The Quest - *Phantom of the Opera* (a fantasy romance)

Chapter XXIV

Tender Revelations

XXIV

Christine looked with angry dismay at the useless pistol by her boot. She possessed no knowledge of how to reload the weapon, nor did she have the ammunition to attempt it, and the boy kept busy trying to deflect the attack with his own firearm. The little Spanish she attempted to call out, he either misunderstood or ignored.

In her spirit, Christine sensed a strange foreboding, more intense than the obvious trial through which they now struggled, and she knew that somehow this nameless fear linked to Erik. She sensed, even now, he struggled within himself, but she dared not speak into his mind, dared not distract him. To do so could prove fatal if he were in the enemy camp.

She closed her eyes, trying to repel the black hopelessness that worked to strangle her faith, and concentrated on Malakh's foretelling. The prophet, for surely he could be nothing less, had told them to heed his words and act upon them, so whether they received the promise or not surely must depend upon their own actions.

The terror that she could lose her beloved to a scoundrel's bullet crashed through her mind. Christine tried to pray but could find no words to express the cries of her heart. She tried to trust, as Erik told her to do, but faith wavered into panic. With desperate tenacity she clutched onto hope's fading glow.

Her Angel was a genius. He had made foolish and dangerous decisions in the past, yes, but every person at the opera house had done so at one time or another. Moreover, she felt that he had reached an epiphany through his experience, starting with that final night in his lair.

He would know what to do, he must know what to do!

The faraway sounds of men shouting brought her eyes wide when she recognized Erik's deep voice, and she gripped the rock, twisting her body around to see, though she could distinguish nothing through the many thick trees. A distant shot cracked ...

And all grew silent.

Christine raised her fist to her mouth to prevent herself from screaming Erik's name. She knew that last shot was different. Whoever fired had not aimed at her or the boy.

She darted a panicked glance at the child. He also appeared confused as he looked at her. Though neither understood the other's language, they shared one unspoken belief.

No ...

Christine broke away from the boy's expression of grim sympathy, laying her head back against the rock. She tried to empty her mind of fear. She must know, could not prevent herself from reaching out ...

Erik ... Mon Ange ... are you alright?

In the span of eternity that seemed to pass, an unforgiving lull of harsh silence mocked her ears and her heart. Her eyes fell shut in despair. The teardrops hanging from her lashes fell unheeded, to drip down her jaw.

She felt numb, lost, barely able to draw breath. Surely, he could not be ... no, no he couldn't ... it was not possible. She would not let it be possible!

Erik - Can you hear me?

This time her query came with more force.

Christine ... I am coming to you.

Her heart skipped an overwhelming beat at the trace of sound that unfurled within her mind as joy to know he was alive surged inside her heart.

The sudden noise of horses nickering had her eyes fly open, and relief gave way to horror. As she listened, she realized whoever rode them drew steadily closer. Her heart pounded so hard, its tremors knocked against her throat. Her teeth clenched and her hand tightened around the handle of Erik's dagger as she waited. She glanced at the boy, a curious panic clouding her mind as to why he did not fire at their enemies, now that those men were vulnerable and an open target. A look of awe mixed with disbelief crossed his face as he stared toward the approaching horses. His mouth hung open.