The 9th Fortress

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 9^thFortress.

'Have you ever seen it? The 9th Fortress?'

'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