Equinox (Augarten Book 1)

by Charlie Godwyne

  Medium brown hair and short-cropped facial hair…I could not see the color of his eyes from this distance, but he had crow's feet in the corners, as if he smiled a lot. A pair of folded glasses hung from the V-neck of his shirt, pulling the collar down to reveal a smattering of brown chest hair. Tall, but not as tall as I, almost even with Solomon, slim, with a narrow waist and shoulders. My heart picked up its pace—he was handsome.

  Bless the sky, he was that cyclist who had nearly bowled over us yesterday.

  I remembered racing to the white circle of magic in my dream vision, how I had instinctively known the circle would protect me. Was this man the person whose footprints had pooled such magic into the ground?

  The man sang softly, clearly engaged in something meant to be private. Loose pants, barefoot.

  But there was something more, something that swept through me like a late summer breeze, like the Danube river rushing over me. As the early morning sunlight just barely peaked above the brick walls of Augarten, casting long horizontal shadows through the park, I watched this man pray, and my heart opened. My soul reached for his words that I could not quite hear, and without reason behind it, a soothing calm settled in my belly, and I felt at home.

  Those beings he prayed to were beings whom I myself knew, the soft words flittering around us like so many hummingbirds, witnessed by the trees in the silent morning, served to awaken me to the mystery. Like opening a secret door I had always known to be there, and I had but to step through. In that moment, neither my amnesia nor the dull feeling of being trapped inside a body bothered me. On a level I could not rationalize, I understood that this was all just temporary, that not knowing who I was before did not change who I was within, and who I would be after this. My arms spread of their own accord, longing to embrace the divine people this man sang to so lovingly, aching to know their names, as they surely knew mine.

  Then he jerked around and locked eyes on me with a gasp. The moment popped like a bubble on the surface of water. We stared each other down, and the beautiful feeling that connected me to a world full of gods vanished. My skin felt tight over my bones, my muscles constricting me, keeping me from flight, from knowing or sensing anything at all.

  He bent down and righted a bicycle that had been lying in the grass. I jumped to my feet and charged through the bushes. "Wait! Please wait."

  He gave a startled yip and nearly fell off his bike. As I strode toward him, he dismounted and whipped around. Then just as I was about to enter the circle that had shone with white magic the night of my dream, the man slung his hand out to the side, and I suddenly felt myself blocked.

  He glared at me. "Who are you?"

  "My name is Gabriel." I took a moment for a deep breath. "Sorry to jump out of the bushes and charge at you like that."

  His voice was hard with alarm. "What do you want?"

  "I, um, I have amnesia. I just woke up yesterday, here in Augarten. A staff member is giving me a place to stay while I recover my memories. If you don't believe me, you can ask Andrea—she works here."

  He lowered his hand slowly. "I know Andrea. My name is Florian."

  "Nice to meet you." I still could not enter the circle, so I could not shake his hand. "I heard the language you were singing in just now—it woke me up—and it felt familiar. Since I'm short on memories, I didn't want this chance to pass me by."

  Florian swallowed and glanced to the side. "You might be from Wales, then. That was Welsh."

  Whoa. "Are you Welsh?"

  "No." He didn't elaborate.

  I scratched the back of my head. "I think I already know the answer to this, but…you haven't seen me around before, have you? Do you know me?"

  The alarm melted away and empathy filled his warm hazel eyes. "No, I don't. I've never seen you before, sorry."

  "…damn." There was still so much I wanted to ask him about, but words died in my throat.

  He looked back to the gate, where a security guard was unlocking it. I wondered how he'd gotten in beforehand. "Listen Gabriel, I've got to get to work."

  My heart sank. This terribly awkward conversation wasn't enough to form any kind of connection that could continue to another encounter. Yet I was so desperate for acquaintances, not just for clues about my past, but simply a friendly face. "Sure. Sorry again."

  He mounted his bicycle and glanced over his shoulder at me. "I'll be at the festival they hold here at the end of summer, working an espresso trailer."

  He rang his bicycle bell and waggled his brows at me. "Follow the bell."

  I had no idea what he was talking about, but this sounded like an invitation to meet again. "Wonderful. See you then."

  "Tschüss."

  "Bye."

  I watched him ride to the gate, hope bubbling up in my stomach, filling me with so much happy energy, I wanted to launch into the air and take flight. By then, the birds were singing, and I went back inside.

  I took out the book on discursive meditation Solomon had found at the library yesterday and read through the opening exercise. My belly was full of the leftover bread I'd found in the lounge—I'd been afraid to try meditating before some semblance of breakfast. When I was really hungry, I felt as if I might simply float away. That was another hint of instinct that pricked at the back of my mind, a whisper of my voice from before I lost my memories. Eat first.

  Sliding a box of miscellany from the wall of the cramped storage closet, I pretended it was a chair, that my closet was a bedroom. Back straight, feet flat on the floor, palms on my thighs. I breathed slowly, trying to pace myself with the gentle ticking of time, even though I didn't have a watch. I opened my mind, relaxing from head to toe, and felt the tension leak down from my neck and shoulders, sliding the length of my spine, down through the bottoms of my feet, into the floor and away. Then I imagined the energy of the earth, the same colors I saw from the garden plants, filling me from my toes on upward, connecting me to everything that lived. Just imagining that visual conjured a gentle feeling of warmth, like a soft breeze caressing my skin.

  I didn't want to open my eyes and check the book, so I continued to the next step, hoping everything was done right. Okay, next I have to pick a topic, and I'm supposed to start simple and talk it out. If I get distracted, I have to work my thoughts in reverse until I find the point of departure so I can suss out the interrelationships.

  I floundered on a topic or theme for meditation—everything I wanted answers on was extremely complex. Why did I wake up with no memories? Why in Augarten? Who was I? Where were my family and friends? Where should I go? Why was no one searching for me?

  I breathed through the distress, holding back the torrent of insecurity as if I were pushing a wall against a tidal wave. That thought transformed into an image of the brick wall encasing Augarten. The sharp chips on the bricks cut into my hands as I pushed against them, imagining I was protecting the garden, somehow holding back the floodwaters of the Danube. Then I saw to the side of my hands the angel wings painted on the bricks, spread out with space between so people could take photos, pretending to be angelic.

  An angel. Even if I could not see them like Solomon, I could pray to an angel and ask them to help me find my memories. According to Solomon, everyone had a guardian angel, whether they believed or not. Maybe an angel could help me decipher these instinctual pulls, to listen to them more deeply and get their revelations. Surely that would lead me to my true self.

  Following the visualization, trying to make it as vivid as possible, I cleared my throat, and spoke softly. "I am hoping that, maybe, I have a guardian angel. If I do, then I'd like to first express my gratitude for everything you have done for me. If you're here, I would like to respectfully ask whether you can help me find my memories—"

  I gasped as I felt someone very near to me. My gut clenched, but my mind did not register any kind of attack. In my mind's eye, I was still looking at the angel wings painted on the wall at the edge of Augarten. The conjoining wall of the corner leading to the gate shou
ld have been a few meters down. Yet I somehow knew that if I kept my eyes on the wings, but extended my left arm out, I would hit something solid and unyielding. It could not be the outer wall—I knew with every fiber of my being the wrought iron gate was not right next to the painted wings. This had to be something else.

  Steeling my nerves, I kept my eyes on the painting, then slowly extended my left arm out. Sure enough, I hit something cold, but when I spread my hand out, my fingers did not scrape the chipped bricks of the old wall, but instead brushed smooth stone. My heart pounded, threatening to pull me out of the meditation. I had to see what this was. I had to know, because I didn't know anything, and this was something I could learn.

  Carefully, I slid my eyes from the angel wings, keeping the visual as firm as I could, and took a look at the stone underneath my hands. Pale grey, like a statue that had faded over centuries in the sun. Tall, huge, a figure loomed over me, like a replica of a Chinese terra cotta warrior.

  It wore a long cloak of stone, arms at its sides, its right hand holding the hilt of a sword. I pulled my gaze up to the stiff collar, the sharp shoulders, then gasped—his face was mine. My exact countenance, a replica of what I had seen in the mirror in the washroom. The statue sported my hair, my strong nose and high cheekbones, though with empty eyes and a stern set to his jaw that I would never use unless I was angry, and I had yet to get angry, as far as I could remember. Then I felt him move, not visually, but on instinct. He drew his sword—

  I gasped and lurched away, smacking my head against the storeroom shelving. Suddenly claustrophobic, I scrambled out of the cramped storeroom and into the hall. I rushed through the network of buildings and out into the garden.

  My feet screamed at me—I looked down to find myself standing on the gravel path in my socks. I scampered across the path into Augarten, not stopping until I got as far away from the buildings as I could without running into the tower.

  Terrified and jittery, I hugged my middle. The morning was a little too cold for me to be out in only my baggy shirt. I collapsed onto a park bench and forced myself to breathe. "It's okay. I'm okay. That wasn't an angel. That was something else."

  It took several minutes for my heart rate to calm.

  "That spooked me," I said aloud to the garden. Maybe Augarten would listen, if no one else would. "I wasn't expecting to see something on my first try. That was clearly a message, but I don't know what sort of message I was meant to receive."

  And I hadn't managed to contact my guardian angel.

  I inhaled the damp exhalations of hundreds of trees, and the last of my terror finally left me. "I'm willing to listen," I said to the garden. "I want to know who I am."

  After a few minutes, I talked myself into going back inside.

  Chapter Five

  Andrea found me in the common room, cleaning the kitchen. "You don't have appointments with Solomon, Gabriel?"

  "Not that I'm aware of." I set the last of the dishes in the drainer and dried my hands on the dish towel. "Please put me to work."

  Andrea's bright green eyes twinkled, her salt-and-pepper hair coming loose from its braid. "I'd be happy to. It's harvest—there's plenty that needs doing. But I don't have any cash to pay you with."

  "Nor do I have cash to pay for your help yesterday. I'm willing to work for free if that can be considered compensation."

  "I'll accept that. Now come here—let's see if I guessed your size right."

  She dug in her bag and held up a bright yellow flannel shirt with red crisscrossing stripes. "Your arms are longer than this. Does anything remind you of Holland, or Scandinavia? You're taller than the average Austrian."

  I pressed my lips together grimly. "Nothing."

  She must have read the pain on my face, for her smile faded, and she didn't ask anything more about it. I slid my arms into the sleeves and buttoned it up. Then she pressed a pair of old corduroys into my arms, as well as a fresh, plastic-lined pack of boxers and socks and pointed me to the same closet where I'd changed the day before. Blushing furiously, I dashed into the closet and changed. The corduroys were tight and short—sitting would be difficult—but I could at least get them zipped. I was always hungry, and maybe just naturally skinny, but my body felt underfed. However, that also meant that my thighs fit in the pants, so I would make do.

  She led me outside. Mothers were already sprinkled around Augarten, either with young babies in carriages or chasing toddlers around, and often a seemingly exhausting combination of both. In my canvas shoes and new clothes, I followed her down the gravel path and past the angel wings. Andrea stopped at the corner just past the inner wrought-iron gate and pulled out a set of keys. "Here we are."

  My eyes did a reset—I had not realized that the brick wall with the angel wings wasn't actually the outer wall of Augarten that backed up against the street. This only made sense, because the area between was designed to be inconspicuous: a chain-link fence with impassable bushes grown on the inside, along with a row of pine trees on the outside. This area was large, maybe a half block long and a third of a block wide. Andrea held the gate open for me and I stepped through.

  From where we stood, down the entire length of the street and to the end of the block, there was nothing but densely packed rows of vegetables, herbs, and other plants: huge sunflowers, ivy running along the brick walls, chard, colorful peppers, Hokkaido pumpkins, and other squash, as well as dozens of plants I could not immediately identify. At the very end of the garden stood four long greenhouses.

  Andrea swept her arm across the garden, pride clearly written on her features. "This is the city farm of Augarten. The spaces you see outside by the street are for rent, so people in the neighborhood can have garden space for their own personal use. But all this within the walls is ours. Maria is our head gardener. She monitors all plots and keeps tabs on plant disease. Right now at harvest, we're in desperate need of free or cheap labor. Our volunteers usually can't afford to take time off their jobs and help us other than on the weekends. Besides, this isn't exactly a luxurious way to spend one's vacation days."

  I rolled up my sleeves. "I'll work hard."

  She beamed. "Great."

  Andrea straightened her sun hat and dusted off her Augarten staff polo, her khakis smudged with dirt. She led me to a row where she must have already been working this morning: mats were set out for kneeling and small trowels lay off to the side. Two buckets partially full of dark red beets sat next to the gently churned soil. A couple of crows cawed and watched us from the brown tiles atop the brick wall. Andrea showed me how to dig up the beets without damaging the roots. I popped my collar up so it covered my neck and set in.

  We worked for hours without stopping. Once I got the hang of it, I gradually got faster. I finished my section of the row of beets, then carried my mat to the other side of her and started on the next section. Andrea spoke wistfully of my young hands and arms, encouraging me to stretch every now and then so I didn't tighten up.

  Though I didn't want to stop our progress, I got so hungry I could scarcely think of anything else. That was when I realized the beets were bleeding a pink, airy substance, like some kind of ether or aura. Panning out, I could see the whole garden rejoicing in life. Such a colorful mosaic, a triumphant reach toward the sun.

  Thinking of my conversation with Solomon yesterday, I wondered whether Andrea saw this, too. "It seems as if each plant has its own personality, that it changes the air around it to a certain color."

  She didn't look up from her work, just smiled down at the beet she was wiping off. "You should talk to Maria. She mentions things like that."

  After our lunch break, once I had a quick sandwich (or five) in my stomach, the beets didn't shine as much anymore, but I knew the magic was still there. It was like seeing through two different sets of eyes: one the same as everyone else, and the other from that first night in Augarten. I wondered whether Florian could see things this way, too.

  We moved on to the potatoes next, then the onions, d
igging and digging, over and over, for the entire day. My body had long since stopped telling me that I shouldn't do such repetitive motions. I had passed the point of exhaustion and entered a realm where the entire purpose of my existence was looking forward to a hot bath.

  Andrea yanked her gloves off and leaned back on her haunches. "Let's call it there."

  I sat back, yanked my gloves off as well, and got a look at the sky. The sun was already setting behind the buildings, echoing pink streaks back over the hills. One lone, glass skyscraper poked out from the more modern side of town, a strange presence considering the architecture of the older part of the second district. Such nondescript glass contrasted sharply with the hundred-year-old apartment blocks adorned with gargoyles and Greco-Roman-inspired statues. My preference swung to the latter—more personality and style with the monsters. The skyscraper certainly fit the idea of a posh modern metropolis of 2025 more than Andrea and I kneeling in a small farm in the middle of the city, yet the hulking glass phallus pinpricking the sky almost seemed to violate verisimilitude.

  Andrea turned to where I was looking. "That's called the tower of the millennium."

  "Oh." I was not certain what kind of millennium it referred to or whether that was an era anyone actually wanted.

  She dragged a sleeve across her forehead, smiling her toothy grin at me and squinting against the sun. "If you work this hard every day, Gabriel, then I've got a job for you until the end of harvest. I'll see if I can find something better than that storage closet. You can eat the food in the fridge, and whatever people bring by. Maybe by the time harvest is over, you'll have an idea of who you are and what you plan to do."

  I smiled at her, gratitude filling me up. "Thank you."