He opens his mouth to reply, but hesitates. He rubs his pinky knuckle. “I’ll... get to that part soon enough. For now, you need to know where we are.” He stretches his arms out wide. “This region of Limbo is called Eremus. It means wasteland or wilderness. It surrounds Polestar on all sides. It’s very easy to get lost out here, so be careful. When in doubt, just look for Polestar and head in that direction.”
“How did I get here? I mean, how did I stop here, in Limbo?”
“You stepped through.”
“Stepped through what?”
He stands up straighter, like Mr Draper when he’s about to lecture. “We are every one of us connected to Limbo at all times. Just as we are connected to Life, we are connected to Death. That connection is Limbo. Most souls have such faint connections to Limbo that they don’t even recognize it’s there. When their bodies die, they hardly see Limbo as their souls pass through. It is but a blink on their journey to Afterlife. But there are a rare few who have powerful, intense connections to Limbo. When they pass through, they see it in its entirety. The full spectrum, from one end to the other. You and I, we are in the latter group. Our connections to Limbo are so powerful, so constant, we can simply step into it and walk around, as easy as stepping through a door.”
“But how do you find the door?”
“The door is déjà vu, just as you suspected. Everyone experiences it, but it’s stronger for people like you and I. It’s that otherworldly pull toward Limbo, tugging at your edges. When you experience déjà vu, you let go of Earth, of gravity, of all worldly things. You let the current pull you, like you’re caught in a net. That’s how you step through.”
I know exactly what he means. It’s the pull into the black, that involuntary tug I’ve felt during my visions. When I saw the Polygon game piece and all those memories came swirling in around me, I felt it full force. I’ve tried fighting it before, especially the time I was in Sunday School with Jensen, but it was no use. The pull was too strong. Too enticing, even.
“So that’s why you gave me the game piece,” I say. “To trigger my déjà vu.”
He nods. “The game piece is yours. I gave it to you a long time ago, when I taught you how to play Polygon. You’ve used it as a sort of talisman ever since, a sort of key to access Limbo.”
“But why would I want to access Limbo at all?”
“Because this is only the beginning. You are merely standing on the porch steps. From here, you can go anywhere.”
Anywhere.
I held the word in my hands like treasure. Anywhere meant Chicago. It meant finding a way back to Blue.
Porter takes my hand, which feels like light pressure at first, nothing more. Then the pressure builds, steadier and steadier, weighing heavy on my chest. It feels like a wide elastic band has wrapped around me, tightening until I can’t move. I can’t breathe.
It feels like my soul is having an asthma attack.
I gulp and gasp but nothing fills my lungs. I try to squeeze Porter’s hand, to let him know I’m drowning where I stand, when I hear his voice in my ear again.
“You don’t have to breathe, Alex. Stop fighting. Let go.”
But I can’t. I don’t know how. The elastic band pulls tighter and tighter. My ribs collapse inward. My lungs can’t expand.
“You don’t have lungs,” Porter says. “You don’t need air.”
The band stretches and pulls and presses, so tight it finally snaps.
A flood of sensation rushes over me like I’m caught in a wind tunnel. My skin, or what I perceive as my skin, feels like it’s being suctioned from my body. Pulled in every direction. My hair whips out of my ponytail and tangles around my face. My scarf tugs at my neck, threatening to strangle me.
Then, suddenly, everything stops.
THE FOREST OF LIGHTS
I’m standing beside Porter in the black as though nothing happened, but we’ve moved. We’re no longer in the empty stretches of Eremus. He lifts a hand to the view stretched out before us and says, “Welcome to Polestar.”
For the first time in Limbo, I can see the shapes and shadows of an organic landscape. It reminds me of standing in one of Pops’ farm fields in the middle of the night with only a full moon to light the way. There are jagged mountain peaks in the distance. Directly ahead, the faint silhouette of a ruined castle rests on a hill, surrounded by rolling plains.
Then, all around us, is the forest of lights.
Trees tower over us, the tallest I’ve ever seen, stretching on into the distance. And in between them, everywhere I look, there are shafts of faint, blue-white light, stretching from ground to sky, filling the valleys and plains. Some are as thin as wisps of smoke, others are as thick as the tree trunks. They move and sway as though rustled by a breeze. As though alive. They fade in and out, the light stronger one moment, then softer the next, rippling and winking amid the black and the trees. They are the color of white-hot fire. Of lightning. Above us, the sky is dotted with flickering blue-white stars. At our feet, tiny wisps of light curl around each blade of grass.
“What are they?” I hear myself say.
I find it impossible to look away from the forest of lights. It’s the most beautiful, ethereal, and compelling sight I have ever beheld. Tears well in my eyes, but I dare not even move to blink or wipe them away.
“They’re called soulmarks,” Porter says. “They are the marks left by souls as they pass through Limbo. Every soul who ever was has left a single mark here, its journey forever etched into the black.”
He takes my hand again, and we walk forward down a sloping path through the trees. I hear the sound of water before I see it. The trees open up at the bottom of the hill, and we come out beneath the silent, haunting silhouette of the ruined castle. It looms overhead, its walls crumbling from age. A river winds around the foot of the hill like a moat, cutting us off from the castle. When we reach the river, we step onto a bridge, crystal clear as though made of glass. I can see the water coursing beneath my feet, like I’m hovering over it. The river is lit from within – thousands of soulmarks swirl and swim gracefully through the current.
I kneel on the bridge and reach down to let the water flow between my fingers. It doesn’t feel like water. It feels ancient. Magical. Like the memory of water.
The soulmarks glide up to my skin and sweep past it, glittering as they pass by. Their reflections dance upon my face.
“There are soulmarks everywhere in Limbo,” Porter says. “Cleave a mountain rock in two and there will be soulmarks inside, twinkling like diamonds. Take a spade to the soil and you’ll find soulmarks reaching far into the depths like roots. They even inhabit the sky like stars. They are the lifeblood of Limbo. Without them, there would be only black.”
“Do I have a soulmark?”
Porter nods. “I was hoping you would ask me that.”
He takes my hand again and the pressure builds once more. This time I let myself give in to it, just like how I fell into the refuge of the black when I was seasick on the ship. The forest of lights, the river, the castle, the mountains – they all disappear. I feel the suction pulling at my skin, my hair, my scarf, but the sensations pass sooner than last time.
When it’s all over, we’re standing in a new region of Limbo. There are no stars; the sky is black. No valleys or grass or rolling hills. Just an endless expanse of night like Eremus. The only difference is the cluster of dazzling white soulmarks standing upright before us. They are spaced evenly apart, like rows of perfectly manicured fruit trees in a garden.
“Where are we now?” I ask. I step forward and move between the rows, letting myself get lost in the garden of lights. They surround me on all sides. The lights bewitch my senses.