire cracking open the bones of a wooden building and sucking out the marrow with a scorching tongue.
And then the image was gone as the familiar blackness cut across my mind like a drawn curtain, denying me entrance to my own memories.
“My lady?” Orlando said again.
I felt divided, body and soul. I shivered violently, but whether from the darkness, the exhaustion, or the winter air around me, I couldn’t tell.
He stepped up next to me, encircling me with his arm and pulling me close. His body shook with exhaustion and he pressed his hand to his side as though working away a stitch in his muscles. “I know where we can go. It’s there—at the end of the alley. I don’t think I can carry you again; do you think you can make it that far?”
Leaning against him, I managed to limp forward one step. Then two. I bit down on my lip to keep my whimpers from turning into a scream.
Slowly, one limping, halting step at a time, we shuffled deeper into the dark alley, aiming for the vertical band of lighter gray at the other end. I tried not to think about the tight quarters, the oppressive sky looming overhead. I avoided thinking about the words trapped, locked, and endless and focused instead on the words open, free, and horizon. It seemed to work, for a time.
When we emerged from the mouth of the alley, I looked up and all the words evaporated from my head. I couldn’t speak. Towering above me was the most amazing, most beautiful, most elaborate building I had ever seen. A cathedral sparkling with stained glass windows. Walls of smooth gray stones set in intricate patterns. Towers pirouetting to delicate points. A light dusting of snow feathered the edges of the structure like wings.
I couldn’t look away. I didn’t want to. The mere sight of it filled me with peace and happiness.
Orlando directed us toward the heavy doors; I leaned my weight on his shoulder, trying to keep as much pressure off my leg as possible.
I swallowed, too filled with emotion to speak. We were going inside the cathedral. My heart sped up in anticipation.
Orlando pulled open the door and a flood of warm golden light washed out over us.
We slipped inside the church, the door swinging shut behind us.
I had thought the outside of the building was breathtaking, but the interior felt magical.
The moonlight that fell through the stained glass windows diffused into a rainbow of muted colors, softening the edges of the pews and rounding the square corners of the pillars that held up the high arched ceiling. The air felt still and serene in the heart of the cathedral. Statues of saints populated the nooks and alcoves along the wall. A rack of stubby candles stood by the door, many of them lit with the prayers and wishes of the faithful. Further down the aisle, I could see the heart of the nave covered in gold.
A huge mural stretched across one whole wall, countless images of angels within its golden boundaries. From the angel with a flaming sword turning away Adam and Eve to the Angel Gabriel appearing to Mary, the mother of God, to the Archangel Michael battling the dragon as the stars fell from the skies.
“What is this place?” I asked, awed.
Orlando followed my gaze. “It’s the Cathedral of the Angels.” His voice was reverent, and a little wistful. “My parents were married here. I had hoped—”
His voice cut off as a man in a black robe approached us. The cowl of his robe spilled over his shoulders, revealing a face weathered and worn by age. His white hair was trimmed short, and his eyes were soft and kind. His hands were tucked into the wide sleeves of his cassock. The moonlight outlined a silver cross on his chest.
“Welcome, weary travelers. I am Father Marchello. I hope you find peace and shelter here in the house of God.” The priest glided toward us on whispering, slippered feet.
Orlando shifted, his body automatically moving to shield me. “We have come seeking sanctuary, Father.”
The priest hesitated, stopping a few feet from us.
“Just for the night,” Orlando said quickly. “We—”
A heavy knock sounded at the front door, the sound rolling through the quiet church like thunder.
Orlando pushed me behind him until my back was against the wall and we were out of sight of the doorway. My heart raced and the breath I had managed to catch slipped away from me in a low exhale of panic.
The priest tilted his head, watching us.
The knock sounded again, louder and more insistent.
“Please,” Orlando breathed.
I could feel the sweat on his skin where it touched mine, hot and cold at the same time.
Nodding imperceptibly toward us, the priest walked to the door and pulled it open.
“Good evening,” he said, nodding his head in greeting.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Father,” a gruff voice said, “but two prisoners have recently escaped from the courthouse. A man and a woman. He is tall, dark hair, blue eyes. She is smaller, thin, with brown hair, and is dressed as a boy. Has anyone matching that description come to the cathedral this evening seeking help? Protection, even?”
Orlando inched back, pressing me even closer to the wall until all I could see was the broad expanse of his shoulders. I could feel the tension in his body like steel. His hand found mine and held on tight.
“
God extends His hand to all men who come to the cathedral seeking help and protection,” the priest said smoothly.
“These prisoners are dangerous, Father. It is important we find them as soon as possible.”
“Thank you for the warning, good sir,” the priest said. “If anyone comes to our door who matches that description, I will be sure to personally escort them back to the courthouse.”
“I would appreciate that, Father. Thank you.”
“Good night,” the priest said. The door made a firm thud as it settled closed.
I peeked around Orlando’s shoulder, holding my breath, straining my ears in case the guard decided to return. But the church was quiet and still.
“I’m sorry you had to lie for us, Father,” Orlando said, his voice low.
“Oh, but I didn’t,” the priest said, a smile in his voice. “The truth is, if any such people do come to the door tonight, I will take them to the authorities. But seeing as how you are already here . . .” His voice trailed off as he shrugged. “I doubt I will have much trouble keeping my word.”
I heard Orlando exhale a tightly held breath and saw his shoulders drop. He stepped forward, though his hand remained closed around mine. “We are not dangerous like he said. We are simple travelers looking for a safe place to stay. We will be gone at first light, I promise.”
The priest paused, as though considering Orlando’s words, then he nodded. “Rest a moment. I will bring you some blankets and, if you wish, something to eat. I believe there is something we can spare from the kitchens.”
My stomach growled loudly. I winced in embarrassment.
Orlando offered me a slight smile. To the priest, he said, “Yes, thank you. We would be grateful for your hospitality.”
The priest nodded again and disappeared through an archway, deeper into the hidden rooms of the church.
Orlando helped me sit on the nearest pew.
“Thanks,” I chattered. My breath misted in the quiet church. It was nearly as cold inside as it was out on the plaza. I hoped the priest would be back soon with the blankets.
Orlando frowned. “Wait here a moment.” He padded down the aisle toward two tall, closet-sized boxes standing side by side along the wall. He slipped into one side of the confessionals and emerged a moment later with his hands full of an earth-brown cloth. Returning to me, he unrolled it, and I saw it was a cloak. He draped it around my shoulders, and I immediately relaxed into the warmth that covered me from head to foot.
“Better?” he asked.
I nodded, wrapping my arms closer to my body in a hug. “You didn’t have to do this. The priest said he’d bring blankets.”
“You couldn’t wait.”
“What about you?” I asked.
“I’ll be fine,” he said.
Now it was my turn to frown. His face had already turned a wind-whipped shade of red and his lips were shadowed blue. “No, you won’t. Here—” I started to shrug out of the cloak.
He sat down heavily next to me, his hand on my arm. “No. You need it more than I do.”
Looking more closely at him, I could see the strain in the line of his neck, the anxiety hovering around his mouth.
“Orlando?” I tried his name on my tongue.
He turned, and his eyes softened when he looked at me. “Yes?”
“Do you think he believed you? Father Marchello, I mean. Do you think he’ll let us stay the night? Or do you think he’ll call the guards back?”
Orlando’s gaze lifted to the angel mural on the wall. “By granting us sanctuary, he’s bound by all the laws of God and man to let us stay. At least for the night. I don’t know what will happen to us in the morning.”
“What happened to us tonight?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I woke up in a courtroom, but I don’t really understand how I got there. Part of me feels like we just met, yet there is another part of me that feels like I’ve known you a long time.” I laughed ruefully. “I don’t think I’m even from here, though apparently I can speak Italian—except I don’t remember ever learning it. All my memories are scattered, and it’s hard to remember anything.” I sighed, my shoulders slumping under the weight of my frustration and fear. “Can you tell me where we are? Do you know what’s going on?”
Orlando glanced at the archway where the priest had exited, but we were alone in the church. His gaze returned to me, and when he spoke, his words were quiet but intense. “The black door in the courtroom—had you ever seen it before?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
Orlando frowned as though I had given the wrong answer. “Did you know it was a machine that could break through the barriers of time?”
I couldn’t stop the words from bursting out. “What! Are you crazy?”
His frown deepened. “I’ll take that as a no.”
“A time machine?” I asked, but the rest of my words died in my mouth. Was such a thing possible? No, of course not. And yet . . .
I’d been trying to force myself to remember something—anything—about my past, but so far, when I looked inward, all I saw was that strange blackness as tall and thick as a wall, blocking me from myself. And yet . . . I felt the darkness inside me shift a little at the thought. The flutter of a veil that offered a mere glimpse at the light behind it. As impossible as the idea was, it had the shine of truth to it.
Was I brave enough to believe the truth, no matter how impossible it seemed?
“I don’t know how it is that you can speak my language,” Orlando said, interrupting my thoughts, “but you do, as perfectly as if you had been born here. Yet, I can assure you, you are not from this place—or this time.” He held my gaze with a meaningful look.
I didn’t want to ask the question, but I had to know. “You think I’m here because I traveled through time?”
He shrugged his acceptance of the truth. “You said you felt like we had met before. We have. I met you for the first time in a place that exists only on the other side of that black door. A place that is accessible only by those who have been through that black door. So how could you have been in that place unless you too had passed through that same black door?”
I leaned against the back of the pew, too stunned to speak. The veil of darkness drifted in my mind again, the gleam of truth shining a little brighter than before.
“Where was it?” I asked. “The place where we met?”
Orlando hesitated, as though debating on what my reaction might be. “You called it the bank and told me how it runs alongside the river of time.”
“I told you that?”
He nodded. “That’s why I’m worried. When you arrived on the bank, you had all the answers. Now, though, clearly something has happened to you to change that. Do you remember anything that happened between when we were on the bank and when we were in the courtroom?”
I pressed my hand to my forehead. I remembered pain, and the harsh notes of a song that hurt, but somehow I didn’t think that was what Orlando was looking for. I shook my head, ruthlessly ignoring the beginnings of a headache.
“If that door in the courtroom is a time machine, then what year is it?” I asked.
Orlando tugged at his sleeves, revealing the pair of black chains marked around his wrists.
I swallowed. I wanted to reach out and touch the chains, but I didn’t dare. It would have been too invasive, too intimate. Instead I reached for the locket around my neck, following the smooth curve of the heart with my fingertips.
He rotated his wrists outward, and where the chains met on the inside of his wrists was a blank circle with two arrows pointing to the midnight mark. Beneath the curve on one wrist were the letters MD; beneath the other were the letters MDI.
He touched the marks with cautious fingers. First one wrist, then the other. “When I left. And when I arrived.” He swallowed. “You asked me what year it is. It’s 1501. The first month of 1501.”
Orlando looked down at his hands. ?
??They marked me like this before I went through the door.”
“Why?” I asked.
“They wanted to keep track,” he said quietly, “and make me remember.”
“Why don’t I have them?” I asked. “If I went through the door like you say I did, then where are my marks?”
Orlando shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think you went through the same machine the same way I did.” He looked down at his lap, a frown pulling at his mouth. “But they said I was the first. That’s what I don’t understand.” He looked back up at me. “How did you travel to the bank if I was the first one through the door?”