The 9th Fortress

by John Paul Jackson

  I took up his offer without a seconds thought, then he offered me his hand. "Name is Wilde." he said, with a good grip. "Pray tell your name, or at least, the name you care to invent?"

  "Fox." I answered, tired. "Pleased to meet you."

  The man sighed deeply. "Alas," he uttered; "as no-one recognises the French, it is only the French who recognise me."

  "You're famous then?" I presumed.

  "I am Oscar Wilde," he returned, flicking back his hair then announcing to all the passengers. "I am not famous — I am notorious!"

  Mr Wilde scoffed at his indifferent audience before reclaiming his well-moulded seat.

  "I don't quite recall your name." I said, apologetically. "Are you an actor then?"

  "Dear boy I am a creator! And it is very curious that you do not recall my name, for art is the one thing which even death cannot defeat. The artist unfortunately, withers amongst this beautiful realm of sordid sins and her splendid sinners."

  I glanced out of his glazed window to find no beauty there, only a built up grime and blotch. The man then patted my thigh like an older uncle and pre-emptively answered my question. "Beauty has as many meanings as a man has moods. In my view no object is so ugly that, under certain conditions of light and shade, or proximity to other things, it will not look beautiful; no object is so beautiful that, under certain conditions, it will not look ugly. I believe that in every twenty-four hours what is beautiful looks ugly, and what is ugly looks beautiful, once. There I go quoting myself again, but if any man is worth hearing twice it is this one."

  This man's intelligence and intoxicating passion for himself urged me to pry. "Mr Wilde, what is a creator, an artist like you doing — "

  "In a lost world?" he replied, roused. "I am here due to a simple difference of opinion. The authorities complain that I wasted my talents — I disagree. For quantity Mr Fox, is the ransacking of quality, and my masterpieces, although few in number are masterpieces nevertheless. I am here, brave passenger, because I dared to live rather than exist. Here, only the greatest artists, the sublime masters of their craft: Shakespeare, Michelangelo, Tolstoy, myself included, idle in this pitiful place. It is and will forever be the way of things. You'll find no greater crime in all the Heavens than the sculptured becoming the sculptor, the imperfect creating perfection; for if a mortal man can himself creative divinity…what use is there for an immortal God?"

  Despite my hollow head, this character fascinated me; although I never had any time for art in my life, this man clearly had the time of his life with art.

  "I'm afraid our conversation will be brief," he added, "but then all good things are. The conductor will soon arrive to escort you back to your previous seat."

  "Why does it matter where I sit?"

  "It is the only thing that matters," he whispered, keenly. "It makes the experience either pleasurable or tedious. Already has a fingerprint of your soul been captured; the seat that you currently vacate has yours, and the conductor will shortly insist on your return to it. And how he will insist!"

  "A seat?" I asked, confounded.

  "Not the seat," Wilde corrected,"but the train. Rather a snake slithering through consciousness, if you covet some tragic secret, the passenger sat next to you will see every guilty detail, as you will see his. A seat and secret shared is the method…and there is much to learn in the madness."

  I understood now — something of Kat's soul would be revealed to me, and something of mine to him. Rummaging through Kat's head was something I long desired, but what would the samurai see? What demon of mine would he scrutinize? No matter how privileged the information I would receive, perhaps the price was too high.

  "Tell me Mr Fox," said Wilde, gently clearing his throat; "how long have you been wandering this underworld? I do hope I've stumbled across a hero of some kind; it is the romantic in me, for whatever my own life may have been ethically, it has always been romantic!"

  I shrugged. "I'm no hero Mr Wilde. I am just a man. Plain and simple."

  "And that simplicity of character makes you exquisitely incomprehensible to me. You are a humble sinner sir, but a sinner nonetheless."

  Already, Mr Wilde appeared to tire of my presence, and beside him, I felt ashamed of my own mediocrity. Again, he anticipated my thought process and fired his intellectual bullets. "You are not dull Mr Fox, nor mediocre, in-fact I have been most entertained. Pray, you haven't been listening to a word I have said — to listen is a sign of indifference to ones hearers;" he rolled back his eyes and pinched the fat under his chin; "and I do live in terror of not being misunderstood."

  I dared to think now, and so looked over this artist's situation, his eternal place on this locomotive.

  "Are you happy Mr Wilde?” I asked. “Can a man be content here?"

  "The man perhaps," he answered, sharply; "but the creator is never content, for he sees every crack in the work. I will say that one is certainly impressed with Hell, but not favourably impressed by the inordinate size of everything. The realm attempts to bully one into a belief in its power with impressive bigness. Besides that vulgarity I have found a certain level of contentment here, yes; however, one could always use a cigarette."

  "And you enjoy witnessing the sins of…other men?"

  He smiled. "I do not witness sins Mr Fox, but shameful crimes of the soul — indeed, the soul itself is a mystery; it broods in the darkness, and only God, and this locomotive can tell us of its workings."

  "And what would your soul tell me?" I asked him.

  "Not sins dear boy, only truths."

  Wilde then considered out his smudged view a moment, a profound melancholy upon his face. "My children," he delicately said; "I do miss my boys…"

  Quickly, he flickered out of this personal thought and reset his grand guise."Thou knowest all, I cannot see, I trust I shall not live in vain. I know that we shall meet again, in some divine eternity. I am sure you feel better for your seat Mr Fox. Forgive me, but I have shared quite enough with you this evening."

  I vaguely nodded, then stood to feel the conductor's belly ushering me from Mr Wilde, toward my seat and Kat's side.

  "Belts!" announced the conductor, squeezing past me and moving off to the next car. "Belts! Belts! Belts!"

  Confused, I watched Kat hastily take the ends of his belt and fasten himself to our seat.

  "What's going on Daniel?" asked Harmony, scratching her eyes.

  "Hold on…" I whispered, strapping myself in. "Wake up Eddinray, and hold on tight."

  The locomotive shunted forward. Passengers lamented as our car began to vibrate. Those vibrations soon became a shake so violent that I expected the nuts and bolts of this locomotive to come winding out of place. A befuddled Eddinray was the last to fasten his seatbelt, and the very instant he did, the train was catapulted over the ice and contorted our forms with it.

  I cannot describe the sensation of unadulterated speed inside the car. Screams turned to inaudible muffles and vision became a blur of melting motion. This locomotive was rocketing toward something greater than a destination, it was smashing through barriers of space and time, sieving through every available ingredient of its passengers, then serving up a soul's secrets to those seated beside.

  ***

  Sometime during the early hours, Eddinray danced over darkly cobbled streets and embraced the buzzing orange lampposts like a soused Gene Kelly. Singing at the top of his voice, he would only stop to gargle more vodka from his half empty bottle.

  Making his way toward a steel bridge stretching over a lake, a black taxicab sped past, and Eddinray threw down his bottle to salute the perplexed driver. The taxi turned the corner near a closed fish and chip shop, and Harmony Valour appeared there not a minute later. She paused, utterly bemused by the pedestrian crossings, the flashing lights, and shop windows offering the latest deals on phones and computers.

  "Finally!" she exclaimed, relieved upon hearing Eddinray's boisterous vocals further down the street.

  "Wake up Godwin!"
she repeated, scampering after him. "Open your eyes man!"

  Catching up to Eddnray, Harmony gasped, mortified to discover him carelessly balancing on the narrow rail of the bridge without a care in the world. "Come down from there!" she yelled. "What's gotten into you? Where are we?"

  His back to her, Eddinray appeared to be lost in his own drunken karaoke. "Goes the bang-bang-bang till my feet do the same! Somethin's buggin' me, somethin' ain't right, my best friend told me what you did last night! You left me sleepin‘, in ma bed, I was dreamin' but shoulda been with you instead!"

  He continued his clownish prancing over the ledge, darkness concealing a long way down to buoys and tugs.

  "Come down this instant!" Harmony begged. "You hear me? Godwin Eddinray!"

  "Godwin?" he stuttered, pausing. "Eddinary?"

  Turning toward her now, Eddinray's heel suddenly slipped. Harmony reached out and screamed, but her knight was already over the ledge, and falling to his death.

  ***

  "Kat?" I cried, choking in scarlet smog.

  Transported to some tangled gut in Hell, the locomotive was gone, as were the familiar faces of my friends. A burrow of rock forced me to my knees, and the only way out of this tunnel was to scrape forward.

  The temperature seared sweat and my lungs felt like two burning baguettes inside my chest. Grimacing, I worked my way through this stifling passage, avoiding the glowing cracks in the rock, which seeped out a syrupy magma. Ahead, an extraordinary light pained my eyes: it was a stunning fall of gushing lava.

  Squeezing out the tunnel, I stood only to be knocked backward by a roasting wind. Cowering, I suddenly noticed the back of Kat, perched like a bird on the edge of a rocky runway. His statuesque posture told me that he was transfixed, lost in the furthest reaches of concentration. I did not interrupt, but simply observed his daydreaming to a pool of volcanic soup one hundred feet below him. What hidden secret was this?

  I crept out of sight when Kat suddenly stood, pulled out his katana, then dove off the crust like a swimmer leaving the diving board. I ran to the edge and watched, shell-shocked, as my North Star fell toward a curdled lake of incineration; but before any piece of him touched the lava, the head of a serpent burst forth from that lake; opened its humongous mouth and swallowed Kat into its stomach.

  "Kat!" I screamed, before light overwhelmed my senses. With the mental erase of a blackboard, I found myself inside a new memory.

  I lay perplexed on my back, feeling the smudge of sand between my fingers and listening to the crashing of waves. With no time to drink in this insanity, I sat up to observe a wide blue sky, and an ocean of boiling water.

  Events soon took another turn for the unusual — the same serpent that gulped Kat down in Hell, now appeared from the blistering waters, rising hundreds of vertical feet for the sun. Once its body was completely stretched out, the snake wailed its last then collapsed dead over the water, and over the sand, erupting debris in every direction.

  A minute later, covered in dirt and seaweed, my attention was abruptly drawn to the vicious cuts now appearing over the snake's skin — a vigorous slashing coming from inside that serpent belly. Doused in ropey entrails and stomach slime, a moaning Kat appeared to part the flesh like curtains on his way out of the monster.

  "Yuki!" he bawled to the Heavens. "Yuki!"

  Defying insurmountable odds to win the longest fight of his life, Kat is the only soul have ever escaped Hell — and that is how.

  ***

  Eddinray wandered aimlessly in the stark and empty Waiting Plain. "Hello? Anyone?"

  His worried voice echoed over the waiting room, and with no reply, he ran and ran until finally catching sight of two people. The first was Harmony Valour, her wings not yet clasped, but free flowing and beautiful at her back. The second was Sir Isaac Newton, holding a consoling palm on the girl's shoulder.

  Newton raised his head to watch Eddinray arrive behind her. The elderly scientist did not appear in the least bit surprised by his appearance in the Plain, and so left him there to conclude his business with Harmony.

  "You have let yourself down young lady." he said, combing back her hair.

  "I know!" she wept, "I know! I couldn't get through Sir Isaac, it was hopeless!"

  "The tide was always against you angel. That man was destined to become what he has, and you are destined to pay for it. I am sorry."

  Her distress upset Eddinray. He attempted to comfort her but found himself locked under the influence of some advanced spell, paralysing limbs and vocal chords keeping him a silent witness to all of this.

  "You are to be banished to the Distinct Earth." said the scientist to the angel. "A harsh punishment I grant you, but I promise to see, personally, to your appeal."

  Harmony painfully shrieked as her wings were clasped together with that cumbersome looking lock, appearing out of nothing. "Focus your thoughts on survival," added Newton. "Find the Eternal witch, she will watch over you. She will keep you safe."

  "Can I…ever return?" she sniffed. "Ever?"

  "In time Harmony. When the clasp breaks free from your wings, the time has come to fly home."

  Nodding, an emotional Harmony cleared her tears then faced the Distinct Earth…painting itself on the empty canvas.

  ***

  Kat scowled through a young crowd — happy families buying candyfloss and throwing hoops over plastic ducks. The samurai had never seen a gathering like it; he did not understand the clothing, the languages or gelled hairstyles. Tightly sprung, he stifled both hands over his sword hilts and sneered at these faces; his 16th century appearance was the sore thumb amidst the modern sounds and electric lights: a fairground, circa 21st century.

  "Look at this guy!" mocked a man in torn jeans, and further titters followed Kat's steps over forgotten popcorn bags and hot-dog wrappers with runny ketchup.

  "Is that a real sword?" asked one teen, spilling his beer cup over Kat's leg. "Hey, can I get my picture with you man? One for the blog?"

  Kat pushed this boy into a multitude of other drinkers. The teenager laughed, kicked Kat in the ass then ran off into the crowd.

  "Bob, check this freak out! Look at his stupid ponytail! How tragic is that? And the phoney scar on his face!"

  Suddenly, a young woman cried out. Faces gawked as she pointed out the Ferris Wheel, where inside its highest car, two men fought for a gun.

  "Oh my God!" someone shouted. "Call the cops!"

  Spectators ran as the gun spilled out from the creaking car, followed by both men — their feud continuing through the rickety door and headfirst toward the trash covered terrain. The crowd scattered in a wave of slow motion. Kat however, did not run. He watched this plummeting pair with interest. After all, the gory splat of their bodies would hardly sicken him. His jet black eye squinted up and ballooned white when he recognised — "Fox!"

  36. The 9th Fortress

  I waved to Mr Wilde on my way off the locomotive — he did not return the gesture.

  Not yet ourselves, we sat in a smoggy tunnel, pale faced and dizzy near the train. I thought over the two significant facts I'd discovered about Kat — how he’d escaped Hell, and his reasons for doing so — a person, or thing called Yuki. I did not dare to ask what he learned about me, better not to know. Eddinray however, did not share this opinion.

  "What did you see, my dear? On the train? Did you dream like I did?"

  "I did dream," Harmony replied, "but the thing made no sense to me."

  The train did not linger at this obscure stop, and starting a chug, it blackened the four of us in soot, then was gone.

  "Where are we?" I asked, waving and spluttering.

  "Our destination." Kat answered, nudging ahead. "The 9th Fortress lies beyond this tunnel."

  I peered at a red light flickering at the end of this tube, my whole body shaking as I tried to comprehend Kat's words. The samurai, meanwhile, was a picture of concern, his senses pestered by the presence of something else — a persistent bloodhound in the shad
ows and smoke, a malignant spirit he could feel, but not yet see. "Let's go." he said, and, with a hand permanently fixed to the hilt of his sword, he led the way out of the tunnel — toward burning light and the 9th Fortress.

  ***

  The sight of the structure begged my legs to buckle from underneath me. Something so unfathomably tall could hardly be described or imagined. The color of crude oil, her rock, at times, revealed a glimmer of life, a ripple here and a pulse there. It was plant like in growth and feel, alive even, and sprouting far beyond the highest clouds.

  The silence was unsettling; this apparently infamous place was like an abandoned bus shelter with no comings or goings; only fluttering bats above and the side winds made any contribution. I almost needed something to happen just to break the tension; I wanted to hear a sample of the suffering behind these walls and windows, those forever held on the brink of second death. "Show me." I grunted. "Come on…"

  Pressing ourselves against the substantial outer wall, we crouched toward a set of iron gates suspiciously swinging open.

  "If this is a prison," whispered Harmony, at my heels; "why is security so lax?"

  "If this is a prison," returned Eddinray, at hers; "why am I here at all?"

  In the past, Kat and I had learned the hard way that we would likely be walking into a trap here, and before stopping at the gates, we armed ourselves for an ambush. I removed my sword, Eddinray scraped the wall with his and Harmony placed a sturdy arrow into her longbow.

  "Never have I been this close." said Kat, at the gates.

  Bending cautiously, he searched through the bars to come face to face with the 9th Fortress. A straightforward stone path ran directly to its mouth, and at each side of that path, a moat of lava popped and stewed. The lava's heat wafting through the bars was immense. The moat's depth was anyone's guess, but we did know that the narrow passage between was our only route into that prison.

  "Be ready for anything." I warned them, as the screeching gates fully opened.

  "My heart is racing!" said Harmony, following.

  Despite myself, I was in awe before this grand jewel in Mephistopheles crown. His 9th Fortress, contaminated home to the worst of the worst; and what a malevolent, and magnificent sight it was.