The Road North

This is the final installment of The Valley of Ashes, the long journey's end. It is lengthy, and perhaps should have been a page rather than a post.  

However I wanted to offer some closure, for those readers who have been kind enough to follow the story with me.

“How long have I been here?”
The traveller whispered.

“Time, as you know it,
Does not exist within this realm,”
The deep, smooth voice replied.

The northern road
Had been difficult to travel.

Every step brought pain,
By the time the traveller
Reached the foot of the volcano,
Bare feet bled
Upon the darkened stones.

Standing beneath
The mountain’s immense shadow,
The traveller finally understood
How the Valley of Ashes
Had earned both its name
And its endless mantle of grey.

The great volcano
Spewed vast clouds of ash
Into the heavens.

The earth trembled beneath it,
Covering everything
In an oppressive greyness.

The skeletal remains
Of two enormous black trees
Stood silently
On either side
Of the summit path.

From every twisted branch
Hung an empty noose,

Ancient,
Weathered,
And worn
By countless forgotten years.

The climb was steep.
The soil of the Thunder Road
Had grown darker here.

The air carried a bitter cold,
A strange sensation
For one already dead,
When no feeling at all
Should have remained.

Ahead,
Two immense ledges
Of jagged black stone
Jutted high above
The valley floor,

Like the open jaws
Of some colossal beast,
Waiting to devour
Those who entered.

The traveller
Passed into the stone maw.

Within,
An immense being
Sat upon a throne
Forged from black volcanic rock.

Its crimson eyes
Met the traveller’s gaze.

Its broad,
Powerfully built frame
Was crowned with thick black hair.

Leaning forward,
The giant warmed itself
Beside the raging heart
Of the volcano,

Its molten fire
Visible through a vast wound
Torn into the mountainside.

The creature’s face
Appeared almost human,

Its skin
Dark ash-grey,

Its enormous beard
Black,
Long,
And flowing.

Upon its head
Rose a great pair
Of sweeping ram’s horns,
Ancient symbols
Of dominion
And power.

This was
The Master of the Ash.
Overlord of the Valley of Ashes.
The Keeper of Limbo.

“But it feels like I have been here
For ever, with no way out.”
The traveller continued.

“As I said, time is not what it seems here.”
The creature pauses.

“Regardless,
Your journey through my valley has been long,
Tell me… what remains
When everything is gone”

The traveller thinks of everything that has been lost.

Memory.
Legacy.
Identity.
Hope.
Fear.
Name.
Body.
Life.
Death.
Nothing remains.

Then, after a very long silence the traveller whispers,

“Choice.”

The Lord smiles with a nod.

Because everything else was stripped away.
But every step taken through the Valley was freely chosen.
The traveller chose to continue.
Chose compassion.
Chose curiosity.
Chose to keep walking.

Choice is the one thing,
neither the Tempest,
nor the Storm Caller,
nor the Keeper of Souls
could ever take.

The Keeper of Limbo smiled.
A slow,
Almost imperceptible smile.

The volcano rumbled softly beneath the mountain.
The traveller bowed deeply.

Without another word,
The journey appeared complete.
Turning from the great throne,
The traveller began to descend
The dark volcanic path.

The black trees stood silently,
Their empty nooses swaying gently
In the cold mountain wind.

Each step carried the traveller farther
From the summit.

Farther from the Keeper.
Farther toward the Thunder Road.
Farther toward the Five Ways,
Where the Keeper of the Path
Still waited beside the mound of skulls,
Expecting another tale
From another journey.

Then,

“Traveller.”

The voice echoed
Through the mountain.
Not loudly.
Yet it carried
To every corner of the valley.

The traveller stopped.
Slowly,
Turning once more
Toward the throne.

Something had changed.
The mighty horned figure
Was no longer seated
Beside the mountain fire.

Instead,
Upon the throne
Sat the pale,
Legless figure,
Its vast black mouth
Curving into a knowing smile.

Long black hair
Hung across its bony chest.
The ancient wooden staff
Rested across its lap.

Black smoke
Curled lazily
From the end of its pipe.

The Keeper of the Path.
The traveller stood motionless.

Understanding arrived
Without surprise.

The Tempest.
The Storm Caller.
The Keeper of Souls.
The Keeper of the Path.
The Master of the Ash.

They had never been separate beings.

Each had been
A different face
Of the same eternal keeper.

Each lesson.
Each trial.
Each question.
Given by one ancient guardian
Watching over the Valley of Ashes.

The Keeper laughed softly.

The familiar sound
Of dry leaves
Upon ancient stone.

“You understand now.”

The traveller nodded.

“I do.”

The old Keeper
Rose effortlessly,

Its frail body
Straightening as though
Age itself
Had never touched it.

“You have no further need
To walk the Thunder Road.”

The traveller looked back
Toward the winding road below.

For the first time,
It no longer called.
The endless journey
Had reached its end.

The Keeper raised
Its ancient staff.
Pointing beyond the throne,

To the narrow opening
Within the broken wall
Of the mountain.

Beyond it,
the fire licked.
The great heart
Of the volcano.

Its white-hot flames
Roared endlessly
Within the living earth.

The Keeper spoke quietly.

“One final path remains.”

The traveller looked
Into the inferno.
Its heat
Was immense.
Its flames
Consumed everything
They touched.

For a single moment,
Old instincts returned.
Fear.
Pain.
The desperate need
To survive.

Then came remembrance.

There was no life left to lose.
No body to protect.
No death still waiting.

Only choice.

The final lesson.
Many had reached this place before.
Many had turned away.
Fearing the flames.
Fearing pain.
Fearing death once more.
And in that fear,
They chose the Thunder Road again.

Forever walking.
Forever searching.
Forever believing the journey
Was not yet complete.

The traveller smiled.

Stepping calmly
To the edge
Of the blazing chasm.

Then turned.

The Keeper
Had once more
Become the mighty Lord of the Valley.

His vast horns
Silhouetted
Against the burning mountain.

His crimson eyes
Held neither judgement
Nor command.
Only quiet understanding.

The traveller bowed.
The Lord returned
The gesture.

Nothing more
Needed to be said.

The choice had already been made.
With peaceful certainty,
The traveller stepped forward.
Into the fire.

The flames rose
Around the waiting soul.
They burned.
Not with agony.
But with truth.
Not into darkness.
But into light.
Brilliant.
Pure.
Infinite.

The ash was gone.
The road was gone.
The valley was gone.
Even time itself
Passed quietly away.

Only understanding remained.
And within that understanding,

At long last,

Came peace.