Chapter XLII: Musicae Lucis
Liz sits on her bed, staring at the dim glow of her phone screen. Her fingers tap quickly against the glass as she types a message to Adrian and Wyn.
Liz:Guys, I need your help. This is serious.
Adrian responds first.
Adrian:Can't. Thesis deadlines are insane. I'm drowning. Ask Wyn.
She exhales sharply, already expecting that answer. Wyn's reply follows seconds later.
Wyn:I'm free. What's up?
Liz:Meet me after school. Cathedral.
The golden afternoon light filters through the towering windows of the grand cathedral, casting long shadows across the marble floors. Liz and Wyn step into the vast, echoing nave, the scent of old books and burning candles thick in the air.
"Alright," Wyn mutters, glancing around. "What exactly are we doing here?"
Before Liz can answer, a voice calls out.
"You two seem lost."
They turn to see a tall, refined man in a white polo and slacks with a sling bag over the white polo, his silver-rimmed glasses gleaming under the cathedral lights. Mr. Johann Florendo. The head of the seven choirs of the city and one of the Concejals of Ciudad Fernandina.
Liz steps forward. "Sir, I'm Liz. Eliza Mae Flores. I… I was a student of Bennett Lontoc."
Mr. Florendo raises a brow, amused. "Bennett? A student?" He chuckles. "The boy was a prodigy. And you claim to be his apprentice?"
Liz squares her shoulders. "Yes, sir."
"Then play something," he challenges, gesturing to the grand pipe organ.
Liz swallows hard but strides toward the organ, her fingers hovering over the keys. She takes a deep breath and begins.
The first notes of Iesu Panis Vitae flow through the air, rising like an ethereal hymn, reverberating through the arches and columns. Mr. Florendo listens, his head tilting ever so slightly.
Then, his phone rings. He sighs, checking the caller ID. "I have business at the Ayuntamiento," he tells them. "Guard the organ while I'm gone. I expect it intact when I return."
With that, he turns on his heel and disappears through the cathedral's grand doors.
The cathedral is quieter now, the only sound the faint creak of wooden pews settling. Liz exhales, her fingers trembling slightly. Wyn places a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
"You got this," he murmurs.
Liz nods and places her fingers back on the keys. She begins again, this time playing the piece with more fervor. The melody echoes through the cathedral, floating up to the high, arched ceilings, drifting through the stained-glass windows, whispering through the upper and lower balconies. It reaches the altar, where flickering candles seem to dance in rhythm.
From his office in the convent house, the parish priest pauses, enchanted by the melody drifting through the air. He leans back in his chair, listening.
But elsewhere, in the shadowed corridors of the sacristy, another figure hears it too.
A young man with tightly curled hair stands frozen in place, his jaw clenched. His eyes narrow at the sound of the hymn. Fingers tightening into fists, he mutters under his breath.
"They're here."
Back at the organ, Wyn joins in, his voice soaring through the sacred space as he sings:
Iesu Panis Vitae,Donum Patris
Iesu Pons Vitae, Pons Vitae Acque
The melody and voice intertwine, filling the cathedral with something otherworldly. Liz presses on, her heart pounding as she nears the climax of the piece. Wyn's voice carries into the Spanish verse:
En la vida, Jesus, sea nuestro Consuelo
Sea nuestro Amigo y Compañero
Siempre podamos responder a su Llamada
Siempre dispuesto a hacer tu Voluntad
As Liz's fingers glide across the highest notes, the grand finale of the hymn erupts through the cathedral like a burst of light.
And then—
A thud.
Something falls from the base of the organ, landing heavily on the polished floor.
Liz and Wyn exchange a glance before Liz cautiously kneels and reaches under the organ bench. Her fingers brush against something rough. She pulls it out.
A paper bag, worn and crinkled with age.
Her breath catches. Wyn leans closer. "What the hell is that?"
Liz doesn't answer. She opens the bag, her fingers trembling.
Inside are several objects: a small leather-bound notebook, a brass key, a folded piece of parchment, a credit card, a flashlight, and a rosary with dark red beads that glimmer like droplets of blood.
Liz swallows hard. Bennett's words echo in her mind:
Play my favorite piece for the church of all time, play it till the end, and something will spring out on thine.
She grips the bag tightly. "Bennett led me here."
Wyn studies her. "What's in that notebook?"
Liz opens it slowly, the old pages brittle beneath her touch. The first page is blank, but the second holds faded ink scribbles. As her eyes scan the words, a shiver runs down her spine.
To see what seek, to take a peek, but none shall leak…
It's the riddle Bennett told her in the dream.
Liz's grip tightens. "We need to get out of here."
Wyn doesn't argue. They hastily gather their belongings, stuffing the paper bag into Liz's backpack. As they turn toward the cathedral doors, the faint echo of footsteps sounds behind them.
They freeze.
Wyn turns his head slightly. "Did you hear that?"
Liz nods slowly, her pulse roaring in her ears.
A shadow flickers across the marble floor, just beyond the sacristy entrance.
They don't wait.
They bolt for the exit, their hurried footsteps echoing through the sacred halls. As they push through the heavy cathedral doors and step into the cool evening air, Liz clutches her bag tightly to her chest, heart pounding.
Wyn exhales sharply. "What the hell did we just uncover?"
Liz doesn't answer. She already knows this is only the beginning.
Somewhere, hidden within the folds of shadows and whispered hymns, Bennett's voice lingers.
Good luck on the search, Liz.
Wyn hesitates at the threshold of the cathedral doors, her brow furrowing. "Wait, aren't we supposed to guard the organ like Sir told us?"
Liz, gripping the paper bag tightly, halts in her tracks. A moment of silence passes before she sighs and tugs at Wyn's wrist. "You're right. Let's head back."
The two climb the spiral staircase leading to the choir loft, their footsteps echoing through the cavernous cathedral. The air is heavy with the scent of old wood and incense, the dim glow of the stained-glass windows casting ethereal hues upon the walls. As they settle back near the organ, Liz pulls out the brass key and the credit card from the bag, examining them closely.
"What are these for?" she murmurs.
Wyn leans in, studying the objects in Liz's hands. "No clue, but I don't think they were just randomly stuffed in there."
A sudden creak breaks the quiet, as if someone is climbing up the stairs. The girls freeze.
Wyn cautiously peers over the railing. The steps below are empty. "No one's there," she whispers.
Liz swallows, her fingers grazing the organ keys. "Maybe it's just old wood settling?" But she doesn't sound convinced.
To ease the tension, she places her hands on the keys and begins to play. The soft melody of a liturgical hymn fills the vast cathedral, wrapping around them like a gentle embrace. Wyn, feeling more at ease, starts humming along.
As Liz continues, she notices something on the side of the organ—an area covered in dust. Without thinking, she wipes it away, revealing faintly carved numbers: 132542.
"A code?" she mutters.
"Try pressing those notes in sequence," Wyn suggests, intrigued.
Liz nods, her fingers moving along the keys, pressing them according to the numbers. The organ rumbles softly, as if awakening from a long slumber. Then, with a mechanical click, a hidden compartment beneath the organ creaks open.
A glint of metal catches Liz's eye.
Reaching in, she pulls out a sword. The blade, despite its age, gleams like it was forged yesterday. The hilt is adorned with small crystal beads, the guard shaped like an ornate cross. Etched into the blade are the words: San Pablo Apostol, Circa 1287.
Wyn exhales in awe. "This is... insane. A sword? Hidden inside an organ?"
Liz runs her fingers over the engraving. "Why was this here? And why does it feel... warm?" The metal thrums faintly against her palms, as if responding to her touch.
A voice startles them. "Nice job guarding the organ, girls."
They jump, nearly dropping the sword. Mr. Florendo stands at the top of the stairs, arms crossed, an amused expression on his face.
"Sir!" Liz quickly hides the sword behind her. "We... uh, we were just—"
He raises a hand. "Relax. You played well, and since you showed such dedication, you're welcome to practice here anytime."
Liz and Wyn exchange a quick glance before nodding. "Thank you, Sir. We appreciate it."
Bidding him goodbye, they descend the stairs, their hearts still racing from the discovery. As they near the side exit, the air turns unnaturally cold.
The doors slam shut.
A shadow shifts in the dim candlelight, its form stretching unnaturally tall. Two curved horns protrude from its head, and its glowing red eyes fix on them.
Wyn gasps. "Liz... what is that?"
The figure moves, its black, tar-like body undulating as it lunges toward them. Liz doesn't think—her instincts take over. She grips the sword, raising it high.
"I REBUKE YOU!"
The blade shines with an otherworldly light. As it slices through the air, the creature lets out an unearthly shriek. The moment the sword makes contact, the shadow combusts into a whirlwind of ash and flame, disintegrating into nothingness.
Silence.
The oppressive weight in the air vanishes.
Liz and Wyn, breathless, stare at each other before bolting toward the cathedral doors. This time, they do not look back.