The Strange Tale of Mr Valens; Part 7

Over Perasimonor the sky was strange beyond all nights before. A hue of unearthly blue seeped through the heavy grey of the clouds, as though a sun of azure fire strove to rise in the midst of darkness. Yet it was a sun that cast no light, but shadow; that brought not joy, but sorrow. Its gleam stilled all rapture and summoned forth the fears that slumbered in the hearts of men.

Though at times the clouds broke and drifted apart, the rain ceased not through all that night. Yet neither was it ever a storm; each drop that fell from the heavens seemed to shrink, small as a Bagarra Beetle, ere it touched the earth below. For hours the rain had softened the soil, lending it but a tender dampness, never enough to turn it into mire. Then, from the old and crumbling walls of Perasimonor, there came forth a woman, striding swiftly toward the village through the dim and whispering rain.

It was none other than Lady Virgadot who walked there, clad once more in one of her long black cloaks that flowed like midnight from her shoulders. She was the tallest woman in all the realm and, without question, its fairest. Hers was not a face oft seen among the folk of Perasimonor, yet all knew her name. Through the rain that dwindled into mist she moved, cleaving the darkness as she went. A strange unrest clung to her spirit as she walked she, the most radiant Lady ever to grace the lands of men.

It was the blackest Wednesday of October. The words that had fallen from the lips of the accursed of Moraveth had begun to coil about Perasimonor like a venomous vine. October was ever a month of chill in that land, yet on this night a strange warmth had spread throughout the realm. The clouds had so veiled the heavens that no star could pierce their shroud, and the wind blew with such eerie disquiet that any soul gazing through a window might have sworn the snow was about to fall yet the air, defying all the season’s nature, was warm as breath upon the skin.

From the Tenebir River rose coils of smoke, and to the brooding hues of black and blue was now added the darkest shade of green. These colours, like spirits in a fevered dance, began to weave and mingle in the air. Each breath grew heavier, each face blurred into the haze, and every eye was blinded by a strange, shimmering daze. That night, even the realm’s very thoughts grew tangled and unclear. The whole land seemed turned to an unseen prison, and all who dwelt within it were captives bound by an enchantment without chains.

As the darkness smothered the fire within men’s souls, a blue smoke began to weave its shroud through every corner of Perasimonor. Echoes rose on every side, and sorrow conquered joy. Was it the dark that was evil, or the light that summoned hope? Through the night there lingered but one refrain upon every ear: “Dispel the cloud dispel the cloud!” Wandering spirits and a grief profound stalked the realm in bodies borrowed from death. There was no fleeing, nor could one turn away; only one path remained to surrender the soul, and let the shadow take its due.

With boundless fervour the dominion of darkness rose, spreading from every quarter of the land; and the will to resist had faded from the minds of the people of Perasimonor. That night, the cries of the dead were heard upon every wind that crossed the realm. Flesh was veiled in shrouds unseen, tongues were bound by causes none could name, and hearts were imprisoned within a sorrow dark and deep as night itself.

The Spell of Tenarabus, wrought in Moraveth, struck not only Umma Ledasir, but fell upon all Perasimonor like a sudden curse. Strange clouds gathered first, veiling the heavens, and none could turn their gaze again toward the horizon. Were those bubbles of blue, or green, or but a wholly grey dust in restless motion? Yet beyond all doubt, the direst omen lay in the earth’s mysterious buds that swelled beneath the soil. The waters of Tenebir began to seethe, boiling as though the river itself were burning from its deepest heart.

When Lady Virgadot began her stride from the square of Perasimonor, she bore with her a cool breath from the king’s own realm. The folk of the land drew breath once more, casting from their throats the curse that had choked them. Yet as she set her steps upon the loneliest paths of the realm, her vision too grew dim beneath the foul vapours rising from the Tenebir’s tainted flow.

At last she came to the side of Ledasir. That night, all the noble women of the realm had gathered about her bed. When they beheld Lady Virgadot, they parted the way in reverence, and she drew near to where Umma lay. The lady of grace seemed to be living her final moments, yet when her eyes fell upon Virgadot, the dying gleam within them kindled once again. She turned to Tansulo, her loyal attendant who never left her side, and bade him clear the chamber of all others. When the room had emptied and silence filled the air, Lady Virgadot and Umma Ledasir were at last alone. Yet Tansulo lingered still, standing by the inner door as though awaiting a final sign from his mistress. With but a slight nod, Ledasir bade him go as well.

Tansulo swept back the golden locks that fell upon his shoulders and stepped out, yet he remained just beyond the door. Curiosity gnawed at him, as it did at every soul in Perasimonor that night. But from behind that ancient wooden door came little sound. For near an hour he lingered there, hearing only a handful of whispers and, from time to time, a voice raised faintly, then hushed again into silence.

When all sound at last had faded, Lady Virgadot called softly for Tansulo. With him came the women of the realm, hurrying back into the chamber. The light of life in Umma Ledasir’s eyes was dimming fast; and in her final breath, she grasped Tansulo’s hand with desperate strength and whispered words that would echo through the ages: “Vales uksime una uksimor,” that is, “This severing is no sundering from life.”

As Ledasir breathed her final words to her attendant, Lady Virgadot turned her misted gaze toward the dark forests visible beyond the chamber window. The same words began to fall from her lips, soft and low as a spell half-remembered: “Vales uksime una uksimor…”