Equinox (Augarten Book 1) Page 4

  Augarten glimmered a pearly blue in the late twilight as Andrea led the way back inside. My stomach kept up a perpetual growl. Despite seeing things in waking I had thought were confined to dreams—like a shimmering garden—I was soothed rather than unnerved. Magic somehow translated to not feeling as alone as before.

  An unknown woman's voice boomed from the lounge.

  Andrea patted my back. "That's Mrs. Buchinger. She offered to bring some of her son's old clothes to see if they'd fit you. Though if her son is shaped like his parents, that's a lost cause."

  "I'm grateful either way," I said, swallowing my pride.

  Andrea glanced at me in concern. "We know you are, Gabriel. It's not easy to accept charity, but this is temporary. You'll find your identity and get settled back into your life."

  I nodded, praying her words to be true.

  We entered the lounge, and a robust, silvery sandy-blonde woman gawked at me, that boisterous voice struck silent for a short moment. "Good heavens, he's taller than my son would be on top of his father's shoulders."

  Andrea moved forward to embrace Mrs. Buchinger and take the bag of clothes from her. "Grüß Gott, Margarte. Good to see you. Gabriel just spent the last ten hours digging up the garden with me."

  "Mercy, Andrea," Mrs. Buchinger scolded.

  After washing up at the sink, I dried my hands and finally offered a handshake. "Nice to meet you."

  "Of course. You smell like dirt, young man."

  I nodded, because yep, nothing I could do about that.

  Mrs. Buchinger propped two meaty fists on her hips and sized me up. "No one manages to impress Andrea when working in the gardens…I should get my husband to let you help him. He's an unapologetic workaholic, and he hates lazy people. That's why his interns have never lasted more than a few months, other than the fact that he refuses to pay them."

  Oh jeez. "What does your husband do?"

  She cocked her head back to the door. "He runs the book bindery across the street. Has a contract with the libraries for restoration, and builds notebooks and things."

  My heart swelled, and my soul took flight. Books. Just like at the library, I had learned something about myself: I loved books.

  "Is it possible to get a library card before I have ID?" I'd borrowed The Cosmic Doctrine and the book on discursive meditation on Solomon's card yesterday.

  Margaret Buchinger's face fell. "You poor child. Not only have you lost your memories, but you've lost your library card, too. You certainly speak German well enough, at least."

  Scratching the back of my neck, I shuffled my weight from foot to foot. "Yes." Though Florian's Welsh from this morning felt more familiar than German, but that did not ease my despair. If I knew Welsh, why then was I in Austria?

  "I'll ask the librarians for you," she offered.

  I thanked her, my stomach growling so loudly even Mrs. Buchinger heard it.

  "Blessed day, you're skin and bones, like a lanky tree walking around." She pointed a finger straight at me. "I'll start working on my husband. We've got a booth at the festival coming up, so swing by and introduce yourself to him. Ten hours of nonstop work is right up his alley, and I'll at least keep you fed better than they can afford to here. Augarten needs to sell their garden produce to break even, but my husband has connections with the bakers and cheesemakers of our neighborhood. He'll refuse to pay you—small businesses like ours can't really afford anything but unpaid interns, you see—but if some pocket money from me makes its way into the dinner bag I send home with you, would that be suitable enough?"

  "After harvest," Andrea cut in. "You can't have him until after harvest. I found him first."

  Well, Solomon had found me, but I wasn't of any use to him.

  Mrs. Buchinger laughed. "You're a hot commodity, Gabriel!"

  "I'm excited to work." I needed a job, so I'd take anything I could get.

  Mrs. Buchinger bid us goodbye and nearly ran into Solomon on the way out. His icy blue eyes found mine. "MRI is scheduled for in the morning."

  I swallowed and nodded, a stone settling in my gut.

  Solomon greeted Andrea and invited her to sit down with us for a moment. "The monks in my order gave me permission to give you our patron saint's name as your last name, for two reasons. One, it is the function of our order to help those in need, and if you are Austrian, then you are probably a Catholic."

  I nodded. As Gabriel, I was borrowing the name of the angel Solomon had been praying to when he met me, just so I could have something to hold on to, something human for me to own. Now Solomon would give me a last name, too. I tried not to think about the aching emptiness that inspired.

  Andrea patted my elbow and shared a look with Solomon.

  Solomon took a long moment, clearly pondering how to say this next part. "The second reason is, since we don't know where your amnesia came from…should it happen again, and you wake up somewhere, the police will have your fingerprints registered with your last name matching that of our order. You'll have an automatic link to people who will remember you and help you."

  I breathed deep, holding back my distress. "Thanks."

  Less than forty-eight hours since I'd woken up in Augarten, I was sick of not knowing, sick of having to rely on charity, sick of having nothing to say but thank you, over and over.

  Solomon continued. "Obviously, this name is just a stand-in for your real name. We'll present it to the police so we have something to put on your paperwork, the alias you'll be going by until you find out who you really are."

  Andrea patted my folded hands on the table. "So, what is this fine gentleman's name now?"

  "My order's name is the patron saint of Vienna—Saint Leopold."

  "Gabriel Saint Leopold," Andrea echoed. "That has a handsome ring to it. What do you think, Gabriel?"

  I nodded slowly, my nerves no less subsided, but I could not help but mirror Solomon's smile.

  When Solomon and I left Augarten to grab dinner, a murder of crows were holding an evening rally from the top of one of the towers out over the main thicket of trees. Cawing monstrously loud, dozens of them took flight from the roof of the towers and joined together in a swirling mass. I could barely see them in the last mists of dusk bidding farewell to the growing darkness.

  We walked down the main thoroughfare, Taborstraße, and came upon a bridge over a heavily graffitied canal. People sat along the lip of the canal, drinking beer and chatting. We had crossed this canal quickly the day before, on our way to Saint Stephen's when Solomon had needed to check in at work.

  "This is the Danube," Solomon said. "An offshoot of it, to keep it from flooding."

  I breathed in the cool dampness of the air. "It feels like Augarten."

  Solomon regarded me. "I see."

  As we crossed the bridge, we came upon a statue I recognized as Mother Mary.

  Solomon pulled off. "Just a moment."

  I stood to the side while he closed his eyes, touched her feet and whispered a prayer. Afterward, he gazed up at her and crossed himself, kissed his crucifix, and then he was done.

  We made it to the end of the bridge, and he said, "I'll let you decide what we eat, so long as you get it for us and we eat it somewhere else. I'm not supposed to visibly patronize an establishment while in uniform."

  "Sounds good. Let's eat on the bridge, then. That was a pretty view."

  He smiled. "The sunset from there is often gorgeous."

  I echoed his smile, but for a different reason. Although I only remembered the last two days of my life, I quietly disagreed with his wording. From Vienna, the sunset was always gorgeous.

  We grabbed sandwiches and ate them on the bridge by the statue of the Holy Mother.

  "Could you maybe teach me an agnostic prayer, since I don't know whether I'm Catholic?" I asked on the way back.

  Solomon furrowed his brows. "You can't just strip God out of Christian prayers."

  I conceded that must be true. "What about a prayer where I could swap out with my g
uardian angel? Surely I have one, no matter my religion?"

  Solomon hummed in thought. "I bet I can think of something we could try. Let's get back to your room."

  Chapter Six

  I let Solomon into my place. He stepped inside and stood there awkwardly, then toed his shoes off when I did.

  I smoothed my hands through my hair. "It's hard to know how to pray when I don't know whom I believed in before losing my memories."

  He gave a sympathetic nod.

  We stared at each other a long moment. I watched Solomon chew on his bottom lip, then a moment later, inspiration seemed to strike.

  He stepped into the middle of the room. "I have an idea."

  I backed away to give him space, a smile quirking my lips, his enthusiasm contagious. "Okay."

  Solomon straightened his posture and took an official-looking stance. "This is the prayer of Saint Patrick. I'll do it in its original form, and then we can modify it for your purposes. In the context of evening prayers, this would be done during a rosary, which would mean the practitioner had already gone through the Lord's Prayer, Hail Marys and Glory Bes."

  I pinched my chin, propping my elbow in the palm of my other hand. "Like opening a ritual space." Florian had clearly done something like that this morning.

  Solomon appraised me. "Yes, exactly."

  "How many prayers do you have memorized?" I asked.

  "Thousands," he replied. "Any priest worth his salt is well practiced in memory techniques and has been praying ever since he could speak words."

  "That's a lot of salt," I said, breathless. My chest ached with longing, just like it had this morning—I wanted a tradition to belong to, a pantheon who knew me, even when I did not know myself.

  "If you don't mind, I will do a short opening privately, then move into the prayer."

  "Please do."

  Closing his eyes, he crossed himself and quietly recited some accompanying litany. Taking slow, deep breaths, he entered into a sacred space that expanded to fill my room, so palpable I could feel it envelop us. I watched as he connected to the divine, to the presence of the Holy Spirit who had led him onto his path. I felt a calm serenity, that of rising, stepping beyond the mundane concerns of human affairs.

  Carefully opening his eyes, he spoke with a reverence I, too, felt somewhere down deep. "Here is the Prayer of Saint Patrick. He spoke this prayer before converting the Irish king away from paganism in the year 433."

  "Yes," I whispered.

  Spreading his hands open, he moved them slightly with each new stanza.

  "I arise today

  Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,

  Through belief in the Threeness,

  Through confession of the Oneness

  Of the Creator of creation.

  I arise today

  Through the strength of Christ's birth and His baptism,

  Through the strength of His crucifixion with His burial,

  Through the strength of His resurrection with His ascension,

  Through the strength of His descent for the judgment of doom.

  I arise today

  Through the strength of the love of cherubim,

  In the obedience of angels,

  In the service of archangels,

  In the hope of resurrection to meet with reward,

  In the prayers of patriarchs,

  In the predictions of prophets,

  In the preaching of apostles,

  In the faith of confessors,

  In the innocence of holy virgins,

  In the deeds of righteous men.

  I arise today, through

  The strength of heaven,

  The light of the sun,

  The radiance of the moon,

  The splendor of fire,

  The speed of lightning,

  The swiftness of wind,

  The depth of the sea,

  The stability of the earth,

  The firmness of rock.

  I arise today, through

  God's strength to pilot me,

  God's might to uphold me,

  God's wisdom to guide me,

  God's eye to look before me,

  God's ear to hear me,

  God's word to speak for me,

  God's hand to guard me,

  God's shield to protect me,

  God's host to save me

  From snares of devils,

  From temptation of vices,

  From everyone who shall wish me ill,

  Afar and near.

  I summon today

  All these powers between me and those evils,

  Against every cruel and merciless power

  That may oppose my body and soul,

  Against incantations of false prophets,

  Against black laws of pagandom,

  Against false laws of heretics,

  Against craft of idolatry,

  Against spells of witches and smiths and wizards,

  Against every knowledge that corrupts man's body and soul;

  Christ to shield me today

  Against poison, against burning,

  Against drowning, against wounding,

  So that there may come to me an abundance of reward.

  Christ with me,

  Christ before me,

  Christ behind me,

  Christ in me,

  Christ beneath me,

  Christ above me,

  Christ on my right,

  Christ on my left,

  Christ when I lie down,

  Christ when I sit down,

  Christ when I arise,

  Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,

  Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,

  Christ in every eye that sees me,

  Christ in every ear that hears me.

  I arise today

  Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,

  Through belief in the Threeness,

  Through confession of the Oneness

  Of the Creator of creation."

  Then he crossed himself again, closed the prayer space, and opened his eyes.

  I stood transfixed, captivated. "Solomon…maybe this isn't the right word, but…your magic, it was so powerful just now. Like you were surrounded by a protective layer. You…you were in your Christ's snow globe."

  A half-smile tugged at his lips. "You're right that 'magic' isn't the word I would use for it, but that paints an interesting image."

  I planted my feet, took a deep breath, and raised my hands up through the midline of my body. I repeated the lines about nature's elements of wind and water, earth and fire, motioning in the cardinal directions, one direction per element.

  I trailed off and paused, as if someone were guiding me by instinct.

  "I arise today, through the strength of the love of cherubim, in the obedience of angels, in the service of archangels…"

  I held my right hand out in front of my chest, jumping a few lines more. "Spirit with me, spirit before me, spirit behind me, spirit in me…"

  Summoning the memory of Solomon's prayer, I repeated the lines of that stanza, then looped back to the beginning and said the entire thing again, but this time…"Angel with me, angel before me, angel behind me…"

  The air in the room seemed to change, tingling ever so slightly around me as I spoke.

  I finished the last of the prayer, then lowered my hands and paused, taking a few breaths in silence.

  I turned to him. "My apologies for stripping the important parts; of course I meant no disrespect. You can't take the Christ out of Christianity, after all."

  Solomon watched me with an expression I could not read. Then the moment ended, and he shook his head as if to clear it from his prior thoughts. "This is a good start."

  I fixed us cups of tea, and we deliberated on what to do next. I had to admit I was maxed out on non-Catholic yet still Catholic prayers, but I didn't want our time together to finish this early. Just one prayer
seemed to have a significant effect on us both, and in the end, I enjoyed sharing this with him.

  Solomon leaned back against the counter, seemingly lost in thought.

  "Could you sing something to me?" I asked, thinking of Florian's soft baritone this morning. "I think sung prayers are especially beautiful."

  He considered that. "Like Gregorian chants? I have to admit that's beyond my modest singing talent, though of course vocal prowess isn't the point of such things."

  "It wouldn't have to be Gregorian, no. Even just something in Latin—I don't have to know what it means to feel its comfort, you know?"

  He blinked at me. "Well, mass is normally done in German these days, but there is the ritual Latin mass that was performed for centuries."

  I brightened. "Let's give that a try. Do you have it all memorized?"

  "Of course."

  We set our mugs in the sink and returned to the storage room.

  I motioned to the large box I used to meditate. "Please sit there. Or I can put my pillow on it as a cushion—"

  He sat on the edge of the box. "This is fine."

  He smoothed out his cassock and situated himself. I knelt on the floor in front of him.

  "Ready?" he asked.

  I folded my hands in prayer, then reached up and placed my folded hands on his knees. "Is this okay?"

  "It is."

  For a moment, my loneliness soaked me like the ocean through a sea sponge. "Will you put your hands on mine?"

  His icy blue eyes softened. "Sure, Gabriel. This is a common occurrence when helping someone pray."

  He placed his hands on top of mine, and immediately I felt the connection. My heart leapt in surprise and my palms heated. Instead of strengthening the prayer, this would simply distract me and probably cause my hands to sweat, which would distract Solomon.

  As if reading my thoughts, Solomon lifted his hands from mine and flattened his palms on his cassock, discreetly wiping them off. "How about this?"

  I nodded up at him. "Yeah, okay."

  He closed his eyes and began to sing.

  The opening of the Latin mass was surely one of the things that made people fall in love with Catholicism. It was a ceremony wrought with spirit, written by priests and saints but guided by God's hand and guarded by angels. Hearing it brought a sense of the unfamiliar, but Solomon singing it put me at ease.