A/N: As promised, here is more… thank you for the reviews! : ) Get ready, a lot happens in this chapter…

And now…

Chapter XL

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Christine opened heavy eyes and winced, the sun streaming in from a window near where she lay doing nothing for her skull, which felt as if it were splitting wide open. Putting a hand to the crown of her head in a feeble effort to contain the pounding within, she struggled to sit up and take note of her surroundings.

Sparse furnishings contained no more than the canopied bed on which she sat and a small table beside it. The lofty walls of the chamber were round, their undressed twin windows tall, narrow, and arched, and a large tapestry hung on the opposite side of the room. With a shock she recognized the artwork as what she had seen in the parlor at Raoul's cousin's home.

Is that where she was? The Marquis's castle? In a turret room there?

She had no more than pushed herself up from the mattress and stood when a key rattled in the lock. Swinging around, she grabbed the wooden post for balance and stared apprehensively at the door – which suddenly swung open.

A servant entered, a woman with graying hair who halted momentarily at the sight of Christine standing near the foot of the bed. She quickly shut the door behind her before moving to the table on the opposite side and setting down a tray which bore a washbasin, a pitcher of water, and a cloth.

"Why am I here?" Christine questioned, attempting to gain the dour woman's attention.

The maid ignored her, instead turning to the bed and whipping away the coverlet. She peered at the snow-white sheets then lifted her scowl to Christine momentarily before tossing the bedding back and returning swiftly to the door.

"Wait!" Christine cried, moving after her. "I asked you - why am I here? Will you not tell me?!"

Before she could reach her, the door closed, the key again scraping in the lock.

Though she knew it futile, she tried the handle then screamed to be let out, weakly pounding her fists against the rough wood. When they began to throb with her demands, she put her back to the barricaded exit in defeat and surveyed her bleak surroundings.

A turret room, that was clear – but why was she locked in a tower?

And then she remembered…

They had escaped being burned alive, only to walk into the hands of their merciless enemies. Though she had desperately clung to Erik, uniformed soldiers tore them away from each other. They struck him repeatedly, bringing him to fall to his knees, and she cried out begging them to stop, when a man without armor and wearing a blue velvet cloak approached from the horse he had dismounted.

"Leave him be!" she demanded of him, putting up a bravado of strength but lightheaded from inhaling so much smoke. "What do you want from us –?"

Christine got no further as the fiend suddenly swung his arm and backhanded her hard across the mouth. Stunned, her head ringing with pain, she had fallen to the ground and must have lost consciousness for the next she remembered was waking up in this tower chamber.

Her cheek still smarted; otherwise she was unharmed - yet Erik was hurt, beaten, and likely also imprisoned. Somehow she must find him! The knowledge helped to clear her head and she took careful note of her surroundings.

There was a strange familiarity among the foreign furnishings and she looked out the window to peer at a fringe of forest and hills and beyond that, in the distance, the village and sea. A landscape she remembered well, though not as flourishing as in the nineteenth century, and she looked again with dawning realization at the room in which she'd been imprisoned.

She had no opportunity for further consideration when a second time she heard a key grate in the lock and warily turned to await her next unwelcome visitor.

The door again opened, this time by the man who accosted her once they'd torn Erik from her grasp, clearly a noble from the expensive cut of his cloth. He bore the same sapphire blue eyes of the de Chagny men – in fact, his resemblance to Raoul was striking, handsome but cold, this man's hair shades lighter, and he wore facial hair in the form of a thin mustache and short goatee. She was left in no doubt that she stood before the present-day Vicomte.

"At last we are acquainted," he fairly sneered the words. "My recalcitrant betrothed."

She shivered at his greeting and the critical manner in which he looked her up and down.

"What is it you want from me?" she asked quietly, recalling the jarring sting of the back of his hand. Had he come to inflict more of the same punishment?

"Justice," he bit back. "I am the Vicomte Frederick de Chagny, and I will have what is mine. Through the written oath made with your brother, you, mademoiselle are mine."

"I will never marry you," she said with a lift of her chin though her heart pounded so fiercely it pained her.

"I no longer want you to wife. You are naught but a whore..."

She waited in confusion for him to clarify his earlier pronouncement.

He stepped closer, causing her to back up a step to each one he took until her spine met the wall. His ringed hand lifted to circle her throat and he squeezed, causing her to gasp, his hold strong enough to bring discomfort though she could still breathe.

"I would see you suffer for the humiliation caused me, to take up with my revolting misfit brother of the demon face."

It was on the tip of her tongue to insist that she was not the bride for whom he bartered, nor was Erik Le Masque. But of course he would never believe her.

"What do you intend to do with me? And with him?"

She fought for courage, the tremor in her voice betraying her fear. Indeed, he was the true demon.

"The punishment should fit the many offenses made. Yet before I decide how to make use of you, a reckoning must first take place."

His grip tightened a little harder so that her eyes began to blur with the pain inflicted. His own eyes grew steely and fierce as he dropped them to her belly.

"You will remain locked in this chamber until I am certain his spawn does not grow inside you. If that be the case, I will cut the vermin out and give over whatever remains of you to the church to do with as they will. It has been said you are a witch…"

Christine gaped in horror at his words, the maidservant's previous act of pulling away the bedsheets now making sense. She did not doubt that he meant every terrible word, having heard mention of his loathsome accounts when Erik thought himself solely as Le Masque.

With a grimace, the despicable Vicomte finally released her. She inhaled a harsh breath, coughing and bringing her own hand gently to her throat as a comfort and a shield against further attack.

"If, however, the worst should fail to come to pass, I will keep you locked in this tower until I decide what is to be done with you, whether to make you my whore or my servant. Perhaps both." His smile was pure evil. "Should you prove to have a wayward spirit, as I was forewarned, I shall have you thrown into my dungeons."

Her revulsion got the better of her and she blurted without thinking, "I will never lie with you! If you touch me again, you will regret your folly!"

She spoke, thinking of Erik and recalling his swift brand of justice to Richard and Marcel. But by the sudden look of apprehension clouded with rage that she would dare speak to him thus, Christine presumed the Vicomte associated her threat with witchcraft. His next words proved it -

"Should you be so foolish as to try to cast a spell upon me, I will cut out your devil tongue and turn you over to the church authorities to be burned alive at the stake."

His low, fierce words chilled her to the core – he had witnessed her terror – but she had also seen the fear in his eyes when he mistook her caution for sorcery, and in a defensive maneuver she endeavored to perform one of the skills she had learned throughout her years on the stage –

She played the role into which he had cast her.

The soft threatening laugh that emitted from her sore throat surprised even Christine, though she masked her expression with an arrogance she did not feel, as if she had the upper hand. When, in truth, she trembled in her shoes.

"Have a care, Vicomte. If what you believe about me is true, you are rather cavalier with your words. Who is to say I have not already cast a curse upon your black heart?"

It was a gamble – he could easily turn the tables on her, slap her into chains and throw her into the dungeons, where no doubt her beloved Phantom had been cast – but she relied on the Vicomte's fear of what he presumed her to be, and was grateful when he backed up a step, uncertainty now rushing to the surface of his disparaging gaze.

It was a moment before he replied.

"While imprisoned in my tower you will have considerable time to consider your future here, mademoiselle. Do not think to flee. It is purported that my grandsire kept one of the Fae in this very tower during her internment. If a faerie cannot escape its walls, do not believe you can." He snickered unpleasantly. "A servant will bring your meals. Until your fate is determined, you will not see me again."

The only good news of this day and Christine struggled to keep the relief from her face, sensing he wouldn't take her rejection of his presence well, given the punishment she already endured.

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously as if he could see past her bland expression to the truth but said nothing and moved to the door.

"Wait!" she called out in a sudden desperation to know. "You told me of your plans for me – but what of him? What of Le Masque?" she whispered the last, confused and unnerved by his suddenly satisfied grin, as if he had anticipated her question.

"He will die," he said with great delight, as if announcing a grand ball. "And you will watch as he takes his last breath. A most painful one, I assure you. His demise will be slow and fraught with torment, in retribution for the excessive amount of tribulation I have suffered by his hand."

With those dire words, he exited the chamber, closing and locking the door behind him.

Only after hearing his steps recede did Christine relax, as much as she was able to under the circumstances. She had a full moon's span before the truth of her impending motherhood would be recognized, but Erik surely had much less time than that and she prayed it wasn't already too late.

She forced her mind away from thoughts feared and brought them to the realization earlier experienced before the Vicomte invaded her solitude.

Despite the unfamiliar furnishings and their placement, she recognized this tower room. Upon her arrival to this chateau with Raoul, he had struggled with the vain hope of helping her to forget what transpired on the night of the Don Juan by taking her on an extensive tour of the castle chambers, also sharing a secret he discovered with his cousin, Vincent, when they had been young boys.

She looked at the tapestry of the woodland creatures in the mythical forest, oddly out of place, and wondered if the imprisoned faerie fashioned it during her imprisonment here and the hanging had been moved to the downstairs parlor in a later century. But it was what stood behind the tapestry that absorbed her full interest, and she struggled to move the heavy tarp aside to see. The shadowed darkness did not let her note demarcations, but she prayed she was correct and that her avenue of escape always existed – at least in this epoch of time.

Studying the wall intently through touch alone, she found the knob of smooth hidden stone that acted as a lever. With determination she pushed hard against it, as Raoul had done months ago. Then, she had exhibited a melancholy interest in the space of chill darkness that opened up, immediately reminded of her Phantom and his many secret passageways, but now she smiled in victory and quickly donned her cloak. After grabbing a nearby lit candle, she slipped behind the tapestry and through the opening barely wide enough to traverse with ease, her shoulders coming close to each wall.

His cruel ancestor did not think her capable of escape? How fortunate that Raoul had shown her this hidden exit! He also told her where it led – to a passageway that branched into the dungeons, and cautiously she made her way down the many flights of narrow and winding stairs inside the tower wall. After her altercation with the Vicomte Frederick, she felt more assured than ever that is where she would find her beloved.

x

Upon reaching level ground, with only the flicker of candlelight to guide her, Christine moved through the dank corridor in which she found herself. Her heart beat in accompaniment to every quick but wary step taken, and when the low wall to her right gave way to an opening, she carefully peered around its edge.

"My lady?" a male whisper shocked her.

She spun around, in her haste almost extinguishing the tiny flame she held.

"Tobias?" She could just make out his diminutive stature and jaw-length dark hair. "How did you come to be here?"

"I followed milord from the campsite and saw them take you both. I followed and slipped into the chateau by the manner I did that first night – through the window of that same chamber." He hesitated in his hurried explanation. "But milord is not with you?"

She shook her head. "They must be keeping him in the dungeon. I believe it is this way."

"How could you know?" he asked in confusion. "You have been here before?"

"It was something the Vicomte said when he confronted me earlier," she explained vaguely, hating yet another deception but seeing no way around it and detesting the trace suspicion that had entered the boy's voice. "I was locked inside a tower and only just escaped. Come, Tobias, we must hurry."

She led the way with her candle down the passage, coming to a stop when it branched off in two directions.

"I came from there." Tobias motioned to the left. "I saw no dungeons."

Christine hastened to the right, and soon they came to another corridor with a heavy iron-studded wooden door at its end. Thankfully it was unguarded and unbarred, but the sight that met her on the other side caused her heart to drop like a heavy anchor, even while she knew relief that they had reached their wanted and wretched destination.

A corridor of rock, dark and damp, with sparse torches that flickered high on the walls led the way. Barred cells ran along one side, empty of humanity, and directly ahead stood another cage, this one larger and horribly occupied.

"Erik," she whimpered, her eyes widening in dismay. She stood motionless as a torrent of shock flashed through her body then rushed to the gate that held him imprisoned and grasped the iron bars.

Chained hand and foot against the opposite wall, his arms were held in place, raised and outstretched to the sides. Even in the dim glow of torchlight that reached him she could tell that he had been beaten and recently cut – bright red blood streaked the front of his slashed tunic, as specks of it did his neck and what little she could see of his jaw. His head hung low, the mask in place, though his cloak had been stripped from him.

"Erik..."

At her second and louder exclamation of his name, he wearily lifted his head and his eyes flickered open. He stared, trying to focus, an eerie smile tilting his lips. With the dazed way in which he observed her, she sensed he thought her a hallucination, a dream come to life, to comfort him in his great misery.

"Erik! My love, what have they done to you?!"

At the third tender cry of his name and the insistent plea in her voice, his eyes sharpened on her face, his smile swiftly disappearing.

"Christine. What are you doing here?" His voice was a dry rasp. "You must go before they return and find you."

"I am not leaving you here to be tortured further," she insisted. She had left him once at the hands of a bloodthirsty mob and rued that decision ever since, the memory sparking her resolve.

"I found a ring of keys inside the entrance," Tobias said, suddenly reappearing by her side. She never noticed his brief departure and stepped back to give him room as he hurried to slip one key then another into the lock, trying to find a match. The fourth key caught and the gated door swung open.

Christine rushed toward Erik then came to a sudden stop before him, now hesitant. Brow furrowed in worry, she took in his beaten and bloody condition and lifted a gentle hand to cup his face.

The relief to see her whole and unharmed coupled with the need to have her near temporarily usurped his determination that she go, and he pressed his cheek against her cool fingers. Her thumb gently rubbed the mask beneath his eye, and he sensed her silent question.

"Before they could make the attempt…" His throat was raw, his voice like sandpaper, but he had no wish to add to her own misery and continued, keeping his manner light. "…I told the guards the witch who raised me gave me the evil eye. That should they remove the mask they, too, would be cursed. Superstitious fools, they believed it."

His cracked lips barely lifted at the corners. Through the tears that glossed her eyes, she gave him an exasperated smile in return, slight though it was -

Even in the midst of such extreme suffering, he protected his face from being seen and counted it a triumph…

No longer able to contain her riotous emotions that surged forth, Christine stepped close and wrapped her arms around his torso, pressing tight against him in heartfelt embrace. He hissed in pain, and remorseful, she immediately withdrew.

"I'm sorry! I shouldn't have –"

"Never mind - Christine, listen to me," he interrupted, his voice still grating. "You must leave at once. This, I can endure. I cannot endure it if something should happen to you."

She ignored what she had no desire to hear. "Tobias, have you water?"

The boy pulled his wineskin from where it was strapped around him and over his head, handing it to her.

She uncapped it and brought the refreshment to Erik's mouth. He took a few thirsty swallows before moving his head impatiently away, and she lowered the leather receptacle, giving it back to the boy. Next she gave her concentration over to the sturdy shackles that bound his wrists and ankles. It was then she noticed they had taken his boots and he was bare of foot as well.

"Christine, you must go…" Erik's voice sounded only marginally better.

"Is there a key on that ring for these horrid irons?" she asked the boy.

"No, milady – they are too large and must fit the other cells."

"Hell's bells," she muttered and wrapped her hands around one chain as if to tear it from him. "There has to be a way!"

"Christine, listen to me!"

Desperately she studied the heavy links threaded through the thick loop of the wide iron cuff pinned to the wall and shackled around his wrist.

"Tobias – find a rock or something we can use to pound against these shackles and break them –"

"It is of no use," Erik insisted.

"We have to try," she said, just as determined and pulled hard on the chain. It only managed to make a loud metallic noise that surely clanked throughout the entire underground dwelling.

"Christine - stop!"

The stern demand in Erik's raised voice gave her pause, and she looked anxiously into his eyes in question.

"Tobias," he said, never looking away from Christine, "give us a moment."

The boy stepped away and back through the open gate.

"It is useless. Perhaps, poetic justice," Erik muttered low in dry amusement, "for what occurred in Paris. It is only fitting that a fire should lead to my demise as well."

"No! Don't say that!" she softly cried, the tears having broken free of her lashes and running down her cheeks. Impatiently she swiped at them. "How can you be so bloody cavalier about all this?"

"It is the manner by which I have survived," he said, his tone becoming deadly serious. "And what you must do as well."

Her brow furrowed in dread suspicion. "What are you saying, Erik?"

"You must go to the stones without me."

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "What?! No, Erik - no …"

"Listen to me. There is no other way." Unable to reach out with his hands, he used his voice to firmly grasp her will in desperation. "You must leave before the guard returns."

"Why is it that you are always seizing my choice from me and ordering me to go and live a life without you?" she insisted, near hysteria. "In your lair, in the forest - and now here as well?" She shook her head, the tears falling heedless down her face. "And after all we have come to be to one another?"

"I have no wish to do so, but I will not see you harmed!" His pained gaze dropped to her skirts. "Will not see our child harmed..."

She continued to slowly shake her head in refusal, but his concern over their babe's safety was the one truth her shrewd Phantom could say that crushed her stalwart determination like the blast of cannon fire and brought her to realize he was so dreadfully right.

"You have given me that which I never once believed to possess. A child of my loins – who will live on after I am gone. All that will be left of me. You will make that possible." His voice came softer. "Do it for me, Christine. Make it possible."

She wanted to deny him, to insist they find a way, to refuse his terrible directive, but could only stare in anguished silence, the Vicomte's brutal threats resounding like a death knell in her mind.

"Take the ring from around my neck," he instructed. "You need more than one gemstone, for the babe's safety."

"Erik –"

"Do it, Christine." His voice came firm but remained soft as silk, as when he had been only her Maestro. "I need you to be strong."

Biting her lip to refrain from breaking down and sobbing in despair, she reached up and awkwardly pulled the leather thong from within his tunic and over his head, her hands shaking the entire time. She gripped the ring hard in one fist, feeling the facets of the eleven diamonds imprint painfully into her skin. She had once folded this very ring into his hand, leaving it with him as a memory, as a plea - to save himself, to never forget...

And now, he was doing the same with her.

Moisture glossed his eyes as he looked at her sadly and with all the love in his heart, silently proclaiming all he wished to say.

"Now go." Two words uttered with so much emotion, she thought she might come undone.

Instead, she tore the sapphire ring from her finger and tucked it firmly within the waistband of his hose, her determination again rising to the fore.

"I will go – but you must promise that you will do all you can to break free and come after me. You are the bloody Phantom of the Opera," she insisted with a curt little laugh full of tears. "You can find your way out of any difficult and dangerous situation!"

He gave a brief nod, his smile weary, silent tears rolling from beneath his mask and down his jaw. So wounded, so exhausted, so trapped – he indulged her in their bolstering game of make believe, but both knew it would take a miracle from the Divine for them to be reunited again.

Cupping his dear face so tenderly, she lifted herself on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his one last time, holding them there, loath to pull away – only to swiftly but carefully embrace him again, pressing herself in close, his blood again wetting her gown, her tears wetting his tunic even while his tears wet her hair.

"It is time, Christine," he urged quietly then more loudly. "Tobias – take my lady and go. Take her to the standing stones. Do so with all haste."

"I love you, my Angel," she whispered. "Come back to me."

For the second time in her life, Christine took the hardest steps she had ever taken, allowing herself to be led away from her beloved, his answering words of love a gentle echo that shook her to her core. As they reached the gate, she looked back over her shoulder one last time.

Erik's eyes glistened behind the mask. He nodded once in encouragement, even as Tobias tightened his hold on her arm, as if suspecting she might bolt from him and run back to where a great piece of her heart still remained.

What held the other part gave a sudden flutter within, and in surprise she brought her teary gaze downward, her hand lifting protectively over her belly. In her great anguish to leave him, she felt the tiniest glimmer of wonder and hope as their child moved for the first time, reminding her of what must be done. The sacrifice that must be made in leaving her beloved Phantom behind so that his legacy could live on….

x

Though Christine managed to curb the bout of violent weeping that fought to surface, silent tears rained down her face the entire time they sought escape from the chateau. They reached the passage that branched into two and took the corridor Tobias had formerly taken, leading to what must be the music chamber. Yet they never found it.

Twice they were nearly seen and had to change direction until Tobias stopped in uncertainty, in doubt as to where to find his point of origin. They had reached a narrow, dimly-lit corridor that branched off in two directions, startled when more than one set of heavy footsteps approached in the distance behind them – the Vicomte's' soldiers searching to apprehend her, Christine was sure of it. They must have discovered the tower room empty – and she scanned the surroundings in desperation as Tobias put a ready hand to the hilt of his dagger strapped around his waist and grasped her arm, pulling her to crouch behind a large suit of armor.

She inhaled a fearful gasp as a figure suddenly approached from the shadows, seeming to come from nowhere. A uniformed guard, he stood tall, his physique lean, like Erik, but more muscular and certainly no match for the young Tobias. His fair hair stuck out beneath his helmet, to his shoulders. But the one thought that struck her in the mind-numbing dread that took hold was the sapphire hue of his serious eyes and how his aristocratic features bore a striking resemblance to the de Chagnys. Perhaps a relation, helping to guard his family's fortress…

Tobias shifted position, moving protectively to block Christine, but hesitated with pulling out his dagger. The guard, oddly enough, wielded no weapon against them.

"I know you," the boy said in dawning wonder. "You gave me aid when last I was at this castle." Over his shoulder he explained to Christine, "The guard who cautioned us to break camp and go."

"You helped us?" Christine asked in curious intrigue, stepping out from behind Tobias. "Why?"

The guard put a warning finger to his lips in a gesture so much like her Phantom's that it brought a stab of pain to Christine's heart. The distant footsteps grew louder.

"My husband," she said more softly. "He's chained in the dungeons – please, help him escape!"

The guard said nothing, though she sensed compassion in the look he gave. "Come quickly before they find you," he ordered, his voice deep and quiet as a whisper. He retraced his steps down the corridor.

"Come, milady," Tobias urged.

She wanted to refuse – to insist they go back and help Erik, now that they had this strangely benevolent guard on their side, but the shadows appearing on the floor in the distance proved that very soon they would not share the corridor alone and she hastened to follow.

Their armored savior led them down a corridor and through a door that led to a huge empty kitchen and to another door at the back. He opened it. Through the light morning mist she saw a copse of trees.

"A horse is tied and waiting ahead. Take your lady and ride to the place your master instructed. Do not tarry."

"But – wait," Christine said in confusion. "How do you know about that?"

The guard gave no reply, only turned in retreat and swiftly strode to exit the kitchens.

"Milady – come," Tobias urged, grabbing hold of her arm.

She broke out of her daze and pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, coming to the conclusion that the guard must have stood unseen in the dungeons to hear Erik's command. And she prayed that their unexpected ally would extend his charity and set her husband free.

There may be hope yet!

She wished to linger in the copse to see if Erik might appear, but Tobias was just as determined to execute their escape. Upon locating the horse tied to a tree, he helped her to mount then untied the rope and swung up behind her.

Swiftly he led the horse away at a gallop. Within a short time, they topped a rise and saw the dreaded Megaliths of Carnac appear below, the sight both welcome and feared.

"Tobias, stop," she ordered. "I will go on alone from here."

He slowed the horse to a walk then dismounted and helped her down, looking with a nervous uncertainty at the pillars of stone around them.

"Milord told me to take you to this place, though I have yet to understand why…"

Christine heard the confusion of his words. Recalling his belief in superstitions, she decided to divulge a portion of the truth.

"Do you remember the ballad of the lady who went to the faerie stones and begged the Fae to release her beloved from his captivity? I mean to do likewise."

His eyes widened. "I never heard such a ballad. Have a care, mistress. 'Tis a dangerous thing, to approach the Fae."

She found it strange that Tobias, who knew a great wealth of the countryside's lore and song – moreso than any other member of the band – had not heard the lyrical tale. Perhaps it had only been a fragment of Erik's memory that had risen to the surface, of those things learned in the nineteenth century.

"Le Masque told it to me. And now, just as I must do this – you must return and help him escape. Bring him back to me, Tobias."

"Nay, mistress – I cannot leave you here alone!"

"I will be alright," she said with more confidence than she felt, her hand going to the ring that dangled from the leather thong she had placed around her neck. "It was the Phantom's wish that I come to this place. He is in favor of this. Indeed, it was his command."

They were the words needed to turn the tide, given Tobias's recent disobedience and vow to always follow his leader's orders in the future, and he gave a curt if reluctant nod.

"Aye, milady. I will do as you ask." He hesitated. "I never believed you a witch, but in truth, there has always been a difference about you, as if ... as if you are aware of a knowledge others in this world do not have. Mayhap, if anyone can persuade the Fae, it is you."

"I pray it is so," she said near a whisper.

Despite his frankness and the amity she had formed with the lad, she felt ill at ease to admit to him that she was from a future century, though Tobias was the best of the brigands and certainly more astute than anyone gave him credit for. Even without her testimony, she sensed he understood.

Realizing she would never again see him if all transpired as planned, a wave of sentimentality rushed over Christine. She took hold of his callused hand in both of hers and squeezed, carefully shaping her words. "You have been a true and loyal friend. I pray you be wary and vigilant, always like the hunter, never the hunted."

Unable to curb the impulse, she gave him a farewell hug.

He cracked an uncertain smile, his face, even his ears, going rosy.

"I will return to camp for the others and do what I am able to help free milord."

She smiled. "God go with you, young Tobias."

"And you milady."

Christine watched his horse become a distant blur on the horizon before at last turning to face the dreaded stones.

Apprehension in every slow step, she approached until she stood before the altar of carved symbols. With repulsion and a fearful kind of awe, she stared at the large disc of stone, often breaking away to look out over the land from which they'd come, hoping to catch sight of Erik riding to join her.

She looked down at her cloak and for the first time truly took in the vast amount of blood that stained the cloth as well as the front of her undergown – his blood – and she recalled his badly injured state. He made no account of the pain suffered from his torture, but she had witnessed the gashed flesh beneath the torn tunic, no doubt inflicted with a blade, and wondered if escape was truly possible for her Phantom.

Had she been living in a pretense of the impossible to believe such a thing could occur?

Tears swam to her eyes even as the mist thickened to a light rain.

No! She would not think with such defeat and tenaciously clung to the hope that somehow he would break free of his confinement and join her.

Blood. He had said she needed blood to make the journey one absent of torment, though her heart pounded out a symphony of sorrow no physical pain could surmount.

If he did not make it, how could she bear to go on without him?

What do you want, Christine Daaé …?

The voice came from within this time, not without, a quiet whisper that filled her every pore.

"I want him to live!" she screamed at the leaden skies. "I want him to know a long and happy life!"

The sudden beat of hoofs striking the earth brought her startled attention to the horizon. However, instead of one horse coming into view, there were several. And in the pale light of the overcast morning, she saw the armor of their riders dully gleam.

"No," she breathed, then gave a little cry. "NO!"

Desperately she scanned the ground for what was needed, spotting the gleam of a sharp sliver of glass from the broken lantern of months ago. She retrieved it from the trodden grass and without hesitation sliced open her palm near the scar of the previous cut.

Wincing at the vicious sting, she curled her hand into a fist, cupping the blood that welled inside and dripped through her fingers.

Despite the terror of the moment, Christine found within herself a strange calm as she recalled all that Erik told her, and she approached the round disc of stone and opened her hand over it, allowing the blood to spill over the symbols he had interpreted. Wind. Rain. Fire. Earth. Time... To her horrified and wondering eyes, the moment the crimson drops splashed onto the etchings, they began to burn with white searing light, emitting soft rays from their crevices.

For a stunned moment she stood transfixed by the sight.

The voice came again, still soft but more insistent:

Speak that which you want, Christine Daaé!

Then louder -

Speak!

The approaching hoofbeats became a thunder, as the sky also began to shake with its own thunder. She desperately looked over her shoulder, aware that the Vicomte's soldiers were close enough that she could now make out details of the chimera emblem on their tunics.

Without thought of the consequences, Christine threw herself over the table of rock with arms outspread wide as if to try to hug it to her and melt within. The stone felt strangely warm, not cool to the touch as the rain should have made it.

"I want to go back to my time, with my child safe, and I want my Phantom with me!" she begged. "Please God…" she whispered and closed her eyes that stung with the salt of her newest tears mixed with rain that struck down from above. "Do not let us be separated again!"

She heard the horses whinny with the abrupt stop made, heard armor clink as the men dismounted. Fearful and waiting for cruel hands to tear her away from what had become to her a bizarre refuge, Christine silently prayed with all that was within her soul that the portal through time be opened to her once more.

Behind closed eyelids the world grew increasingly bright, as if she faced the sun. The rain became a deluge, beating wild against her back. Thunder rocked the earth in violent sequence, like the slow and increasing beat of a giant's drum. The wind whipped in a frenzy all around, while the earth groaned as if coming apart. Yet she barely felt any of it as the peculiar table of warmth beneath increased into a deep, soothing heat that flowed throughout her weary body, transporting her into lethargic ease…

She heard a distant scream –

And then all fell eerily silent.

xXx

A/N: Hmmm… Pray tell - what doth this mean? ... (heh heh heh) - ; -) … - Will have more of this one up after I do another chapter of Through Bonds Immortal… I anticipate this story to have 2 more chapters - maybe 3...