Wintersong(111)

Stay awake, I ordered myself. Stay alive.

I took a shuffling step forward, but if the mind was willing, the flesh was still weak. Darkness crashed down on me, and I remembered no more.





IMMORTAL BELOVED

“Elisabeth.”

A gentle hand shook me awake. I stirred and groaned, retching up the last bits of lake water from my lungs. In the blurry darkness, I could make out a long, lanky figure, with a shock of silver-white hair around his head like a mane.

My lips shaped a name before I remembered I did not know it.

“Mein—mein Herr?”

“Yes,” the Goblin King said softly. “I am here.”

“H—how?” I croaked.

“You may not have had Der Erlk?nig’s protection as you walked the Underground,” he said, a smile in his voice. “But you always had mine.”

He held out his hand and I took it. Slowly, painfully, I got to my feet. I was aching all over, bruised and battered in more than just my body.

Above us, the same gap in the earth and tree I had crawled through to break the old laws the last time I came here. I was tired, so tired, but I forced myself to climb the ladder of roots and rock to the surface. The Goblin King supported me, encouraged me, helped me, until at last, I tumbled onto the forest floor of the threshold.

The world above was blue, the deep indigo of predawn. The starry veil of the night sky still held reign, but soon it would be gone, hidden by the rising sun. Already the darkness was lightening to purple, and the shadows were beginning to retreat.

I turned to face the Goblin King. He wore a soft expression and held a leather portfolio in his hands. Without another word, he took two steps forward and gave it to me.

“What is this?”

His only response was a smile. With shaking hands, I undid the ties that held it shut and opened it to find scores upon scores of music. I did not recognize the hand, but I recognized the composer. Me. It was my music, copied out in his hand. All of my music, the unfinished Wedding Night Sonata as well as the pieces I had sacrificed to gain entrance to the Underground.

“They’re all there,” he said softly. “All your compositions.”

“But,” I choked out. “They were destroyed.”

“Oh, Elisabeth,” he said. “Did you truly think they had been lost? I treasured your music as much as you. I kept it safe. I remembered each and every little thing you ever wrote; after all, had you not played them for me your entire life?” He chuckled. “Did I not say that I was a copyist once?”

Tears fell from my face to stain the paper in my hands. I closed the portfolio to save me from ruining his labor of love.

“You played them for me; now you should go play them for the rest of the world. Finish the Wedding Night Sonata, Elisabeth. Finish it for us.”

“I will write it for you,” I whispered. “For my immortal beloved.”

It was close, so close to what I wanted to tell him. I love you, I insisted, but my lips would not comply.

“Play it for me,” he said. “Play for me, my dear, and I will hear it. No matter where you go. No matter where I am. I swear it. I swear it, Elisabeth.”

A name came to my lips. I tried to lift my hand, to hold it against his cheek, to tell him I loved him.

“Will I see you again?” I whispered.

“No,” he said. “I think—I think it is better that way.”

Even though I had expected it, his refusal still struck me like a blow. But perhaps he was being cruel to be kind. We would never again truly be together, would never again feel the touch of each other’s hands upon our bodies. Not even in the thresholds of the world, where the Underground bled into the world above. I had had all of him. I had tasted all of him. To see but to never touch … I would be a woman in the desert, forever thirsting for water she could see but never reach.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

No. But I would never be ready. This day and the day after next and the day after that would be full of unknowns, full of uncertainty. And I would face each one as I was, Elisabeth, entire.

“Yes.”

He gave me a nod, more a gesture of respect than agreement. “Then,” he said. “The whole wide world awaits you.”

I walked to the edge of the Goblin Grove. I placed my hands against the barrier, invisible yet tangible. Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself to push through. I stepped past the barrier, and into the forest beyond.

For a moment, I stood there, beyond the edge of the Goblin Grove. The air, warm and mild, did not change, did not grow cold. I had crossed the threshold, and there was no going back. And yet, still I lingered, unwilling to go, unable to stay.

“If—if I could find a way to free you,” I whispered, “would you walk the world above with me?”

My back was to the Goblin King; I could not face him. It was a long time before he answered.

“Oh, Elisabeth,” he said. “I would go anywhere with you.”

I turned around. His eyes deepened in color and for a moment, just for the merest glimpse, I could see what he would have been like as a mortal man. If he had been allowed to live the course of his life, from the child he had been to the man he would have become. A musician—a violinist. I ran back into the circle of alder trees, wanting the circle of his arms around me. I reached out my hands, and his fingers brushed mine, but we passed through each other like water, like a mirage. We were each nothing but a shimmering illusion, a candle flame we could not hold.