Beyond the Blue Light

by V. Anh Perigaea

  At the end of a particularly harrying day, her mind a chaotic, tormented jumble, she found the nerve to make one last attempt to reach out to Ascelin, to attempt to sense him in the way that she had so potently in previous moments alone. But as she tried, all was darkness. Void. She went up to her bedchamber and stood before the mirror. She felt so lost and empty. Her own face stared back a hopeless stranger. She felt nothing, only heard the words of Lady Foley echoing through her memory.

  “He shall never be free, not while you live.”

  Scanning a trembling hand over her desk, she saw the priceless dagger passed down through generations of her family. It glittered in the firelight, as if fate were calling to her from the past.

  ~

  In a grand apartment in a most exclusive district of town, decked in the height of fashion, as if shaken awake for the first time in months, Ascelin’s head shot up from his paper. A sudden, undeniable clarity broke through him in a moment, as of a blockage stopped or a sudden clearing of the air. All of a sudden, he could see far, beyond the fine rooms, beyond door, window and street, through the thick cloud that had turned his thoughts to a shallow confusion for so long, and deep into the heart of another. He saw then, as of a painting, the moment in which his perception had been marred - while he’d drunk wine given to him by a young woman with curled yellow hair, at his own engagement party months back. In that moment, the truth fell upon him heavily in it’s entirety. In that moment, he saw his egregious error with a merciless finality that cut through him. And at the same time, sensed that it was too late.

  CHAPTER 33

  From Beyond the Grave

  After the blue light had faded, Annabelle found herself alone in an abandoned house full of secrets. Wind whistled through the shattered windows, blowing ragged draperies in ghostly waves. She would take shelter here, in the hidden room to which she’d felt so drawn, where the ghostly woman walked. For, despite it’s dreadful eeriness, she felt a strange kinship with the place, and a powerful draw to partake deeply of it’s secrets. That was why she was here, after all, to partake of secrets, and to follow the path pointed out to her by the departed Mr. Daveye. So she settled in, anxious if the woman should appear again, like a poltergeist seeking vengeance.

  Annabelle built a small fire in the hearth and lay before it. It’s warm crackle lulling her to sleep as the wind whistled faintly in the background. She woke before long, after passing fitfully between sleep and wakefulness on the hard floor, which offered sad repose to her tired, aching limbs. Picking herself up painfully, she made her way to the large, four-posted bed. The posts were thick, and the wood engraved intricately with vines and galloping horses. The crimson velvet coverlet, covered in a sheet of snowy dust, was soft and comfortable. She lay her head upon the fringed pillow, feeling deeply at ease as her muscles relaxed.

  Golden candlesticks, clocks, tapestries, books and other finery reflected the light of the flickering fire. Her mind turned again to the curious fact that it was all still here, completely intact as if some sudden act had caused all of the house’s inhabitants to flee to the hills, one so infamous it’d kept thieves at bay. She tried not to imagine what it could’ve been, or the infamous tales surrounding Madame Gurza. At this point, she was too weary to fight sleep, even for the sake of caution. She gave in to her exhaustion, dismissing the anxieties that’d gripped her for so long.

  When she opened her eyes again sometime later, they looked directly into the face of Mr. Blackall. His expression was grim as he loomed over her, his features cut in hard lines by the dim light. It took her a moment to register the sight of him, but when she did, shock overtook her and a gasp caught in her throat. Her whole body contracted with panic, bracing for a blow, for she assumed he must be extremely vexed with her. She’d caused him a great deal of trouble, running away from him several times in London and again on the train. He’d lost several men in the pursuit. And now, he’d been forced to follow her to this god-forsaken place. Who knew what pains he’d make her suffer for defying him so. She reeled nauseously as she imagined what it might be. He would surely exact it here, with none to witness, then drag her out to his men to be imprisoned and carried off to a dark dungeon.

  But a shadow passed over her heart as she recalled the sight of their bodies laying behind the train. She’d seen them with her own eyes, and even thought she’d seen Blackall’s. And she heard no sound from without, not in the antechamber, nor the corridor below. His men were a raucous bunch, and not likely to remain so quiet. Had he come alone?

  Blackall merely stood and watched her, his eyes dancing to and fro over her face, with pupils dilated as if in shock. She expected him to strike at any moment, but he didn’t. He just watched, most of his form cast in shadow. When he finally lifted his hand, she braced for a blow. But, instead of striking her, he laid it on her forearm, sliding rough fingers slowly down toward her hand. Chills ran over her skin, and confusion mixed with fear, brewing an alarming concoction of thrilled terror inside of her heart.

  There was something in his expression she hadn’t seen before, and it made her uneasy. It was carried in his features like a weight, knowledge borne by the tiny muscles there. And the features themselves looked different. A scar stretched from his lip to his cheekbone, and other small marks scored his cheeks, like when she’d seen him in her dream days ago. His hair was longer now, falling past his shoulders in unruly pieces. But his eyes glimmered by firelight in their usual striking way, like light blue stones. He watched her for a time while his hand moved threateningly up her arm, over her shoulder, and to the side of her face. She tried to look away from his eyes, but found it difficult, even for a moment. Her chest burned wildly, choking off her breath, and her heart fluttered. She felt like a trapped animal burning from within.

  Suddenly, his silhouette covered her. He lay partially on top of her, pinning her possessively with his large form. His face was inches from hers, while his large, scarred hand touched her cheek. Her heart beat erratically, insanely, while her breathing turned manic and irregular. His hand travelled slowly down her cheek to her neck, along her collar bone, while his own breath fell on her neck in stifled gasps. His hand dropped boldly to her waist, grasping it, while his lips fell against her neck, and his hair over her chin. She could feel gushes of hot breath on her neck, ones smelling faintly of mint and tobacco.

  All light was extinguished as his face covered her. His eyes disappeared into shadow as his mouth dropped over hers. His lips were warm and soft, salty and acrid; his stubble rough as he kissed her. He kissed her as if entitled, as if overtaken; moving against her as if he couldn’t stop, not even if he wished to. His lower body drove against her forcefully, pushing her upwards against the pillows. She panicked and tried to pull away, but he grasped her roughly by the wrists, pushing them over her head and holding both in place with a single, strong hand. Once or twice he pulled up to look at her, his eyes defined by a strange desperation, and a draw she couldn’t withstand. The feeling it gave her seemed to slither down her throat and settle between her lungs. Her blood heated and her body chilled. She felt confused at herself, for she kissed him back and moved desperately against him, her face contracting as if releasing some long-held emotion. She grasped at a body strange to her, over limbs she didn’t know. She felt fevered, lost in a dream where nothing existed but confused passion. And all the while he pulled at her, reaching beneath her back and grasping her tightly upwards against his warm frame.

  He was a fearful man. She was terrified of him. She didn’t know half of what he was capable of, but was sure he could do anything he wished, if not through ungodly craft, then by sheer power over other men. But her suspicious thoughts dissolved as he kissed her more feverishly, and they moved together in desperate, locking motions. He let out a deep moan, and her heart skipped and froze all at once. He gripped and pulled her to him in ways that made her feel savage, his eyes ever watchful of her face, glowing like sapphires through the falling locks of his hair. She realized sudden
ly that his clothes were gone, and shamefully, that her own were too. But she wasn’t given time to chide herself, nor to care at all. The warm softness of his skin on hers hypnotized her, devouring her hesitance. His mouth dropped to her chest and neck, and she trembled at the sensation. But then, in a haze of warmth and senses, he was gone - the weight of his form and the softness of his skin dissolving before thought could register it. And like a shock, an overpowering grief took her body. She doubled over with it before she could realize why.

  She was shaking, panicked. Something was wrong with her body, something vital was draining out of her. Her limbs trembled and her vision blurred. The grief took up painful residence in her stomach, working it’s way out in sharp contractions.

  Getting up, she dragged herself, naked, to the gilded mirror by the wall. A fire burned as she dropped to her knees, steadying herself against the mirror’s frame. At the sight of what it reflected, she nearly fainted. She was bleeding heavily from both arms, and from her mouth. Her teeth were stained red and blood was smeared across her torso. Her face looked white and stark as a ghost’s. But even more strangely, she saw a grown woman before her - one with curving hips, small waist, full chest, long dark hair, and light, sad eyes. She realized she was looking at herself, only older.

  She doubled over as sharp pain tyrannized her core. Her chest burned. Something foreign was inside of it - an emptiness she couldn’t bear, borne of knowledge she couldn’t stand to have, that made her feel hollow from chest to back, completely gutted. She moaned in agony and despair, sounds that couldn’t rightly express or release the pain. Tears blurred her vision in the flickering orange light.

  ~

  Annabelle woke with a gasp on the soft, dusty bed - her pulse pounding and her breath so labored it wheezed. Rustling noises in the house had awoken her, and continued as she lay frozen, listening. They moved slowly through the house, chilling her with each gentle creak. She remembered the creature Valefar had warned her of, the one he said hunted her, a demon known as the Valak. She was alone and defenseless, and knew that her only hope was concealment. So, she got up and tiptoed to the fireplace as silently as she could, finding her body strangely sore as the floorboards creaked treacherously underfoot. Once there, she held the wick against the coals, and noticed the noises in the house had stopped.

  Whatever it is, it’s listening, she thought with a chill. And it’s heard me.

  With the candle now lit, she backed into a corner of the room and waited. The noises began again, but sounded deliberately muffled as they grew closer. Gradually, they neared until she heard footsteps climbing the stair outside the antechamber. A dark figure emerged, one made completely of shadow. It was so black it seemed to absorb light, a human silhouette with human movements and clothing, but without form. In it’s presence she felt a strange burning, as of heat washing over her skin and through her. And she realized she’d seen the creature before, outside of Orenn Manor, when she’d run away to the train station. It’d been walking on the other side of the street, in the other direction. As she watched, it turned about the room, searching. She wasn’t terribly frightened until she heard it speak in a deep, guttural voice that crackled over sounds, and was barely risen above a whisper.

  “Psychicae mortem,” it uttered from deep within an unseen throat.

  At the sound, an overpowering drag pulled her towards the it. The draw was so powerful that it extinguished the fire, sucking the air away and sinking the room into blue-tinted darkness. She realized it was the same sensation she’d felt in the courtyard, in the presence of the man in black.

  It must be him, she thought. The man in black. This must be what he looks like by the candle’s light.

  She slammed her eyes shut, trying not to think of the silver object he’d held in the courtyard, or how she’d felt utterly helpless to withstand it’s power. She hoped the creature wouldn’t use it, for she’d certainly be doomed. She resisted the pull as best she could, holding tight to the bedpost above her, struggling under the sensation until it suddenly quit. When it did, the dark form turned and sulked from the room in strange, floating motions. The heated, burning sensation left her as the figure did, and she breathed a deep, silent sigh of relief. Surely, it knew she was in the house somewhere. She shuddered at the thought of it remaining here, laying in wait for her to reveal her presence. Clearly, she couldn’t stay. Hopefully, she’d be lucky enough to make it out of the house without being discovered, and be able to decide what to do. For though Valefar had advised her, he’d made it clear that was all he could do; and that he risked much by doing even that. She was on her own.

  Feeling over her person to make sure nothing had fallen out of her pockets, she slid onto the ground as silently as possible, trying not to scrape it with her boots, and moved towards the door. Though she wished to stay and fully understand Mr. Daveye’s purpose in sending her here, the creature was likely stalking through the old house’s dark rooms in search of her. It seemed safer to take refuge in the woods for now, an open space where she could hear it coming and escape in any direction.

  Pushing carefully through the curtained doorway that led to the antechamber, she tip-toed out and down the stairs. Moving through the house by the glow of the candle’s blue light was even eerier than it had been before, since every silent, dark corner seemed to promise that vacuous creature. Exiting through the back of the house, she stepped onto a grand portico and purveyed the vast grounds. It was dark, but small flashes of lightning lit the sky. By their glow, something caught her vision. Once she could make it out, she was nearly dazed by a resounding sense of deja-vu. Off in the distance, at the edge of the farthest wood, stood the open mouth a great, sprawling labyrinth.

  CHAPTER 34

  The Face of Death

  She was drawn forcefully, inextricably toward the labyrinth. The waning moon was her only companion as she moved through the open field, staggering like a specter in the fog, the dark world around her tinted blue. The closer she got, the more she realized how massive the labyrinth was. It’s hedges stood at least five times her height, while fog crept out of it’s entrance in gentle gushes, like breaths expelling from a gaping mouth. Her feet crunched over vines and dry leaves as she moved closer. She was drawn to it... in theory. The sight embodied fascination, wonder and dread all at once. But the reality of going inside grew increasingly intimidating, paralyzing her on the spot.

  If she must go somewhere fearful, her only comfort was in doing so invisibly. She felt another surge of gratitude for the black candle, the dear savior that’d gotten her out of several scrapes so far. She thought back to the one who’d given it to her - the old woman who lived deep beneath the ground in black caverns, and was blind, but seemed to see many things. She wondered how anyone could bear to reside in such a place, on the edge of damnation, and shuddered at the memory of the old woman’s dwelling. The prospect of torment and eternal darkness it’d threatened, so deep beneath the earth, had been truly dire. It chilled her to recall it, for it would’ve been so easy to get lost down there. She knew she’d barely made it out alive. Perhaps one day she would find the courage to go back and repay the woman for her kindness at such a gift, but couldn’t imagine how soon that would be.

  She didn’t know the way, but was guided by a certainty that she would find whatever she needed. The anxieties of her mind - worry about finding what she was meant to - had been nearly silenced. Some odd sensation of affinity drew her, as if her feet were being drawn along an invisible path, at the end of which enlightenment was inevitable; a path drawn out by her own inner nature. And all she must do was follow.

  The maze was grand, though overgrown and desolate. Ivy covered every surface. Small sculptures decorated dark corners, dancing imps whose presence startled her in the moonlight. The floor was tiled, but covered with vines that threatened to twist her ankles with each step. She tread cautiously at first, taking small, silent steps; then stopped to listen for any effect her disturbance might’ve had on the night. Noth
ing sounded in the dark, in fact, the silence in the labyrinth grew thicker as she went.

  She forced herself on, turning corner after corner, leaves and vines crunching beneath her boots. Occasionally, forks in the path caused confusion, but in the end, she relied on a quick intuitive decision to keep moving. She knew it wouldn’t help to stand and deliberate, and would only cause her to lose her nerve.

  As she went, the maze grew darker and more wild. She passed several sculptures, fountains and gothic benches, all disheveled silhouettes in the darkness. Once or twice a woodland creature crept across her path, a mongoose or a sleek fox with eyes flashing icy blue. Several strange turns took her down, down as the land shifted at an angle. Before long, she came upon a courtyard. She guessed it was the center of the labyrinth from it’s grandeur and open, but surrounded, structure. Large peculiar statues stood within, sticking up like massive spikes towards the stars. They circled a strange monument. She approached it, stepping over a low stone wall to gain entry. The monument was covered with vines and largely undistinguishable. With her small, white hands she cleared a portion of the greenery away. Beneath were letters carved into the stone. Clearing more vines, she traced the words with her pointed fingers until a phrase became visible.

  Mortis Imitatores

  She had enough Latin to interpret the phrase. It chilled her to speak it, even in the silent, ringing voice of her mind: Those Who... Follow Death. She turned quickly and moved on as an icy grip fell over her. She didn’t wish to think on the meaning of the phrase, or the purpose of this place, and had a troubling feeling that someone’s eyes were upon her. She hardly possessed the courage to look about, but when she did, saw nothing within the borders of the courtyard. The light was too dim to distinguish it’s contents anyways, and she didn’t wish to stay long enough to try.