Chapter 2

She stood there for hours, or what she believed had been hours. The rain had trickled down upon her through the canopy above, soaking her gown through to her skin. She shivered uncontrollably, leaning forward against the ropes that bound her arms and waist to the tree. Her hair hung before her, wet and plastered to her ivory skin. Christine moaned, crying out softly in the still woods.

"Father," she whispered to herself, "Please help me. I'm so cold and it is so dark. I'm afraid."

She hung her head and wept in the dark. All she could see, beyond the shadows of the forest around her, was the shimmer of her dress in what little moonlight had managed to seep through the leaves.

"Where is my angel, papa?" she cried softly, "Where is my angel?"

The cold was beginning to fatigue her. She felt her body slowly slide down the trunk, before the grip of the ropes held her firmly in place. She remembered warmer times. She remembered sitting in front of a roaring fire while her father played his violin, and her gaze would drift to the flames as they licked at the wood. Her face, softened by the light of the fire, felt so warm that she felt a smile tugging at her lips. She remembered his songs and felt her frozen lips begin to move as the words slipped from her mouth. The song echoed amongst the trees. To a passerby, it must have sounded like an angel. A voice too pure and sweet to have come from the darkness of the woods.

But her song ended, and she felt the bitterness of her situation sink in. She had struggled for hours to loose herself from the ropes, but it was no use. She did not have the strength or ability to squeeze through them. If only she had a knife. But even then, her fingers were too cold to clasp any object. They were numb and stiff, buried into the folds of her sodden dress.

A rustle sounded. She swung her head up and glanced around in the darkness. But the shadows of the trees obscured her vision. The forest blurred together into an impenetrable darkness. She whimpered softly, afraid of what might be lurking beyond her vision. Then her eyes caught movement among the trees. Should she stay still and quiet? She was so cold that she did not care anymore. If there was a chance of freeing herself, she had to take it. But her mind was starting to slip into an inevitable sleep. Her thoughts began to swirl together.

"Who. . .who's there?" she called out, her voice falling from trembling lips.

She thought she heard the whinny of a horse several yards away. But nothing followed, and she thought her mind might be playing tricks on her. She heard another rustle, to the other side, just beyond the edge of the clearing.

"Please," she cried out, "if someone is there, answer me!"

She remembered the stories that some of the townspeople had once told her. Of the wild beasts of the forest. The wolves were particularly fierce and known to attack lone travelers. There were also stories of horsemen. But not like normal men. They would appear and then disappear. Perhaps ghosts of long dead warriors. But the most hushed story of them all involved a phantom. A spirit. . .no, perhaps a monster, that lurked deep in the forest and killed men who wandered in. Not much was known about that particular creature, but perhaps that was the reason why Christine feared the presence of the phantom more then anything else.

More footfalls sounded, but they were so soft and skillfully placed among the forest floor, one could barely hear them.

No one had answered her. She choked back a sob and closed her eyes. She tried hard to remember her father's voice and to remember the sweetest of his songs. But even that was not enough to quench the terror that coursed through her body.

A dark shadow suddenly loomed before her. She could tell, because the faint starlight above was extinguished from her view. All she could see now were two glowing eyes. Not like an animals, but different. Aware and very intelligent. She tried to scream, but the sound that came from her throat was hoarse.

"Father, I'm scared," she cried out in her delirium. "Please send your angel to me. I. . .I don't want to die."

Her prayer was cut off when an arm brushed passed the ropes. She could see the glint of a blade in the darkness and gasped. But the blade dug into the ropes and soon they lay at her feet. Without the support of the ropes to hold her up, she felt her weakened body slip down the trunk of the tree as her knees buckled beneath her. But another arm slipped beneath her as she fell and lifted her from the wet earth. The last thing she remembered, before slipping into unconsciousness, was being drawn up into someone's arms and feeling the warmth of a body against her cheek. She felt a heavy cloak being drawn around her before sleep finally claimed her.