Beyond the Blue Light

by V. Anh Perigaea

  Her chest heaved and her breath caught in her throat as a burning sensation fell over her head. She reached the top as if hypnotized, parting the curtains with a pale hand. Behind lay a round antechamber. It was lined with dark wallpaper and decorated finely, but minimally. There were several chaises and ottomans with dust laying over them like funerary shrouds. Beyond lay another room, one she tripped towards it as if called to her doom; her feet carrying themselves.

  Crossing the threshold into the room beyond, she fell to her knees. She was choking now, completely unable to draw a breath. Her limbs shook violently and the ringing was an oppressive screech. It reminded her of the strange man Valefar, and the place he’d met her, the place behind the blue light. The ringing was taking her there, or someplace like it; forcing her beyond a threshold of body and mind. She fought it, fearful to push beyond that barrier or terror. But she knew it was too much for her to withstand. So she endeavored to bear it, facing the fear.

  She suffered for what felt like hours, though it had likely only been moments; chaos ringing through her and taking over every cell. After a time, she realized she could bear the feeling, and calmed herself, though the intensity never lifted. Breathing was all that mattered, and she endeavored to do so normally, difficult as it was, focussing her attention. Surely, this was what Mr. Daveye had sent her to find. She must be strong for his sake, and have faith in herself.

  Looking around, she found she was within a bedchamber - one decorated with dark, devilish trappings. Deep-hued velvet surrounded her, covering the bed, walls and doorways. The ornately engraved furniture looked as if it’d been wrought for ancient kings, but those of a darker, more sinister temperament. All around was gold and delicate finery. Golden clocks, candlesticks, frames and woodwork detailed with it. Ornate bookcases held leather bound volumes by the dozens. And she was surrounded by small creatures engraved into furniture, walls and molding everywhere. She shivered beneath the gaze of their watchful eyes, part human and part beast. She’d never seen anything like them before, either in books or tales. All around the room, strange sigils marked wall and furnishing. Even the everyday items were frightening, one might say monstrous. A clock on a nearby table contained dueling devils embracing in infinite warfare atop the timepiece. And the fireplace itself was engraved with an array of accursed-looking beings.

  As she looked around, the ringing grew oppressive again, so she took a moment to breathe steadily and deeply. As she grew calmer, she realized that among the strange, alarming and archaic items, she was especially drawn to a dagger, one that lay between two candlesticks atop a dresser nearby. As she studied it, the ringing grew manic. The sense of the forbidden and fearful increased, of a barrier too frightening to cross. But she was drawn towards the flame, like a siren called her in an enchanting, distant voice; sabotaging her, breaking her as it freed her. A need so strong grasped her heart that she couldn’t resist. She moved forward with silent steps, reaching out her hand, the hum in her ears drumming with her heartbeat, which pounded so hard and fast she thought she might faint. But then, she touched it with the tip of her fingers, and all descended into madness.

  CHAPTER 30

  Born To Die

  Time slowed, dragging her heartbeat with it. She could barely move. One flit of her eyelids stretched out into a full minute. A single intake of breath gushed like the swell of a great current rising up over the mountains, slow and constant. While she moved more sluggishly than time itself, everything around her raced in chaos. Lights, colors and shadows rushed about her in dizzying circles, while a sense of oppressive gravity pulled her to the earth with crushing force. No longer able to stand it, her balance gave out and she fell in slow motion. Vertigo overtook her then, streaming throughout chest and back, shooting through her senses like strange, slow comets. She realized that she’d never withstood the gravity at all, only been falling too slowly to perceive it. She fell forever, tiny shocks and rising tides of sensation bursting through her body, while her mind was given eternities to process them. Finally, her knees collided with the ground, the thud of their soft tissue hitting hard surface. Each bone and tendon vibrated, adjusting individually as her legs absorbed the impact.

  When she was certain she could take the dragging weight no longer, that all life would be crushed from her body, her heartbeat quickened and her breath returned. Existence became bearable again, and she basked in the blessing of the normalcy she’d always taken for granted. It was then that she looked up and saw, as if through glass, the same room she’d inhabited before, only altered. A fire blazed life in the hearth. Candles were lit and clothing was strewn about the chamber. And as she watched, a dark figure entered through the antechamber. A strange, unearthly feeling flowed through her as she saw it move. Some part of her understood the creature’s significance, but not the rational part of her mind, which stumbled to keep up with what her heart perceived. The feeling brimmed in the corner of her eyes as heavy tears, but her mind stammered over the sensation, unable to solidify it into coherency.

  The figure moved into the light, a female silhouette. She could see only little of the woman’s face, but it appeared to be very beautiful. Her hair was long, dark and flowing, and she wore an old-fashioned dress that draped over her form in graceful lines. And yet, her movements were strange and desperate, as though she were deathly ill. She staggered to the hearth and there dropped to her knees. As she knelt, her back contracted and heaved sharply, movements expressing some internal horror.

  Annabelle realized that the woman was weeping - bitterly, hopelessly - in expression of a distress so vast it spanned deeper and further than she could grasp. It surrounded the woman, pulsing in the air about her, shining through her eyes. She was truly and hopelessly lost. As she watched the woman, compassion overtook her fear. She longed to comfort the woman, but seemed to be trapped inside a sphere, behind glass. The air before her was too thick to penetrate. When she touched it, the image of the woman warped.

  She tried one last time to break through, and caused a strange fissure in the space before her. As she did, the woman turned and looked back. Under the chill of the woman’s gaze, she saw a face familiar, frightening, and stunningly beautiful. The woman’s eyes were icy. Not from severity, but from pain; the kind that cuts deep, causing the soul to shine from dark places. They were lined with long, lush lashes, thin brows arching above in humble skepticism. The face was impish, yet innocent, with lips resting in a soft pout. She noted the likeness to the portrait of the sad woman in her uncle’s hidden room, the place with all the strange ledgers and paintings. But she knew where she’d really seen the face: scratched in small ink lines, hidden in the back of a forbidden book. She knew with certainty, like a spike through her heart, that it was the face of Madame Gurza.

  A strong hand grasped Annabelle’s arm and the vision of the woman blurred. The fire in the hearth faded to blackness before her eyes, until all was cold and desolate again. Likewise, the woman’s face faded like a ghost’s, disappearing as if it had never existed at all. The hand that grasped her still held tight, holding on through strange forces that seemed to knock her about, pulling left and right, up and down. She felt her balance being knocked off sway, gravity shifting until nothing made sense anymore. When it finally stopped, the space around her was illuminated with blue light, glowing dimly from above her once again, like a small blue sun.

  When she looked up, it was into the face of Valefar, resplendent in furs, leather and rings. He stood with a mild, knowing smile upon his lips, his eyelids lowered intelligently. And she noticed something that she hadn’t before - that tattoos covered his hands, strange symbols and sigils, all connected like stars on an astronomy chart.

  “You-”

  She could barely speak, for a feeling she was choking on her own words. She couldn’t catch her breath. He watched with an amused, indulgent smirk carved upon his lips that widened as he gave her time to compose herself. She realized, with terror, that the killer of Blackall’s men had all this t
ime been hard on her heels. And that now, Valefar stood before her like an answer to a question. Truly, it must’ve been him all along. Perhaps he was the man in black, the one who’d haunted her, terrified her in that courtyard. Her mind struggled to accept that it was he who’d perpetrated the horror and death she’d seen at the back of the train. Somehow, the supposition felt wrong; some small voice seemed to whisper that it had not been he, that he’d come on entirely different business.

  “Who are you,” she gasped. “Who are you, really? How came you to be here?”

  His eyes narrowed at her words, and he shook his head almost imperceptibly.

  “My dear,” he said, his voice deep and languorous. “I followed you.”

  A thrill of anxiety mounted in her heart at the sound of his voice. It resounded strangely, ominously, as if cutting through her flesh. It seemed to dispel noise and interference, and to impress upon her a new, unearthly clarity - one that overwhelmed her, setting her hands to shaking. A thousand worries jumbled in her mind. What did this man mean to do? What was he capable of? He’d such a strange expression, unlike any she’d ever seen; as if he saw deeper inside of her than she saw within herself. His gaze bore into her, as if he thought she was refusing to admit something. She felt hypnotized by it. The longer she stood in his presence, the more she felt overcome by an inexplicable sense of awe, as of some brightness shining all about her.

  “And,” She swallowed nervously, attempting assertiveness. “What do you mean by it?”

  Valefar tsked and shook his head gently.

  “Still,” he said. “You do not remember.”

  At his last words, a bright flash passed before her eyes. Her chest became oppressively tight. Her whole body trembled. Something was dawning on her. She knew this man. It was breaking something inside of her to realize it, rending her heart in two, expanding it to reaches she couldn’t accommodate with her body’s small frame. She didn’t know how, but was certain: she knew him. And he knew her. But not from her uncle’s foyer.

  “Who are you...” the words escaped her lips like a question answering itself.

  He raised his chin, his eyes glimmering.

  “We met in a dream once,” he said, his voice moving up her spine. “When you had a different name.”

  She was keeling forward now, her whole body tight as her jaw contracted in a silent scream. Each word he spoke increased the images, intensified the sensations that worked through every muscle in her body. She grasped at her chest, wishing her clawing fingers could reach within to her heart, an organ that seemed it would burst from it’s container.

  “We are bound together,” he continued. “You and I. And we shall walk many long years more, of that I am certain. It has taken a thousand years to find you, more than that.”

  She moaned as tears poured down her cheeks, the convulsions of her body expelling some lie that’d lived long in her bones, deluding her senses.

  “Don’t you remember,” he continued. “When I took pity on you, all those ages ago? You a wanderer in darkness, and I a sentinel watching over the uninhabited reaches? My kind told me I took the dogmas too true to heart, that yours were not to be trusted. So I was banished into the obscurities to watch alone. I was never of their world, nor you of yours. In many long years, I have earned this place in your heart. You have become a part of my dream, and I of yours.”

  All that was real to her now was shuddering fingers seen through shuddering vision. She knew she was breathing, she heard it in her head. A rattling, staggering impression of existence remained in her senses. But it all ran together, overlapping and obscuring boundaries. She waited and listened for life to make sense again. holding on to any absolute she could find. All the while, he studied her face, his eyes reading hers with an easy acuteness.

  “You have returned. I have found you,” he said, bowing slightly. “It is a rare pleasure enjoyed once in an age, to introduce myself to you as a stranger, and see time remembered in your eyes like the dawning of a new day.”

  A kindness passed through his eyes, and impressed itself upon her senses - a camaraderie deeper than any earthly friendship she could imagine, one that ran deeper than several ages of time could ever collect in a human heart. But despite it’s warmth, she sensed that beyond him lay another, one with a deeper call on her heart, stretching further back into obscurity. The momentary impression of it was enough to stop her heart and extinguish her breath. It was all too much. She was choking on something she didn’t understand, while strange images rampaged the outer corners of her mind, begging entrance. All faded to black.

  ~

  When she opened her eyes, he was standing over her as stark blue light descending down from above. She took his proffered hand and stood, still feeling unstable.

  “We stand in the Absis,” he said. “And we are safe within it, for a time. I risk much by coming here, as you know, and aiding one as you. It is forbidden. By the light, you become visible to your enemies. But the benefit of my assistance shall speed your journey in ways that outnumber the risks.”

  He took her hand and led her to a chaise near the hearth. She followed awkwardly, his closeness alarming. She sat and he dropped down near to her, releasing a rich, musky scent of exotic herbs. Looking into his eyes, images returned, flashing before the screen of her mind. The dizziness returned. But the more time she spent near to him, the more a warm, comforting sense came over her - one of profound familiarity and safety. Something about his presence soothed her, like the warm, serene feelings of home. His speckled, violet eyes told her stories; ones she could barely sense on the tip of her memory, that sat on the curve of his lips and the roundness of his smirking cheeks. He lifted her hand from the dusty cushion and folded it in his own heavily ringed palm.

  “Unfortunately,” he said. “Another has followed you, as well.”

  Annabelle’s gut turned. She would never be safe again, it seemed. But he retained an air of complete calm, as if he had all of eternity to speak with her.

  “I know,” she said. “They perished. All of them. Behind the train.”

  A jolt ran through her heart. Pity, she guessed; at the great loss of life. Such men surely did not choose their lowly path. Valefar’s eyebrows lifted lazily.

  “Not the thieves, nor their lord,” he said, something indistinguishable flashing through his eyes. “The Valak.”

  Annabelle’s thoughts turned directly to the man in black, knowing instinctually that this was who Valefar was referring to.

  “The...”

  Seeing the recognition in her eyes, he nodded.

  “You are perhaps beginning to understand,” he said.

  He watched her patiently, his eyes heavily lidded.

  “What do you mean?” she said. “What is a Valak?”

  He paused for a moment, clearing his throat.

  “The Valak,” he said. “For there is only one. He is always their first soldier.”

  “Who,” she said, her voice faltering. “What is the Valak?”

  “A demon,” he continued. “That is the neatest bridge to your world’s definitions. One who lives in a world of flame, burning mind and body; a world crazed and manic. He embodies torment, every cell of his being is rife with it, through and through. To stand in his presence, his true revealed presence, drives men mad. His dwelling presides over an accursed, blackened valley, where the legions of the lost, his damned victims, wander endlessly as he feeds upon their agony. He is a great and powerful lord, a seducer of human women, especially your kind. His lust for them is singular. And once he has defiled them, they become ...something else. His lust is satiated only by consuming purity. Once their purity is fully compromised, they are discarded into the valley.”

  She couldn’t speak. Such a thing was so horrifying to think on. She hardly wished to know more about it. The rhyme Mr. Elkstein had always repeated returned suddenly to her mind.

  In darkest night

  Doom shall sound thrice

  “Since I came to you at
Orenn House,” he continued. “It has known you with certainty. It saw you in my reliquary, then again in the light. Surely, you remember.”

  Annabelle nodded solemnly, remembering the three loud bangs at the door, that’d seemed to shake the ground, and had shot acrid, frozen fear through her chest.

  “But,” she said. “Why am I sought at all? Why is all of this happening?”

  Valefar looked down at her, his expression slightly wry.

  “There are certain things I may tell you,” he said. “And certain things I may not, for you must learn them yourself. Telling truths to you, emblazoning them to your person, without your full practical understanding of them, will accelerate your accountability to them, and the pursuit of the powers that wish to harm you, without increasing your ability to repel these dark powers. You see what our meeting for a mere moment has brought upon you - a dreadful foe is hard upon your heels. I come to aid you carefully, artfully, when I can; in the hopes that you may be fostered into full maturity. You must understand, my dear, though it pains me to tell you, and it surely must haunt your thoughts hereafter: most, nearly all of your kind never reach such a state. Most die long before the age of twenty-four. Many are killed simply for appearing to be you. One of late, a girl named Pritchett. You are so terribly feared by those who pursue you, and your growth such a tentative and delicate process, it is rarely accomplished in long generations. And yet, you carry the memory of previous generations within you, along with their acts of contrition or befoulment. These memories guide your soul on a path to auspicious or dire landscapes, dependent upon their nature. Karma, I believe some have called it in your world. But it should bring you great hope to know that a chance, such as the one before you, is rare in all the ages of the world. Such a one does not come to be without the accumulation of many sacred, auspicious acts to speed it into being, between you and your match. Have faith my dear, in yourself and your own power, that has gathered throughout many ages to bring you here.”