40. Melting Fortress by Thayne

Melting Fortress

thayne

His arrival goes unannounced, unlike his departure. He arrives atop a tall tree, literally balancing in the uppermost branches, supported on the narrow limbs despite his weight. The sun was not far away, soft lavender streaks lined the clear sky, winking out the distant stars one by one. Below the lush canopy, the destruction he had wrought upon the fortress on his way to rescue his son was seemingly invisible. From the outside, it was just a half buried ruin in the middle of an overgrown forest.

But to the Runic, it was much more. It was a part of himself, a part he had hated and loved, a part that he had tried to toss away, but a part that kept returning like a bittersweet memory. A dark stain on his soul. He had mentioned to Waspe that he enjoyed knowing she was in the world because it gave that darkness validation.

Not anymore. It was not contained; the darkness had crept out like an oozing disease into his family and had contaminated the most precious. His children were never to know this world, and he had gone to great lengths to shelter them from it. To protect them from this evilness that resounded in his soul.

He had allowed Waspe to remain alive. He had allowed the taint in his heart to flourish. It was time both were extinguished.

A sparkling rainbow of light shimmered across his eyes and he smiled. Noelani. She had changed everything, shown him that he could overcome. With her rainbow wings and silver eyes, he had rethought his world, from his relationship with his wife, to his children, to his Goddess. To his Mother. For that is what she is, he knows it now. Not literally, but she was the Mother of the Runics, and she loved him even though he had raged against that love. He isn’t perfect, he doesn’t have to be. He is Her son, and love like that is unconditional.

“That’s right, Noe. It’s time.” Noe had also shown him a gift he didn’t know he possessed – channeling energy. And in this case, the rich vibrant green energy of life. High up in the treetop, as the early orange streaks dart out to warm his face, he lifts his hands and says, “Fill me.”

The words are spoken softly, sincerely, from the depth of his heart, pleading to his Goddess to grant him the energy that he would not fight. Unlike in the past, he is not going to force it, but let it move through him. He is not its vessel, he is just a passageway. A breeze stirs the treetop, shaking the limbs and drifting through his hair. Bright, calm, and warm, just like the wholesome pure first rays of the morning, the energy blooms inside his heart, and he accepts it.

Leaping from the treetop, he lowers slowly to the ground. His bare feet touch lightly upon the lush grass, the ground connecting through him, linking with his soul, filling him and then pouring out as life.

As he walks, vines streak outward toward the structure, growing as fast as the light spreading over the treetops. They surge upward, blooming with indigo trumpet flowers, driving tap roots through the mortar, tearing at the rocks, and covering filth. Each step takes him along the same path as he took before. Dead bodies suddenly are overcome by a thick covering of moss, which promptly blooms with tiny blue flowers. Swarms of rats leap at him, but before they can squeak their next squeak, they fall into puddles of pure water. When a manscorpion shaman they had abandoned on their first trip down decides to attack, it doesn’t even take a blink of his eyes to turn the raging monstrosity into a whirlwind of butterflies and crickets, which all disperse for warmer places. The stench of shit and dried blood dissolves as both are purified, dead bones in the corners fall away to dust, illusions unravel, traps pop open, and furniture sprouts mossy clover. The taunting frescos melt like rainwater, the paint dripping off the walls and running into the moist soil between the stones.

Finally he nears the hole leading to the third floor, and he waits, letting the fyre surge out of him, filling the chambers beyond his reach. New life, rich and abundant fills every corner of the fortress, breaking up through the floors, yanking down the walls, opening the reeking bowels to the copious flora that is the forest.

Dropping to the final level, it is only a short walk to the Fun Room. It was quiet now, but the walls reverberated with the screams of his children. Their blood and sweat forever laced this room. Their tears had blessed the floor. Walking across the stone grate, he feels the round chamber’s energies. Even now, so close to his Mother, it tempted him. Cages and spikes, agony and misery, it was a beautiful creation of horror. But not against his children. Not against anyone’s children. Never again.

Looking up at the ceiling full of chains and hooks, the image of Thorne chained and covered in blood flashes in his mind. Jumeau and Waspe were laughing like a pair of twisted children lacking a conscious. To his right was a bloodied table, no toubt where Cory spent his time. Poor Cory – always with joy in his bright blue eyes, now having to live with sorrow. His sons had been unprepared. Maybe the sheltered life both grew up in was not the best.

The pit monster beneath his feet rumbled with awareness. Thayne glances down through the grates. Life had already begun to bloom into the room, sending curling spirals of vine down to the creature. It was too bad, for he was going to destroy them along with it. He sweeps one foot outward, twining it around another fyre, tugging on the earth and making the stones pay attention. Overhead, the ceiling parts like blankets being tossed off a bed. Wires and whips curl inward and rumble down the walls, sealing off the door to this level and forming a well on the one above. The next level also rolls outward, just like a master forming clay into a vessel. Another sweep of his feet and he sends out a call deep into the mantle of Rosha, tugging at the dormant magma rushing silently underneath. Churning and melting, it grows and lifts, bubbling upward, climbing and reaching for the one calling it. It blasts through the lowest levels, filling the chambers with its searing waves, purging the disgusting filth with the purest energy of rebirth.

When he feels the scream of the pit monster underneath, he leaps upward, surging through the final rooftop, landing on the wall as a wave of hot air follows his path. The lava continues to fill the Fun Room, melting away the objects of torture, destroying the artifacts with a flash of fire and a surge of hot flowing stone. Ash lifts up through the opening, the burning away of shadow and agony, the final remains of the unclean spirits that clung to the chamber without a place to rest. The flakes drift through the air, through the forest’s leaves, and along the rising currents.

Overhead, in the otherwise clear day, storm clouds quickly form, as quickly as the magma had come to the call of Thayne underfoot. A loud crash of thunder rumbles through the woods, sending critters fluttering about in fear. And then the rain comes, thick and heavy, pounding into the magma dome and sizzling upon impact. It rushes through the fortress, drops on the surrounding vegetation, turning any escaping goblins into ravens, and the fleeing orcs into deer. The drops stream down his face, as does his anguish, which until now has gone unfelt. This was all his fault. His own stupidity at trying to live in two worlds. He had known it was wrong, and yet he wanted it all. He wanted the darkness and the light. He had loved women he should not have. He had let her live.

Dropping to his knees at the edge of the magma dome, he only know feels Temptress’ request. Return when he is able. His children need him. They need to know he is alive, he is safe, and that he loves them all. Cory was the one in need of love now. He had to be a parent. Nodding to Temptress, even though she was miles away, he stands up, gathers himself, and leaves the clearing.

Sun, June 11th – 11:35PM