The 9th Fortress Read online

  The creatures were not impressed by the display, and without order, every one charged for Kat’s blood. I grimaced away, expecting to hear his gut-wrenching last scream. Hectic grunts and clangs of battering metal followed, but there was no scream from Kat.

  I opened my eyes and saw him alive still, face in deep concentration as he fought them off, deflecting curved blades and removing limbs within reach. He was awe-inspiring, but the numbers were too great, and it was only a matter of time before he was overwhelmed. When that moment arrived, a brilliant flash of heat separated man from monsters. It burned a rich red, holding that wall of evil at bay and forming a protective shield before Kat. It was a paranormal light that no blade or body could penetrate, and with it, a high-pitched sound came from inside, an itch at all our brains. The monsters covered their ears and wailed like hysterical monkeys in zoo cages. I, meanwhile, made myself small against the dead horse while Kat refilled his lungs. An older man’s voice soon replaced the uncomfortable sound, booming out from that force field and giving order to the creatures. That order was to back away from Kat, and they did so with a cowardly, childlike fear.

  The claret-colored light flickered its last, the wind settled, and the owner of the voice now appeared between Kat and the horde. Old and rake thin, his crooked body was wrapped in a stained, patchy cloak. The eyes seemed to be sucked into his head, and around them, the skin stretched like a rubber mask. Hair fell greasily to the shoulders and his beard was long and straggly, separating into two hairy points at the chin. Theatrical in his stance, but at the same time disturbing, there was no warmth about this man. He was a living frost, a winter with no sign of spring, and he had everyone’s complete attention.

  The monsters remained in a spineless, worshipping manner toward this unknown. He reminded me briefly of Sir Isaac Newton, in that he lingered, as if he had all the time in the world for us. "Lost your way?” he asked now, voice dull and drawn out as he surveyed Kat. "Come," he said to me, "join your friend, young one."

  Looking to the samurai for guidance, what I got was a disagreeable shake of the head. "He is a wizard," said Kat.

  "And you," replied the old man, wielding no obvious weapon, "are a samurai."

  The wizard’s grin was like the Grinch who once stole Christmas. He lovingly combed a hand down his beard, and then was gone again in a wicked flash of red. No one had time to be startled, for the wizard reappeared in a blink of time, two paces before Kat.

  "Scarfell is the name," he said, "and these are my bogs, sliced and diced by your feet."

  The wizard resumed stroking his beard, enjoying the curl through his spindly fingers. Kat meanwhile remained on a knife’s edge; stone-faced and irritated. He was not a man for stalemates, and thus informed the wizard and his animals how things were going to be. "Those who attack," he grunted, "will fall."

  Scarfell reflected respect back to Kat, but the hog-faced creature gripping that battleaxe was not one to be threatened. He left the meek crowd with glowering intent, grinding his teeth for the samurai. "Now now, Grutas!" said Scarfell, raising a composed hand. "What did you expect, my large friend? After all, this is the Kat we are dealing with here."

  Grutas spat then tossed his axe petulantly to the mud.

  "Pick up that weapon," said Scarfell, thinly. "Pick it up…now."

  Testing the wizard's patience no further, the giant retrieved his axe and concealed himself from Scarfell's sight.

  "What do you want?" asked Kat. “What would a wizard want with me?”

  "Enough of the pleasantries, then,” he replied. “You and that man are trespassing on my property. These woods belong to me. And there will be a penalty for this lack of respect."

  "We don't mean any harm," I interrupted. "How do you know us?"

  "I know all that goes on here," he answered. "I know all about you, samurai. The only man to ever fight his way out of hellfire. The only one to escape the flames. Your name is synonymous with slaughter. I thought it would take a hundred of my bogs to surround you."

  Amused, the wizard inspected the butchered pieces underneath him. "Should have brought two hundred."

  Fought his way out of hellfire, I heard, adding newer pieces to my sketchy profile. At this point, I decided to stand, and as I did, I caught sight of something suspicious in the trees. There, loitering in a slim gap between trunks, was a stag or pony. This animal was not shuffling aimlessly, but watching us with considering eyes and an intelligent brain behind them. "What the…"

  The stag was forgotten as my attention returned to Kat, who in an outburst of hot-blooded frustration, swung his swords into Scarfell. The frail wizard was somehow too fast for even Kat's steel. He disappeared in that haze of brilliant red, then reappeared quite unexpectedly behind me, pressing a knife against my swallowing Adam’s apple. Strength left me, and for the first time, Kat expressed genuine surprise on his face. "Drop him, sorcerer!" he exclaimed, furious. "Drop him now!"

  Scarfell cackled through a mouth of broken teeth and fetid breath. "How well you can defend yourself, samurai," he said, "but not this pathetic man!"

  The scene pleased Grutas immensely; the beast hooted along with the rest of the bogs.

  "Now," Scarfell added, with some calm, "you will drop your swords, Kat.”

  “If I don’t?”

  “If you don’t,” he tittered, “then I rip this boy’s voice out!"

  I squawked from the piercing blade and Kat grudgingly, hatefully, threw down his swords, appearing equally disappointed in me as he was with himself. Scarfell then removed the knife from my throat and forced my face to the dirt, clogging my airways with filth.

  "Enough!" yelled Kat, and thankfully, the wizard relinquished. Weaponless, Kat stood at the mercy of this old man, but was unafraid. "The bird was your doing," he growled. “Your…magic.”

  "It was, samurai, of course it was. Observing your progress through my woodland, I decided to have my little fun with you. I wanted to see the Kat in action. And may I say what a magnificent specimen you are still; your reputation is thoroughly deserved."

  Leaving me spitting out dollops of muck, Scarfell stood, master of all he surveyed and said, "You are travelling to the Macros, and to that king, are you not?"

  "King?" I blurted out, and quickly paid the price for talking out of turn. With his bony heel, Scarfell kicked me in the cheek. Dazed, my sight blurred and my head plopped unconscious to the mud.

  6. Who Killed Madam A?

  It was a long time before I opened my eyes. When I did, I was laying on a hard mattress with a drilling ache on the bridge on my nose. I slouched up in heavy clothes and that throat full of sickly mucus. "Ugh…"

  Vaguely aware of my surroundings, this was a wonky shack, a cold and putrid pigsty. The stench of manure seemed encased in the walls as if an ingredient in the wood; it was gag inducing, and it covered the floor like a greasy carpet. I rose from the bed, and setting my boots in it, moved toward a window smeared over with the same shit. I wiped it clean with a sleeve and beams of fresh sunlight came through the glass, revealing Kat crouched in the corner. "Where are we?" I asked, too sore to be surprised.

  He joined me at the window, smudged another circle clean, and then gazed outside, the sun revealing his troubled face. "We are in a village at the foot of Macro Mountains," he said. "A modest place whose residents will bring us no harm. They have agreed to have us here, and you will be grateful for their hospitality."

  "Course," I muttered, hardly grateful for this kind of filthy generosity; however, I was eager to explore more of this modest village in the Distinct Earth.

  "How long are we staying?" I asked, scratching the sleep from my eyes. With no response, I left the window and a powerful spell sent me staggering back to bed. “Think the last few days have…caught up with me."

  Feeling Kat's eyes on the side of my face, I whispered the word wizard as I lay back down. We had both survived that old man and his swine army. I figured Kat must have done something very special with that katana to get
us out alive. How many more bog men did he slay? Tiny little miracles, Daniel, scattered everywhere.

  "Your swordsmanship was impressive, Kat. Amazing, actually. I've never seen anything like that. How did you get so…good?"

  There was a deep melancholy about the samurai, and an elderly man's frailness. Right now he did not seem capable of the feats I'd seen. Perhaps the last few days had caught up with him, too? He stroked fat fingers over the thin swords, those inanimate objects the only friends he’d ever had.

  "The sword is a brush," he said, soberly. "After four hundred years, the art of killing is more than mastered."

  I decided not to pry further on our escape. Details were best left to the imagination. It was difficult to remove all the thoughts from my mind though, especially of the wizard. Scarfell was the name. I could almost see his craggy face smeared on the shitty walls here. The more he prayed on my mind, the more Scarfell and Kat seemed to melt together. Two men so dead in the eyes, yet so full of fire.

  "The wizard," I said, sitting up again. "Before he hit me, he mentioned something about a king? Do you remember?"

  "King Bludgeon," said Kat. "Lives high in the Macros. He is to train you."

  "Train? For what?"

  "Everything!" he complained. "You must be skilled in various forms of combat before you see any Fortress. I have my instructions."

  Would this afterlife ever stop throwing up surprises? Combat training with a king inside a mountain? What next, I wondered, for wonder was all I could do. "King Blugdan," I said dreamily to myself.

  "Bludgeon!" corrected Kat, with a ready temper. "A great honor!"

  "I'm sure. And how long will training with this Bludgeon last?"

  Kat's profound sigh at the window was like a tired spirit leaving his body. "As long as it takes…" he grumbled.

  "One last thing, Kat, one last thing. Scarfell, he said something about you — the only man ever to fight his way out of Hell. Is that true?"

  "No more of wizards!" he yelled, driving his fist through the window. Light immediately filled the shack, illuminating a swarthy floor and new blood over Kat's knuckles. He stormed off into the village, nearly pulling the door from its hinges on his way.

  Stunned, I did not follow. No stranger to losing my temper, I didn't take it personally. I was grateful to have Kat now, that was an honor too, and I should not pick at the man's brain for niggling details. Despite my layers of clothing, the frost still bit. I crept out of bed to warm myself with exercise when one of the villagers, without knocking, entered the shack and fixed the door behind her.

  "Oh, be seated sir!" she said, escorting me back to bed. "You've overtired yourself. It's expected. Yes, that's what's happened." Dressed in a frumpy frock, her age was hard to tell. The engraved lines of her face suggested a hard worker, and far from an attractive one. "Can't be up and about, sir! Here…" she passed me a clear glass of what appeared to be water. "A sip and sleep will make you right. Drink."

  My mother taught me never to accept anything from strangers, but thirst taught me differently. I drank her water, parched my crusty lips, and washed down some of the scum lining my throat. "Thank you very much. I'm Danny, Daniel Fox."

  "Pleased to meet you, conscious Mr. Fox. The samurai had you over his shoulder when he arrived last night. Caused quite a stir with the women, let me tell you. My name is Madam B."

  I smirked. "Madam B? The letter B?"

  "Correct."

  "Unusual," I said, and she smiled thinly.

  "Sorry you're put up in this run down shack. This is all we had to spare."

  "I'm not feeling that bad. I'd rather not be here too long."

  "Good," she said, unintentionally pleased. "We," she stuttered, remembering herself, "are not used to visitors here, Mr. Fox. Never here. Normally we would say no, but the request came from a great man. We could not say no…We would not. Not to him."

  Newton, I presumed. Like the horses before and added extras of kings and mountains, the scientist had overseen every element of this task. I was in good hands.

  "He is a great man," I agreed, returning her glass. "How long have you been in this village, Madam B?"

  "A long time," she answered plainly. "I am the longest now. We are safe at least, perhaps the safest in all the Distinct Earth." Her eyes suddenly crossed upon noticing the broken window, the shards of bloody glass distracting her from the conversation.

  "My companion," I said, apologetically. "He has a short fuse."

  Lost in her daydream, Madam B picked up a piece of glass and examined Kat's blood dribbling along its edge. I studied her trance until enough time passed to make things uncomfortable. Coughing for attention, her tired eyes very sharply met my own. "Madam B?" I whispered. "Are…you alright?"

  "Of course," she replied, robotically dropping the shard. "Everything is fine here."

  I tipped my forehead and cautiously approached her. "Tell me, Madam B, how many people are there in your village? Do you know?"

  "There are twenty-five of us, and although your surly friend wanders the grounds now, I would advise you not to do the same, Mr. Fox. Some are still anxious about your presence here. Best wait until dinnertime. A hearty meal will see you both full, happy, and on your way. Yes, no need to stay after your meal. No need at all."

  "No," I replied, repressing my own feelings, feelings about this stinking icebox, this strange village, and her stranger behavior.

  Madam B opened the door, and the protruding lump at her belly immediately appalled me. A trick of the light, I hoped, but a second glance left me with no doubt: She was heavily pregnant. I wavered back to the bed, unsure what to make of it.

  "Don't be startled," she said kindly, caressing her stomach. "Be with us next month…my little miracle."

  I briefly nursed a dry mouth before regaining some composure. "I, I never realized you could make babies in the afterlife. New life in death? How can such a thing be…possible?"

  She forced a grin. "Get some rest, Mr. Fox. I will see you at dinner. I'll see you then."

  Madam B left me alone, and I lay down. I was not tired any more. Here in the day and the dark, the frosty walls and rough mattress, roundabout thoughts bounced like countless sheep over the picket fence. Tiny little miracles Daniel, scattered everywhere.

  ***

  It was the headmaster, Margaret McKinney, who told me the news. I could tell she was crying when I picked up the phone, or trying not too, for my sake. It's funny how you're life can change so completely in a matter of minutes, how the earth can so easily open up and swallow you.

  "Are you okay, Mrs. McKinney? What's-"

  "Their bus went off the road," she sniffed, apologizing before and after. "Six dead, Mr. Fox. Two teachers, and four…children."

  The rest was a blur. Margaret didn't have to tell me; I already knew it.

  Losing a child is an indescribable feeling. There's no feelings left when the heart has been ripped out of you.

  ***

  I woke with a start, the early light now was replaced by a strong orange musk seeping in though the shed cracks. A young woman nursed me at my bedside, dabbing a soggy cloth over my forehead. No more than eighteen years old, she hid a pretty face behind a fringe of dirty blonde hair, and her body looked as delicate as any I had seen.

  "You were crying, mister," she said, her voice soft and pleasant. "Never seen a fella cry before."

  The drying tears on my cheeks confused me. I slouched up, then cleared them with both palms.

  "A nightmare?" she asked.

  I shook my head — not a nightmare, but a memory.

  "Stinks awful bad in here," she said. "Awful, awful bad. You will need a cleanup before dinner. Just sit still now."

  "What's your name?" I said, sitting back while she attended to me.

  "Name's-" she paused, expressing brief confusion. "They…call me Madam L, you can call me L."

  "L? That's weird, already met a B today."

  "You spoke to Madam B?" she asked, unmistakably anx
ious. "Did she mention me at all?"

  "Well, no." I said, puzzled. "Why would she?"

  The girl turned from me, soaking the cloth in a bowlful of dirty water. I took her slender wrist and she allowed the cloth to sink into that murky bowl. "Why would Madam B mention you?" I asked again.

  "Just thought she would've told you, that's all. After all, our purpose was her idea. Solution, she calls it."

  "Our purpose?" I said, releasing her wrist. "Which is?"

  She lowered her forehead to hide her blushing. She was a beauty with peachy skin, plump cheekbones, and two soft lips like streaks of red paint. Times like these I had to forget I was still a man of flesh and blood. "You take orders from Madam B?" I asked, regaining some composure. "Is she in charge here?"

  "Madam B guides us from evil," she said. "She protects us all."

  The girl's voice was sincere enough; there was no hint of a lie, as far as I could tell. I even sensed a fondness for her labored-looking leader. Intrigued, I continued with diligence down this line of questioning: "How does Madam B, a pregnant woman, protect you?"

  The girl kept her face and her answers from me.

  "Am I upsetting you?" I asked. "I'm sorry if I am, it's…"

  She kept quiet, and attempting to meet her eye, I caught sight of the scratches scoring her arms and shoulders. Disturbed, I combed back her fringe to discover a lash across her forehead, the blood barely dry. "Who did this?!"

  Her chin trembled with her bottom lip, and falling tears gave a polish to her emerald eyes, but if the girl wanted to tell me, her mouth kept the secret under lock and key.

  "I can help you," I said, sure of myself. "I can! Madam B? Did she do this? Did she hurt you?"

  "Everyone must have a use," she murmured. "A…purpose."

  I took the drenched cloth from the bowl and cleared the grime from her face. "Please, don't cry. Whatever the problem, there is no excuse for marks like that. See there, really-"