Christoph And Lyset (2)

It was Christoph who spoke first.

“Peace in the Lord be with you. Greetings, Sister. My name is Christoph.”

Lyset froze, staring at Christoph with startled eyes, unable to speak.

Wondering if she hadn’t heard him, or if his whisper was too soft for the library, Christoph raised his voice slightly.

“My name is Christoph.”

Lyset said nothing. Her face flushed red, she only gazed at Christoph intently.

Christoph realized that the rule forbidding casual conversation with consecrated nuns applied to them as well—that Lyset couldn’t freely answer him.

He worried that breaking the rule had caused her distress, fear, or even displeasure.

But it turned out his fear was unfounded.

After a long moment, a small smile touched Lyset’s lips. Her cheeks reddened even more.

Her rose-like lips parted.

“My name is…”

Just then, the guide priest Odense approached Christoph’s aisle.

“How do you find our collection? Is there anything you are searching for?”

“Ah…”

At that moment, another nun appeared beside Lyset.

“Sister Lyset, will you help me take out the trash?”

“Yes, Sister Marguerite.”

Lyset followed the nun away.

‘Lyset! To think her name is Lyset… Truly, she is light itself.’

Christoph repeated the name to himself over and over.

It was a night of the full moon.

When all were asleep, long after the midnight bell had tolled.

Lyset’s eyes opened quietly. They shone blue.

Adelin, Iselin, Roze, and the other sisters were fast asleep.

Lyset carefully climbed down from bed and drew out her grandmother’s keepsake box. From beneath it, she took a necklace of strung bones, put it on, and hid it beneath her nun’s habit.

She slipped out of the room, opened a window at the corridor’s end, and descended into the flowerbed below.

In the darkness, she crept along the wall toward the convent’s back gate.

Click.

Using the stolen key she had long hidden, Lyset unlocked the gate, slipped out, and headed toward the hill behind the cathedral.

In the moonlit night, Lyset’s eyes gleamed as she climbed the hill.

From that moment, her body and mind were no longer her own. The moon, the stars, the forest, and the earth enfolded her.

To the distant howls of wolves as her hymn, Lyset reached the hilltop and began to dance, eyes vacant, gazing at the moon.

“O bright moonlit sky,

“Rise, rise,

“Warriors who worship Olrun.

“Call, call,

“Maidens who long for His daughter.

“Dance, dance,

“Blooming trees and flowers.

“Pour forth, pour forth,

The shining of moon and stars.”

When the hymn ended, Lyset danced as if possessed, guided by a mysterious force.

Ancient rhythms of the land resounded in her mind.

Her upturned eyes traced the constellations of Odin and Freya, of Thor with Mjölnir. In the black sky, Aegir’s feast unfolded; Loki, drunk on Sif’s mead, fell asleep.

The ship Hringhorni bore the bodies of Baldr and Nanna across the Milky Way. Then came Ragnarok: Olrun at the vanguard with His chosen warriors, while His daughter Manafreya flew upon a hawk, leading the Valkyries.

All the myths of the old gods carved themselves into her eyes. Each step, each gesture carried their wrath and joy, their triumphs and their fall.

And at the dance’s end…

A forest hut: a brave warrior fighting with a sword, and inside, a beautiful woman praying to Olrun and Manafreya.

The warrior, cruelly cut down…

The woman, lifeless on the floor.

The hut aflame.

A cold cave, a woman near death with her swollen belly.

And a white light spreading outward.

Within it boomed a mighty voice.

Your time is drawing near.

“Ah!”

Lyset’s eyes flew open as the dance ended in the dark.

“Haah… haah…”

Exhaustion washed over her body after the primeval dance.

This had happened every full moon for five years since she arrived.

Her duty was always the same: to wear the necklace, slip through the gate, and climb the hill.

After that she was lost in trance, dancing to the visions that filled her mind and eyes.

She removed the necklace and gazed at the runes etched into the bones.

She never forgot her task, the prophecy. Each month in her dreams, the messengers of the gods came—a silver wolf, a brown bear, a blue reindeer, and a hawk—to remind her.

But Lyset was only seventeen, and knew the time had not yet come.

Yet tonight, the voice had said clearly: “Your time is drawing near.”

Lyset tilted her head, but there was no way to know more. All she could do was wait for prophecy to lead her, and pray like this.

‘I should go back down now—before the dawn bell for prayers.’

The full moon lit her path down the hill.

Below sprawled the vast walls of Nastrand, the great castle, the cathedral spires, the convent buildings.

Somewhere within that view was the young man she had met in the library, the one she had locked eyes with so many times during Mass—who had named himself Christoph.

Cruelly, Lyset had no idea that Christoph was heir to the Duchy of Nordenheim—the realm fated to fall—and of the great events that would entangle them both.

‘Who is he…’

Lyset’s cheeks flushed red as she descended the hill.

Christoph did not rush back to the library at once.

For now it was enough that he had learned the nun served in the library, and that her name was Lyset.

At seventeen, the Young Lord could hardly expect to learn more; she was a nun, after all.

But if he returned too soon to seek her out, he would draw suspicion. So he waited, day after day.

At last, a legitimate reason to visit the library arose.

One of Christoph’s tutors, the scholar Grundel, assigned him to read and memorize an armorial: the coats of arms, banners, histories, and traits of various nations and noble families.

“Where can I find this armorial, Master Grundel?”

“In the library, of course. Ask Guide Priest Odense and he will find it quickly. If I recall, it is near the history section.”

“I will look for it tomorrow.”

The long-bearded old scholar mistook the gleam in Christoph’s eyes for scholarly zeal and nodded with a smile.

“Your pursuit of knowledge will form a great foundation for your rule one day.”

“Thank you, Master Grundel.”

The next day, Christoph, heart trembling, told Odense at length that he was there to find books for Grundel’s assignment.

“For the armorials and histories, you may return to the section you visited before. Shall I fetch them for you?”

“I’ll look myself. I may need other things as well.”

Declining Odense’s help, Christoph strolled slowly toward the far shelves, scanning every corner.

He wove through the aisles in zigzags, searching every gap, but saw no sign of Lyset.

‘Is today not her day to come?’

Disappointed, he finally picked up the armorial and some histories and made his way toward the exit.

Then a small voice came from behind.

“Um…”

Christoph’s heart leapt. He turned to see Lyset pushing a cart of books, her cheeks crimson, pointing to the volumes in his arms.

“It must be heavy to carry—place them on the cart.”

“Ah…”

Mistaking his stunned silence for refusal, Lyset blushed to the tips of her ears and urged him again.

“These books must be taken to the front desk for cataloging anyway—place yours on top.”

“Th-then I’ll do as you say, Sister.”

Christoph placed his books on the cart.

Lyset pushed the cart forward, stacked high with books—far too heavy for a seventeen-year-old girl.

“Let me help you push, Sister.”

When Christoph reached for the cart, Lyset waved him off.

“No, this is my service. If I accept help, it isn’t service at all—I’d be harshly scolded.”

At that, Christoph withdrew his hand.

“My name is Lyset.”

“Eh?”

“When you introduced yourself last time, I tried to give mine but couldn’t.”

“Ah…”

Though he already knew, Christoph stayed silent.

“Lyset. My name is Lyset.”

She repeated it softly, as if to make sure he would not forget, then left the cart with Odense and scurried back inside.

Christoph watched her retreating back, then noticed Odense’s eyes on him and quickly looked to his books.

“I’ll borrow these armorials and histories.”

“Ah… excellent choices. Knowing the histories and traits of neighboring states is crucial for you, My Lord. I too delight in them.”

Odense wrote down the titles and tied the bundle with cord before handing them to Christoph.

“The return is in a fortnight. You may return or renew earlier if you wish. It’s heavy to carry to the castle—shall I assist?”

“No, my carriage and Hilder await outside—it’s fine.”

“Very well. Go safely, My Lord.”

As Christoph carried the bundle out, he glanced back.

Behind a shelf, a face framed with black hair quickly ducked out of sight.

‘Lyset!’

A smile spread across Christoph’s face.

He felt certain she too held feelings for him.

‘Lyset! My… Lyset!’

“Who are they? The ones you mean?”

“The ones in the largest central balcony on the second floor during High Mass.”

Adelin and Iselin stared at Lyset in shock.

“Sister Lyset… are you truly asking that?”

“Yes.”

Lyset only smiled brightly.

Adelin muttered, “Good grief… She may be young and from the countryside, but this is ignorance beyond belief.”

Beside her, Iselin stifled laughter and answered Lyset’s question.

“The central balcony belongs only to Duke Yodel, sovereign of Nastrand, his family, and kin.”

“Ah… I see. Then, among them—the tall young man with reddish-blond hair, about my age, seventeen or eighteen—who is he?”

Adelin and Iselin exchanged a glance. There was only one he could be.

“That is Lord Christoph—the son of Duke Yodel, heir to the Duchy.”

“Ah…”

The heir of Nastrand—one of the duchies foretold to fall in prophecy—was Christoph.

Lyset’s blue eyes wavered.