John Jackson - The 9th Fortress

Scarfell's face smouldered, as did the back of Seppuku's throat. I ducked for cover when the dragon made her mouth as large as possible, when she sent her inferno crashing down over Scarfell.

The dragon lifted its nose and aimed for the sky again, leaving a black crater behind, but no body or ashes of the wizard, for Scarfell was also bound for the sky, gripping the dragon's rugged back and cheering with insane delight.

Seppuku roared with frustration, flipping upside down like a bull to offload her uninvited passenger. The wind generated by her wings whipped up great walls of muddy waters, and her wild trajectory soon sent the dragon careening my way. I saw her coming; I bent my knees; I timed my move; then leapt for her passing tail.

***

With only slate rock to halt their fall, a broken Kat lay in pools of mixed blood at the foot of the hill — the black samurai slumped beside with a red fountain spurting from his stomach. Awake and aware, open eyed and groaning, Kat had lost fatal amounts of blood from his arm; he was too weak to fight, to stand, to defend himself. His katana lay inches from his grasp but hopelessly out of reach, and catching its gleam in his eye, the black samurai had enough energy in him to sit up, enough to pull his bulk toward the weapon.

"You will not defeat me." gurgled Kat. "I will not — "

The black samurai smeared a bloody trail over slate and Kat, his fingertips begging out for the sword hilt. However, before he could claim the blade and Kat's soul, the sword was snatched from his reach.

Quaking over the pair of them, Yuki Katamuro held the steel in her tiny hands. The black samurai slunk in resignation now as Yuki, who once took her own life, now and without mercy, took another. She brought the chipped katana down to the slate with a grizzly thunk, removing the black samurai's head from his shoulders. The corpse dispersed almost immediately; numerous flickers away with the breeze, leaving no clue of his ever existing.

Sobbing, Yuki threw the old sword off distant rocks; then dropped to her husband's side. Attending to his wounds appeared futile, but still she pressed her hands over the cuts and slapped at his scarred face. Kat would have to remain conscious — he could not close his eyes.

As fast as she could, Yuki took hold of her husband's armor and dragged him toward the boiling seashore. Her anguished moans focused Kat's wits enough for him to scrape his heels over the sand. And once at the water, Yuki immersed Kat's decapitated limb fully inside the roasting wet vat, and he howled and screamed as the heat-sealed his wound shut.

Finally, Yuki pulled her unconscious spouse to the relative safety of the beach, and there she lay — to live or to die with her husband. "Kendo!" she wept. "Kendo!"

***

I fought the wizard in a spirited mixture of all the techniques Bludgeon had taught me — every lesson came into play on the rugged back of Seppuku.

I attempted to outpace Scarfell at first, but his recovery in the well gave his body a virile speed and a gymnast's flexibility. Balance was never lost on this unstable surface — the pair of us, countering position and weight against the constant movement and turbulence of the dragon. Our swords connected over the serpent's shoulders as her wings banked right. I snatched a desperate hold of Seppuku's leathered skin when she made a turn upside down; the wizard meanwhile disappeared in a haze of red magic, reappearing the moment Seppuku returned horizontal, his blade swinging for my face. I cried out after taking a cut across my chest, then another down my back. Scarfell exclaimed, victoriously, as I tried to ignore the pain, the warning — shut it out and concentrate. I also ignored the dizzying miles Seppuku sped us — that sickening smear of land.

At the top of the world, Scarfell and I continued testing defences, searching for weakness, any morsel of an edge. It was only when the wizard momentarily glanced at my heels when Scarfell unwittingly revealed his secret, his weakness and my morsel.

"The eyes of a wizard will reveal his secret." Bludgeon once said — and they did. For when Scarfell examined those heels of mine, his beady eyes burned in bright red thought. He had used this trick many times — in his fort, above the labyrinth, and here on the spine of Seppuku. He would teleport before me, and where his gaze was last cast is where he would first reappear…

As expected, Scarfell was gone in a red flicker and I reacted immediately, thrusting the short-sword behind me. Immediately and as planned, the wizard appeared at my heels, accompanied by the crunching of his bones, and warm breath deflating against my neck.

I turned to meet his grotesque face — my blade enveloping his chest. I observed his expression, as old age returned under his eyes and around the mouth; but any thoughts of triumph were quashed when I noticed that, despite the blood at his mouth, Scarfell did not appear weak, or display the slightest sign of fatigue from this fatal wound.

"Your cold blade cannot scorch this heart!" he squawked and cackled.

Suddenly, and with a will of its own, the sword of the centaur sparked into life. I could not see the penetrating fire growing over the blade, but I felt it rage through Scarfell's body. He screamed as any dying animal would — cursing me, cursing and burning from the inside out. I hoped to take some satisfaction from this moment, but I got none; there was only emptiness, as I watched his skin fry and his hair snap like blowing fuses.

I held onto his electric skeleton for longer than I should have; and with one final ex-pulse of energy, the wizard’s bones exploded, sending me backward over the dragon's spine and rolling off her tail. Seppuku continued for the stratosphere, while I fell to the Distinct Earth.

Accelerating to terminal velocity, I experienced an overwhelming sense of freedom. It was over — the quest and the responsibility — all of it was behind me. I would crash, I would embrace the simpler existence of a frog or spider, a leaf or leech.

Before my second death, I took a moment to picture each of my brave friends: Harmony, Eddinray, Kat; and finally, I lingered on my daughter. I wanted Kathy to know how far her spirit had carried me, how desperately I fought and how much I loved her. I prayed that my life-support would pass on those final thoughts of mine; but as I closed my eyes to die, one beautiful angel did hear my prayers, and arrived in spectacular fashion to answer them. A French phoenix called Harmony Valour burst through cloud to catch me in her arms.

"Hold on Daniel!" she cried. "I got you!"

No longer burdened with any clasp, Harmony's radiant wings flapped wide, white and sacred. She flew — she flew.

I lay between friends as Seppuku flew us gracefully through the bluest sky. I remember a most vivid and lurid dream, not of a failed mission in the past, but of a gloriously bright future. I dreamt of the Distinct Earth sweeping below, and of a peace growing stronger with every new year. I dreamt of my life-support, Missy, somersaulting as she waited for my arrival. I dreamt of a muddy village of women reclaiming their names and freedom, celebrating with a party of carefree laughter lasting seven whole days and nights. Outside his Mountain traps, I dreamt of a groomed centaur King, toasting a passing speck overhead with a glass of his own moonshine. I dreamt of an ancient spell broken, and a lonely witch crawling free from her prison of ice. Her face was young and noble, and smiling as she walked down the road toward a long lost friend. Also in this dream was a petrified wood sighing away its fears, and the creatures of all colors running free from wizard cages. Finally, I dreamt of ribbons coming loose from Kathy's hair, as she hurried to a very important meeting.