The 9th Fortress

by John Paul Jackson

  "Kat," said Bludgeon, looking down on the short samurai. "You will cross the western ocean… and you will need this." He placed an elementary looking flute in Kat's palm. "Set east over the Macro tops," he added. "Six days time you will come across Atlas."

  "The Weather-Maker," I said, keenly recalling my readings at the dinner table. The Distinct Earth was a Godless realm — nature, control of the winds and seas were at the hands of the Weather-Makers; mammals, immortal and illusive.

  "How do I catch the creature?" asked Kat.

  "You do not catch Atlas!" Bludgeon tittered. "You tame her by playing that instrument. Play well samurai and her wings will see you safely across the sea."

  Kat tucked the flute inside his armor then — "Samurai!" Bludgeon stressed, snatching hold of his wrist. "Atlas is only to be used for the purpose of crossing the ocean — she does not belong to you, understand?"

  Kat did not appreciate the hand on him, his steely-eyed squint made that clear enough.

  "We understand!" I interrupted, breaking any tension. "We will only use the Weather-Maker for that single purpose."

  Content, Bludgeon removed his grip from Kat and finished what else he had to say.

  "After crossing the ocean you will arrive at the white beach; there you will meet Harmony Valour. Harmony will be your guide to Hell's entrance, preferably one close to the 9thFortress."

  "How will I know her?" said Kat.

  "Couldn't miss her!" he chuckled back; "there is not a soul in the Distinct Earth like Miss Valour. She is very special indeed."

  Kat didn't pry, and didn't waste time crossing the seal and out to the snow, leaving Bludgeon and me to our farewells. I was torn. These last forty-eight hours I had seen much kindness from the master. The centaur was an altogether different beast, showing compassion and going to any lengths to make the remainder of our stay comfortable. He cooked a very delicious meal then washed every dirty dish; he amused us with anecdotes at dinner before sending us off to sleep in warm beds. He was spic and span in appearance, with not one beastie seen crawling through his coat. Constant light filled his cave and removed any sense of claustrophobia; and in that light I saw grand portraits of Bludgeon's ancestors — Bettersbay, who fought for centaur rights; Chiron, the noblest of all centaur's whose disciples included Hercules, Achilles and Jason, Captain of the Argonauts. These faces hung proud on walls I previously could not see for the dark. It was as if Bludgeon manipulated light and personality for the spell of training only.

  I enjoyed these two days immensely and got the impression Bludgeon did too. I didn't despise him anymore, but I was glad to be leaving him.

  "My methods," he said, placing his hand on my neck, "were harsh this time. I assure you methods are not the man; I adapt according to the pupil. I am not proud of myself, but this time, with this pupil, methods needed severity for him to survive where he is going. This is only one test you have passed Daniel — there will be more. But you now have strong foundations to withstand such trials."

  I wanted Bludgeon to repeat everything he had said, a foreign language that sounded like remorse, an apology, and my first name.

  "You will need these." he continued, passing me a shield that lay against the marble walls. It was a mirror of gleaming silver with the centaur's seal embossed on the front — Bludgeon riding the back of a fire breathing Seppuku. "As the seal defends my home," he said, "so this shield will protect you from danger."

  I gazed into the beautiful shield at my ugly reflection. Bludgeon then disturbed my thoughts with another gift — a short sword with a wide and sharp blade. "This one isn't rusty," he grinned, passing it over. "This sword, Daniel… will bring light to the dark; and you can use the blade more than once."

  He gave a sly nod to the dagger at my side. Taken aback, I assumed only Sir Isaac Newton and Missy knew of the power my plain dagger possessed — the only weapon that can destroy the soul.

  "You knew everything about me, right?" I said. "It was all in the plan, wasn't it?"

  Bludgeon shook my hand with a painful grip; the centaur never did know his own strength, ”One last thing," he said, leaning closer. "You have read my book — Predators of the Under Realms?"

  "Not all, Sir, you threw it on the fire before I could finish, but what I did read was very interesting. Your books taught me a lot."

  "There was information in that book Daniel, a torn out section detailing one monster in particular."

  "What monster?"

  "Well, did you know… that the eyes of a wizard will reveal his secret?"

  I stared blankly back, and with no idea of what he meant, I nodded as if I did. A brief moment later, enough to put the shield on my back and the sword in its sheath, Bludgeon disappeared down the many hundreds of steps, the torch on the wall puffing out behind him.

  "Mast — Bludgeon?!"

  He was gone. I whispered him a goodbye then ran to join Kat. The samurai leant against rock, watching me leave the corridor then drop to embrace the snow.

  "Fox!" he exclaimed, embarrassed.

  I raised my face, smiling as I collected two balls of puffy snow in each hand.

  "Hard stone for two years Kat! Two long years! Come feel! I need to kiss it."

  Kat glanced at the virgin snow by his feet. If he wanted to get on his knees and smother it in kisses, then he kept it to himself.

  "East!" he grunted, once again leading the way over white peaks — six days to the Weather-Maker.

  ***

  Three gruelling days were spent trekking over the mountains — another three would see us reach our goal. We stuck to the tried and tested routine of rope — the samurai leading with me harnessed and harassed five feet behind. This was actually a compliment. The rope method demanded that the strongest go behind to prevent a slip from becoming a fall, and if a gaunt Kat was unexpectedly sucked into some crevice then my grip and my strength would be the thing to save us. He may have confidence in my physical abilities, but the samurai was still the one in charge; the man of experience, me far from equal in Japanese eyes.

  One thing that had certainly changed between us was a hint of respect I felt come my way; a subtle improvement, which for me, for now, was enough.

  We scaled head-spinning heights during the day, the altitude attacking my body with aches and migraines, lethargic to the point of collapse. Kat meanwhile was stalwartly consistent. Before sunset, we descended to recover and escape the colder air. Perpetual snow smeared over our clothes, hair and skin — and higher or lower — there was no avoiding it.

  Although tough going, neither I nor Kat seemed to mind the elements; anything was an improvement over our last digs, and the harshest weather could not dampen our spirits. We were free men again, with the air in our face and destiny in our own hands.

  We spent the first evening in a tent made from our sown together tarpaulin sheets; and too exhausted and frozen to converse, we warmed ourselves as best we could, ate a bite prepared by Bludgeon then fell to a chattering nights sleep.

  Progress over the Macro tops was painstaking — every step deadly. Kat used his Katana as a sort of blind man's stick, prodding and tapping blanket snow before setting foot on it. Every time his weight sunk further than expected, there would be only hope left in our hearts; hope that he would sink no further, hope that the snow wouldn't collapse to reveal the abyss our imaginations knew to be there.

  The second day we found ourselves too high up the mountain for the tent, so racing against dying daylight, Kat rampantly carved out a snow cave. We talked that evening in our rough, yet warm shell. Kat would never reveal anything personal, nothing of his past in feudal Japan, or of his attempt to assassinate Bludgeon and their resulting fight — nothing of his foolish deal with Scarfell, nothing of his imprisonment in the cave or his two hundred years in Hell itself; and definitely nothing on the biggest question of all: What wish did he want God to grant him? No, Kat would only answer questions on one topic: The 9thFortress.

  "Have you ever seen it? The 9th Fort
ress?"

  "It is the tallest structure in Hell," he answered. "I have seen, but never approached its wall."

  "What's… Hell like?"

  "Warm."

  "And you escaped it?" I shivered. "It seems to impress everyone we've met."

  "I escaped," he huffed, shuffling inside a pathetic blanket. "Rest, Fox."

  I let out a frosty, frustrated exhale. That was all I would extract from the samurai tonight. Still, this was quite a contrast. Master Bludgeon would demand that I read, study, and knew everything about everything, "Leave no stone unturned speck! No stone, you hear?! Mind me!"

  Kat on the other hand wanted me to know as little as possible, preferably nothing. Although his methods were irritating, ours was a stable existence. There was no fear of early morning wake up calls, hours of meditation or barbaric training regimes. Now I could sleep and dream. These first three days in the bitterest of worlds were my happiest in two years…

  ***

  The forth day we trudged thirteen hours east against unrelenting, and merciless snowfall. I could no longer feel my limbs when the night rolled in, when it was time to stop killing ourselves.

  Utterly beat on my knees and watching Kat cut a cave out of snow, I thought if I closed my eyes they would never reopen, and how that was a good thing. I would gently surrender; embrace the softest slumber tempting my soul toward a simpler existence.

  "Fox!"

  Kat must have dragged my ass into the snow hole, for the next thing I knew I was on my back with a flickering candle — provided by Bludgeon — dripping wax onto my chin.

  Kat placed melting ice to my lips and I supped at it. His worried face scared me.

  "What is it?" I asked, but his crackled lips remained sealed. "Kat? What happened out there?"

  "We walked too long," he said, setting rags alight. "I pushed your body far. It is my fault. Your feet."

  "What are you talking about?" I said, with a laugh. "My feet are fine!"

  My feet were fine, I couldn't even feel the cold on them; in-fact I couldn't feel a thing. I lifted my head to see a black stump where my right foot should be. I winced. Was that frost bitten lump of dead flesh really a part of my body?

  "I will have to cut," Kat said. "You will perish if I do not cut."

  The skin was rubbery and black, as if I was still wearing boots; the toes appearing to be painted in an oily resin.

  "Your foot will be rescued," he said, nurturing a fire in the middle of our hideout, "only toes will be lost."

  "Only? How many toes?"

  "All," he answered, rotating his katana over the young flames. "Ask your questions, Fox," he added. "Ask and take your mind elsewhere."

  "Can't think of a thing!" I shivered, cold and afraid. "My mind is blank. I'm — freezing!"

  "You will be colder tomorrow."

  He was right, and miraculously my mind did go elsewhere — what next? Will I still be able to walk? What will the Weather-Maker look like? Crossing an Ocean?

  "Why-" I started; "why do we need this Harmony person? What's so special about her?"

  "Her name is Harmony Valour."

  "You've met her?"

  "No."

  "You know of her?"

  "No."

  I shook my head, irritated again, before contemplating how long this procedure would take, and the agony I'd have to endure. Thankfully, another question distracted me.

  "Bludgeon… he said Harmony Valour would show us the entrance to Hell? Can't you do it? Can't you?"

  "There are many entrances to the Under-realm, traps to collect the unsuspecting. Valour will take us the safest route."

  "And out? How do we get out?"

  "For the patient and skilled there is one way out of Hell… only one."

  "And you found it?" I said.

  "Yes.

  Kat's blade glowed orange inside the fire. I remembered once reading about injured solders biting down on a piece of wood whilst surgeons cut off their dead limbs with a saw. I didn't want to suffer like that.

  "Knock me out Kat!" I demanded. "Fucking hit me in the jaw! Do it!"

  "No," he said, and then all of a sudden, his katana struck the snow.

  Five of my toes bounced like baby sausages from the ends of my right foot, and I fell unconscious without any help.

  ***

  I woke as our fire was flickering out. Kat had watched over me for god knows how long, slashing his own sleeping blanket into ribbons to wrap around my foot. The bottom of my leg, that lumpy red cloth and boot did not hurt. At first, I thought this was my mind separating itself from pain, that Bludgeon's lessons were now bearing fruit. Kat informed me however, that wounds heal faster here — a bizarre process of preserving the body to withstand, and experience as much suffering as possible.

  The wind was a whistle outside our hideaway and as I drifted back to sleep, I dreamt of Kat that night…

  ***

  A long time ago… the samurai was fighting for his soul in mid-air. A jelly like creature, an apparent blob known as a black angel, wrapped itself around his arms and legs, delivering Kat to his new home in Hell. Life ledger read, his verdict in the Waiting Plain was unanimous — there was only one destination for murderers.

  Kat fought against the decision and the angel, using all his might to free himself from this living ooze. The tussle was hectic, the two collected in one turbulent comet racing across the night sky, land whizzing past in a sickening array of shapes underneath them.

  Kat's face was a deep purple, his cheeks full with breath as he summoned all of the strength from his muscles. The angel's grip eventually loosened, and Kat fell, flapping in darkness, no idea if he was right side up or upside down. The answer came quicker than expected when he crash-landed in a field of tall grass. Wounded, Kat kicked himself upright, removed his katana and directed it at the luminous moonlight. He bent and crept in the shushing grasses, watching that demon coiling against the clouds before returning for its human package.

  The slick creature came like a bolt of greased lightning, its oncoming face but two unblinking yellow eyes. Kat swung upward and struck the angel in its centre, but the blade remained jammed in its gluttonous body. Kat tugged back the katana but the weapon was firmly wedged inside the form, a form slowly folding itself over Kat's upper body, engulfing his head, his shoulders, and further down to his chest.

  Once completely devoured in its black glue, the thing from Hell clamped a hold and lifted Kat off his feet.

  Doggedly, the samurai would not give in, struggling harder than before, biting, prying and ripping at this devilish messenger. He fought so hard that — yet again — the impossible hold was beaten off for a second time.

  His landing was softer, and instantly he sprang up to defend himself. The angel above was joined by another identical creature hovering over the tall grass — eyes soulless and keen. Sweat poured down Kat's face, resigned now to his fate. He could fight off one… but not two, and certainly not three. When a forth black angel appeared, Kat returned the katana to its sheath, and waited for them to engulf him. His chance would come again — it would come.

  That was four hundred years ago…

  14. One Will Perish

  Apart from my starting on one and a half feet, the fifth day began like all the others. Kat did not examine my foot on first light, or ask how I felt; that was a problem solved as far as he was concerned. When I set my weight on the ball of my heel there was enough of a foot left to keep upright. There was no pain when walking either, only an awkward equilibrium to get used too. Unfortunately for us, eventful moments of the past were soon and always surpassed.

  Our connecting rope was our only harness along a ledge, teetering out from a wall of solid ice; and biting at our heels was a misty cloud called certain death. Kat did not claim this was the only route available, but that it was our route, and so we moved delicately over the threadbare shelf, thirty or more steps from safety. One careless slip was all it needed, so I pinned my chest against the glacial wall,
smearing my face against the ice. The samurai — in customary do or die fashion — showed no fear, but still respected the Macros enough by keeping a cautious pace. A strong wind blew up our backs and I sunk my nails into the wall like a cat on a scratching post. Frequently, the other Kat would halt in-front of me. I figured he was either in some kind of meditation, catching his breath, or perhaps just as scared stiff as I was. Unlikely.

  The longer we spent on this ledge the more it resembled polished glass, and the wall a mirror, reflecting our watery appearance back at us. Our soundtrack along the ledge was the unsettling cracking of this icy mountain.

  Almost safe, and in deep consideration over my next handhold, a hairline crack suddenly appeared under my boot. My eyebrows shot to the top of my forehead as that break grew like a healthy plant. "Oh no!" I whimpered. "No…"

  Dozens upon dozens formed immediately, as if I were an elephant on a plate of crystal. Kat experienced similar breakages under his feet, but bit his bottom lip and soldiered on for safer ground.

  "Almost there!" he yelled back, but his steady pace and calm disposition was suddenly interrupted. Giving no explanation, Kat ignored the shattering ledge to stop again. "Don't come any further!" he ordered. "Not another step!"

  "What? What do you see?"

  Kat studied the ice in front of his nose, and raising his right hand, he placed the palm flat on the wet wall.

  "Kat!" I cried, desperate. "The ledge! It won't hold us!"

  There was another cracking of ice and the ledge began its disintegration.

  "We have to move!" I screamed. "Go! Go! Go!"

  I scurried to Kat's side, then shrieked as a pair of decayed arms punched free from the icy wall and squeezed around his throat. I fell screaming as the ledge shattered; and plummeting, I was brought to sudden stop by the rope yanking around my waist. I moaned in agony like Kat above, he experiencing the full brunt of my weight and the decomposed fingers crushing his windpipe. Those alien hands were the only thing preventing us from falling to our deaths. Choking, the samurai kicked and kicked and my face received the trickling snow from his boots. Terrified, I then watched as Kat, in one brisk motion, was sucked into the ice.