The crowd raved, writhing like snakes in their velvet robes. Their cries sounded desperate, guttural. She couldn’t tell if they were performing for each other, truly undergoing pain, or afraid of each other, or infuriated.
“Come and eat of the fruit of the Knowledge of Revelation,” continued the priest in a hoarse cry. “Eat and be saved. Nourish the Path, the revelation of all Flesh. Eat of the fruit of the land of Time, where days end and Flesh is born and sustained. Eat of the source of the Blood, the blasphemers. Who among thee is a blasphemer? Whose Flesh is worthy? Who among thee is unclean?”
The crowd’s hallucinative cries grew pained as they turned on each other in physical contest, pushing and ripping mercilessly. Blood was drawn. The smaller and unprotected among them were being targeted. With mangling claws, the larger Draugrs pulled them apart, sucking blood from oozing wounds.
“PARTAKE OF THE FLESH,” cried the priest, watching over their struggles with relish. “EAT THAT WHICH IS UNCLEAN. CLEANSE THE CONGREGATION. CLEANSE YOUR BLOOD!”
Fires burned at the top of the stairs and among the writhing congregation, casting eerie, dancing figures against the sides of the temple. Annabelle gasped in horror, turning white as she observed all from behind the black trees. She noticed that the creatures stayed locked in pairs of two. Mated pairs - like in the book - unloving but gaining a tactical advantage, she recalled from the volume The Unholy Draugr Vampire. She realized she was witnessing a historic event, unlike anything on Earth.
“A church of Draugr Vampires,” she gasped in awe.
But something lurked nearby. An especially ugly Draugr wearing a golden cap had crept up behind her silently as she watched. Wheezing satisfaction, it grasped her by the arm, slathering ecstatically as it yanked her through the trees, in the direction of the temple.
“No!” Annabelle cried in a panic. “No! Please!”
But the creature’s cold, clawed fingers only grasped her tighter. Spittle escaped it’s jowls as it squealed in unguarded delight at the prospect of offering her to it’s fellows. And she found that she felt suddenly tired. She twisted and pulled against the creature’s grip, but it was no use. It was too strong. Soon, she’d fallen under the light of their fires, and the manic, frothing horde of Draugrs fell silent; panting breaths from between sharp teeth as they watched the strange offering dragged up the temple steps; their whitened eyes thrown wide at her appearance. The merciless Draugr that’d caught her dashed her against the steps as the stately priest, with regal movements, turned in her direction. The priest’s gray eyes observed her from within sickly red sockets. Gritting it’s teeth in a satisfied grin, it lifted a wrinkled claw, pointing at her in accusation. In a hissing screech, eyes splaying wide, it cried out.
“BLASPHEMERRRR!!!!”
CHAPTER 40
Lain on the Altar
The creatures tore at her clothes, hair and limbs; but they didn’t get a chance to spill blood. Before they could. their priest held up a ringed hand, halting the attack.
“Do my waking eyes deceive me?”
The other Draugrs panted over her in a horrific circle, watching the priest for a signal to feed; but it never came. Rather, the priest circled Annabelle gracefully, pushing the others back with fine, swaying garments.
“Look, brothers,” he called to his fellows. “Cannot corrupted eyes also see? Before us lies an eternal offering cast from the white mouth of eternity. Know you not that it’s heart’s blood could sustain us for ages, if kept just so? Such a sacrifice is more valuable than any offering of flesh.”
He leaned over Annabelle, scraping a thick claw against her cheek with frightful precision.
“It shall be kept. It shall be kept and taught it’s place. This creature shall power our clan for an age!” he cried to the gathering. “Can you not feel it? Come! Come and feed!”
The priest grunted and cackled, emitting noises that made her ill. She felt nauseated. A heaviness plagued her limbs. A sudden blankness clouded her mind, the kind she’d always felt in Uncle Morton and Ackworth’s presence, making her feel weak, docile and without hope.
“When it’s power is spent,” the priest continued to the congregation. “And we have taken all that we can, we shall devour what remains. It’s heart shall be consumed here upon these steps, year after succulent year; and when it’s power is spent, it’s bones shall feed our fires and the fat of our altars. It is ours, this fallen creature. I claim lordship over every last drop of it’s blood, over every breath, here before all of you!”
A triumphant hiss rose up amongst the congregation, though she could sense their disappointment at not being allowed to tear her to shreds. The words spoken by the priest filled her with a horrible, trembling dread; for she sensed he meant to do all that he’d said. She could feel an expanse of years filled with blindness and desolation stretching out before her like a slow, hopeless march into death. She quaked at the mere thought of such a fate - one consumed by hatred and slavery, devoid of love. She sensed then that these creatures embodied hatred. They were made of it at the center of their being. They served none but themselves. She clambered desperately for a tactic to earn her release.
“What a pity,” she gasped through a shuddering throat, barely capable of speech in the presence of such horror. “But... I am already under the authority of another clan.”
The priest’s empty eyes turned slowly to her, as if surprised she was capable of speech, and even more shocked that she dared attempt it. It’s expression was so horrific that she couldn’t hold it’s gaze. The creature bared it’s sharp teeth, clenching it’s jaw wide before speaking to her in a vicious grunt.
“Truly?” it hissed sarcastically. “And what clan would be foolish enough to let such a treasure run free?”
Every word that escaped it’s mouth felt like poison dispersed in the air, straight from the gates of hell and torment. It cracked through space, cutting her thoughts in two and assaulting her senses. Something in her own voice seemed to war with the creature’s when she spoke.
“By what name goes this clan?” the creature said in a voice rife with disgust.
“The clan of Dagrun,” she gasped, recollecting the names she’d heard Uncle Morton and Ackworth call each other in the darkness of his library. “And Hel-Blar.”
A fearful rush of growls and hissed breaths ran through the crowd, while the high priest searched her eyes for a lie.
“It cannot be. IT ISN’T SO,” it cried out, reassuring the crowd. “They are legends long dead, born of ages of obscurity.”
Though relentlessly vicious, she saw fear in the creature’s countenance for the first time. So she pressed the matter, seeing it as the only chance she may ever get.
“It is so,” she called out in a shaking voice, forcing courage. “THEY LIVE!”
The priest grabbed her with a great, clawed hand; holding her face in a clammy grip; his jaw opened wide with anger.
“It matters not,” the creature growled, burning with immutability. “Here you are. And here you shall stay.”
From it’s gray, empty eyes spilled torrents of subjugation - long years of tied limbs and spirits crushed beneath the sway of Uncle Morton and Ackworth’s dominion, their cruelty and control of her mind, her feelings, her perception of herself; all spilling over her in a horrific, debilitating wave that weakened her body and clouded her mind until she felt unsure of who she was or what she was doing. She felt their rejection weighing her down all over again. She felt powerless and confused. Who was she? Why was she here? Perhaps she should just fall under the pressure. Perhaps there was no choice. These creatures surely seemed confident in their own righteousness, and there were so many of them. If she waited long enough, would it be so bad that she was here? Surely, all things die. Would this fate be so much worse than any other? Could she live with it? Did she even have a choice? Could she get out, even if she tried?
But shuddering deep within her, whispering softly beneath the heavy burden of hate, burned her heart. Tho
ugh all around her discredited her sovereignty, hanging like a noose around her neck, strangling her to near-silence; she knew she must fight. She would rather die trying than die here and now, forced down a path of slow decay until her eyes were as sightless and unfeeling as these creatures’. She would not be like them. She could not. She would not succumb. She would live, she would know love and hope. Though terror trembled through her at the thought of facing such monsters, it was that or death.
“No,” she muttered as hot tears poured over her downcast face, her hair nearly covering her eyes.
The high priest flinched, turning on her in disgust.
“What,” his voice cut the air with scandalized malice.
“I belong to no creature,” she said, staring into it’s eyes as long as she could muster. “You god of filth. You shall not hold me, none shall; not ever again.”
The priest watched her in astonishment, as if it’d heard, but didn’t understand the words. She watched doubt build in it’s eyes, and felt it’s resolve weaken like an animal shrinking into the dark. The wretched Draugr company swayed and backed away as well, moving in a slithering mass.
Indignation welled up in her, searing her body as it rejuvenated her energies. She held firm. She would not be owned. She would not fall prey to fear, nor would she be intimidated any longer. She was her own. And as she maintained her resolve, she felt power surge through her. She felt it glint in her eyes, and soon it was the ghastly priest who could not hold her gaze. He hissed and backed away as if blinded by some great brightness. It seemed her mind, body and soul had aligned; free for the first time of the chaos wreaked by long years of subjugation. Finally, she could see her power. It had been in her all along.
“The truth is sovereign,” she said, words pouring like unyielding commands from her heart. “Love is sovereign. As am I. And you shall die in a pool of your own defilement, polluted by your own poisons.”
Terror and shock marked the wrinkled features of the Draugr priest as it absorbed the curse from this strange, mythical creature. But he’d only a moment to glare hatred before the noise started. It blasted through the corridors of his mind in a blinding, unrelenting vibration. He screamed, clutching his head with clawed hands, growling and spitting in desperation - all his stately grace and respectability dissolved. But covering his ears was not enough to squelch the terrible sound. So he clawed at them, as well as his face, eyes and bald head. His great, regal hat fell to the ground as he scratched at his own flesh, ripping thick gray folds from their home. They slapped the ground as blood spilled out, dripping thick, black lines over his fine garments.
“AAAARRRHHH!”
The screeching grew louder, though he scraped off his pointed, warty ears. They fell onto the ground in bloody clumps. The other Draugrs didn’t hesitate. Cautiously, they crawled forward and gobbled up the pieces. The priest’s screaming continued as he scraped the skin from his face, pouring bloody piles onto the ground to be gobbled up by his fellows. Soon, his eyes were on the ground too. But it wasn’t enough. The sound wouldn’t stop. Near the altar lay heavy stones. The high priest felt for one with desperate, blind hands; picking it up and bashing it against his raw face, making contact with the jagged end. It pierced muscle and sinew as he screeched, spraying blood upon the altar, until with a final cracking blow, stone pierced bone and crushed the creature’s skull. He fell forward over the altar with a fleshy thud, his fine garments splayed in bloody folds over ancient stone.
Annabelle stood before the altar shaking, feeling a hundred feet tall, as if her spirit rose straight up into some heaven above. Energy seemed to rise up through her feet, flow through her body and billow outward in burning waves - her hands trembled with it. Fury pooled in her eyes and clenched her jaw as she surveyed the altar steps with the creatures swaying below. As she passed the limp remains of the priest splayed over the altar and descended the steps one by one, the Draugrs backed away fearfully.
“Run!” she roared to their blood-stained company. “Lest I eat you all!”
And so the congregation turned and scrambled away in whining terror like kicked dogs, carrying the stench of their slaughters on their fine garments and the foulness of their breath.
CHAPTER 41
The Burning Valley
The blackened landscape poured around her in an open, endless expanse. Standing up to her oppressors and demanding her freedom had made her feel invincible. She could feel herself changing, expanding. But still, it seemed prudent to continue on invisibly. It was unwise to risk any more energy on a run-in with other inhabitants of this realm. So she removed the black candle from the folds of her dress and glanced at the wick. At the thought of it’s lighting, it gratifyingly did so, before her eyes; sending another surge of confidence beating through her heart.
She let her feet carry her onward, pounding the cracked, powdery ground; feeling calmly confident that she could overcome anything; for she knew why she travelled, and she’d removed the obstacles. It wasn’t a forced confidence, an attempt to overcome. Rather, the presence of true love had filled her with it’s self-evident certainty, making her sure of her path. There was no doubt left in her. If she did her part, she would arrive there. When she chose courage with all her heart and will, all else would lose it’s hold. Transcending doubt and the influence of hatred, she was able to fully feel love’s power; and it blinded her with it’s beauty. She knew only one thing and nothing else - that she’d been born to love him. Nothing else was certain or ever would be. Nothing needed to be. All else would fade away, melting around her as her own physical form dimmed and turned to dust. But their love would hold fast.
She crossed rolling hills warmed by this guiding light, enveloped by desolate landscapes and burning hills that glowed on the horizon, smelling the smoke of their fires as she passed the ghostly skeletons of charred trees. They couldn’t touch her hope.
Soon, glowing cracks shown in the ground beneath her boot tips. The earth crumbled in dry pieces, breaking as she stepped. And then, without warning, she found herself standing at the edge of a great valley. She wasn’t sure if it was her heart or her feet that’d brought her there. But she knew instantly that it was the dwelling place of the Valak. The valley was surrounded by dark, rugged mountains and within it’s burning center, legions of souls lumbered blindly. They pushed and pulled against each other in a sickening, sightless dance; the eternal fate of the Valak’s seduced victims. They used each other as support both to stand and move, while pushed on a path marked out only by their undead neighbors. They were dazed, sick, lost - locked together in death.
Cutting into the sky in a great, muscular form, with skin that glowed like molten rock, stood the devilish Valak. It stood higher than a building, with great horns rising up above a monstrous face that seemed to be two faces joined together and splayed out from the middle. The princely fiend stood upon great cloven hooves like devils of lore, with great, thick limbs and clawed hands dangling down. She felt herself drawn powerfully to it, as if her will had been sucked out of her body in one great, gasping breath. It was the draw she’d felt near the man in black - overpowering, all-encompassing and vacuous - but so much greater; for the Valak was fully revealed here at it’s ancient seat. She flinched and turned her face away, resisting with all her might; but the feeling burned inside her, drawing power up her throat and out of her mouth.
Come, it seemed to groan in a possessive whisper. Let me violate you. Possess you. Belong to me. Let me mark you, change you. Let me fill every part of your innocence, make every inch mine, possessing your deepest places.
Through blurred, fragmented faculties that struggled against this pull, she saw that the creature resided over the valley in an eternal posture upon the mountainside, near a great, golden building; one she didn’t have time to study before she noticed Blackall. Her heart cried out to him as he stood before the Valak, a toy soldier compared to the great, black demon. The beast barely acknowledged Blackall, his lips cracking in a smirk that never reach
ed his pinhole eyes. In a hissing crackle of a voice, the Valak spoke; his tongue shaping words of a hellish language that, strangely, Annabelle understood.
“I KNOW WHY YOU COME,” the voice boomed. “BUT SHE IS MINE.”
The voice shook her inwardly as well as out, the very sound seeming to claim possession of her mind and will. It made her feel so weak she could barely breathe, as if all her resistance was spent and she needn’t even try anymore. The great beast lifted it’s arm and swung it over the valley filled with it’s legions of victims, as if to solidify it’s power.
But Blackall hardly seemed to notice. He reached within his cloak and retrieved what appeared to be the claw of a raven, which he used to carve twin symbols into his forearms. As the blood dripped from the wounds, a strange energy seemed to surround him, and the Valak’s left eye twitched almost imperceptibly. The great demon reached out it’s monstrous hand, and from the ground a great scepter arose, formed of human flesh and bone. Staring long and hard at Blackall, as if to savor it’s own virility, it finally lifted the great scepter and swung it at him in a lazy, sweeping motion. It collided with Blackall’s protective enchantments in midair, provoking a mass of symbols to break out on Blackall’s body until his skin shone nearly black. They faded as the scepter returned home and his skin shone it’s usual, pasty hue. The great creature grinned mockingly, unafraid; awaiting Blackall’s assault. But instead of fists, Blackall merely spoke in the demon’s language.
“She is free,” he said, the strange words contorting over his tongue. “And she is loved.”
The demon flinched at the words, growling in a great, horrific wave that rose up over the valley, mirrored by moans from the lost souls wandering there. He drew from their suffering in an eternal, toxic romance; draining them beyond sense or reason.
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