Chapter 223: Faith [2]

Silas stared at Faith.

"I know," she had said.

For a moment, he wondered whether he had heard her correctly.

"You know my name?"

Faith continued holding his hand.

Her expression did not change. The faint smile remained on her lips, as though there was nothing unusual in knowing the name of a stranger she had just met beside the river.

"I do."

Silas looked around awkwardly, trying to see if she was alone.

"I have never seen you before," Silas said.

Faith tilted her head.

"Are you sure?"

Silas opened his mouth.

Then he looked at her smile.

Whatever answer he had been about to give disappeared.

She had a way of looking at him that made ordinary thoughts difficult. It was not only that she was beautiful, though she was. It was the calmness in her face. The strange glow in her blue eyes.

Silas cleared his throat.

"What are you doing here?"

Faith glanced toward the bridge.

"I was curious."

"About Prague?"

"About you."

Silas blinked.

"Me?"

"You were standing here for a long time," Faith said. "You looked very focused."

"I was trying to take a picture."

"I noticed."

"And you walked into it."

Faith smiled wider.

"I did."

Silas let out a faint breath through his nose.

"You disturbed my shot."

"I apologize."

Her apology did not sound apologetic at all.

Faith stepped gracefully away from the rock and extended one arm toward the bridge. She bent slightly at the waist in an exaggerated, respectful gesture, as though she were presenting a stage to a famous performer.

"Please," she said. "Do not let me interrupt the great photographer."

Silas felt his face grow slightly red.

"I am not a great photographer."

"You are taking pictures of Prague with a serious expression. That must count for something."

"It counts as me trying not to waste the evening light."

Faith remained standing aside.

Silas looked at her.

Then he looked at the bridge.

He still felt awkward. He did not know whether she was teasing him or whether she truly wanted him to continue. But she had moved out of the frame, and the shot was still there.

The light would not last much longer.

He lifted the DSLR.

The camera settled into his hands.

He adjusted the lens again.

The Charles Bridge came back into focus.

The Gothic towers stood dark against the sky. The river reflected the last pale gold near the horizon. The statues lining the bridge formed a long row of black shapes over the water. A small boat crossed beneath one of the arches, its wake spreading softly behind it.

Silas took the photograph.

Then another.

He shifted the focus slightly and took a third.

A wider shot.

A closer shot of the towers.

One that caught the bridge’s reflection in the water.

He took several more, moving only a little between each picture, trying to capture the fading light before it disappeared.

When he finally lowered the camera, he turned around.

Faith stood directly behind him.

Silas nearly stepped back.

She had come closer without him noticing.

Her face was tilted upward, her blue eyes fixed on his. The breeze moved curls of blonde hair across one side of her cheek. She did not seem bothered by the cold near the river. The dark sapphire gown moved gently around her legs, its silver threads catching the light whenever she shifted.

"May I see them?" She asked.

Silas nodded.

"Sure."

He turned the camera toward her and began going through the pictures.

Faith leaned closer.

Then, without waiting for him to pass it to her, she gently took the camera from his hands.

The strap remained around Silas’s neck.

Faith pulled the camera toward herself, and the movement drew him closer with it.

Silas stopped.

He became aware of how near she was.

Faith stood almost against him while she looked through the photographs. The camera rested between them. Her hair brushed faintly against his arm when the wind moved. A soft scent reached him, something clean and warm, like flowers after rain, mixed with a sweetness he could not identify.

Silas’s face grew hotter.

He immediately felt embarrassed by his own thoughts.

He turned his gaze toward the river and tried to act as though he was simply waiting for her opinion.

Faith continued scrolling through the photographs.

She examined each one carefully.

The bridge.

The towers.

The river.

The dark silhouettes of people walking along the stone path.

The last light fading behind the rooftops.

"These are beautiful," she said.

Silas looked back at her.

"Thank you."

Faith paused on one image.

Then she looked through the rest again.

Her expression became thoughtful.

"But I do not see any pictures of you."

Silas blinked.

"Of me?"

"Yes."

"I do not really take pictures of myself."

"Why not?"

He shrugged.

"I am usually the one holding the camera."

Faith considered that.

Then she handed the camera back to him, though she did not move away.

"If you enjoy taking pictures of beautiful places," she said, "you should be in some of them too."

Silas looked at her.

"I do not think anyone needs proof that I was standing near a bridge."

"It is not about proving it to anyone else."

Faith looked past him toward the Charles Bridge.

"You came here. You saw this. You stood by the river and waited for the light you wanted. Years from now, you might look at your photographs and remember the bridge, the weather, the sound of the water."

She looked back at him.

"But you should remember that you were there too."

Silas did not know what to say.

He had never thought about it that way.

His photographs were full of cities, landscapes, buildings, strangers, and places he had visited. He had hundreds of pictures on his laptop. Perhaps thousands if he counted the older ones stored on backup drives.

But he barely appeared in any of them.

The camera had always remained between him and the world.

Faith smiled.

"It can be your first time."

Before Silas could answer, she stepped closer.

She rose on the tips of her toes.

Her breath brushed against his cheek as she reached for the camera strap around his neck. Her fingers touched the back of his neck lightly while she lifted it over his head.

Silas went still.

Faith held the DSLR in both hands.

"Stand over there," she said, pointing toward the open view of the bridge.

Silas nodded.

He did not understand why he obeyed so quickly.

He walked toward the place she indicated, stopping near the edge of the grass where the river opened behind him. The Charles Bridge stretched across the background. Its towers rose over his shoulder.

"What do I do?" He asked.

Faith lifted the camera.

"Just stand there."

"That is all?"

"That is all."

Silas stood awkwardly.

He did not know what to do with his hands. He placed them in his pockets. Then that felt strange, so he pulled them out again. He looked toward the bridge, then toward Faith, then down at the grass.

Faith laughed softly at him fidgeting around.

"I am not used to this," Silas grumbled.

"I can tell."

She lowered the camera slightly.

"Look at the bridge."

Silas did.

"Now look at me."

He turned his head.

The shutter clicked.

Faith took several photographs.

Silas heard the familiar sound and felt oddly exposed. He was used to being the observer. Being watched through his own lens made him feel as though he had stepped into someone else’s life.

Faith checked the pictures.

Her smile returned.

"Good."

Silas walked back toward her.

"Was it really?"

"Yes."

She passed the camera to him.

"Now take one of me."

Silas hesitated.

"You want me to?"

"I do."

"Why?"

Faith looked toward the river again.

"I want you to remember me."

The answer made Silas’s chest feel strange.

He raised the camera.

Faith stepped onto the rock where she had first interrupted his shot. The evening light had softened around her. The sapphire gown moved with the wind. Her hair streamed behind her in loose golden curls.

Silas looked through the lens.

For several seconds, he did not take the picture.

Faith looked unreal inside the frame.

She seemed too perfectly placed against the river, bridge, and sky. As if the entire evening had been waiting for her to step there.

"Silas," Faith said.

He blinked.

Then he took the photograph.

One.

Then another.

He changed the angle.

Faith turned slightly, one hand resting against the ribbon holding her hair. The Charles Bridge remained behind her, dark and distant. The sky reflected in her eyes.

Silas took more photographs than he intended.

When he finally lowered the camera, Faith stepped down from the rock and returned to him.

"I can send them to you," Silas said. "If you give me your email. Or your number."

Faith shook her head.

"They are for you."

Silas looked at her.

"For me?"

Faith smiled.

"Yes."

He stared at the camera.

Then back at her.

"But why would you want me to have pictures of you?"

Faith stepped closer.

Her eyes held his.

"I know better places," she whispered near his ear.

Silas’s breath caught.

Then Faith turned and started walking down the path.

For one second, he remained where he was.

Then he followed.

They spent the rest of the evening walking through Prague.

Faith led him through streets Silas had not seen on his map. They crossed narrow lanes behind old buildings, passed through quiet courtyards, and climbed stone stairways that opened onto views of red rooftops and distant towers.

She took him to places where the crowds had thinned.

A small square where warm light spilled from old lamps onto wet stone.

A quiet path beside the river where the city reflected in black water.

A hillside overlook where Prague spread beneath them, its spires and bridges glowing as night approached.

Silas took photographs everywhere.

At first, he photographed only the buildings and streets.

Then Faith began appearing in the images without asking.

Standing beneath an old archway.

Looking down from a stone wall.

Walking ahead of him through a narrow street, her dark blue gown moving against the pale buildings.

Sometimes she turned toward the camera.

Sometimes she did not.

Silas followed her from place to place, fascinated and confused in equal measure.

He had known Faith for less than an hour.

Yet it felt as though he had been searching for her through the city all day.

People noticed her.

It became impossible not to see it.

Heads turned when she passed. Conversations stopped. A group of tourists near one café fell quiet as Faith walked by. Two musicians paused in the middle of a song. A waiter carrying glasses toward an outdoor table nearly dropped one when he looked up.

Near the Old Town streets, Silas saw a young man staring at Faith openly.

The man’s girlfriend noticed.

She struck his arm with the back of her hand and said something sharp in Czech. The man immediately looked away, embarrassed, while Faith continued walking as though she had seen none of it.

Silas tried not to stare.

He failed often however.

Eventually, while they stood near a quiet stone wall overlooking the city, he asked, "Are you from Prague?"

Faith shook her head.

"No."

"Then where are you from?"

She looked toward the lights below.

"Far away."

Silas smiled faintly.

"That does not answer anything."

"It is still true."

"Why did you come here then?"

Faith’s hand rose to the silver ring on her right index finger.

She turned it slowly.

The symbol carved into the metal caught the light. Silas still did not recognize it. The ring looked old, perhaps antique, but it suited her too well to seem borrowed.

"I came to find something I lost," Faith said.

Silas looked at the ring.

"It is beautiful."

Faith glanced at him.

Then she smiled and tilted her head.

"Isn’t it?"

Silas looked away immediately.

His heart had begun beating too loudly.

He did not know what was happening to him.

He had spoken to pretty girls before. He had gone on a few dates. He had felt nervous. He had embarrassed himself. None of that was new.

But Faith made him feel as though every ordinary part of himself had stopped working properly.

His thoughts came too slowly.

His face grew warm whenever she looked at him.

And every time she smiled, he forgot what he meant to say.

Silas cleared his throat.

"Did you find it?"

Faith stopped walking.

Silas took another step before realizing she was no longer beside him.

He turned.

Faith stood a short distance away.

The sun had nearly set. The last light touched her hair, turning the blonde curls around her shoulders gold. The sapphire gown looked almost black now, except where the silver threads caught the final color in the sky.

Her hands were clasped behind her back.

She looked at Silas.

Then she smiled.

"I found you."

Silas stood speechless beneath the setting sun.

◊◊◊

"I found you."

The words remained in the darkness.

At first, they belonged to Faith.

Silas still stood beneath the dying light of Prague, unable to move as the woman in the sapphire gown smiled at him. Her blue eyes held his. Wind moved through her golden hair. The city spread behind her in distant lights and dark rooftops.

"I found you," she said again.

The image trembled.

The Charles Bridge blurred.

The river vanished beneath smoke.

The sound of Prague disappeared beneath another voice.

"Found you..."

It came from far away.

Broken and weak.

The words repeated through darkness.

"Found... you..."

Ulrich’s breath caught.

Pain entered his body all at once.

His lungs burned.

His ribs ached.

His left arm was gone.

The smell of rain, blood, smoke, and sea water replaced the scent of the riverbank in Prague.

Ulrich gasped.

His red eyes snapped open.

Airam was above him.

She knelt on the rain-soaked deck, both hands pressed against his cheeks. Her face remained still, almost emotionless, but rainwater had soaked her dark hair and clung to her lashes.

The ship’s deck around them was silent.

Bodies lay nearby.

Broken weapons covered the wet wood.

The fire at the broken ram had finally begun to die.

Airam stared into Ulrich’s deep crimson eyes.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then she leaned closer.

"I found you."