I’m delighted to announce that my second book, ‘The Valley of Ashes’, is now available through Lulu Publishing. I’m incredibly pleased with how it turned out.
But what is it about?
The Valley of Ashes is a journey through a strange, desolate realm suspended between life and death, where a nameless traveller follows the ancient Thunder Road across endless plains of ash, forgotten ruins and impossible landscapes. Along the way, they encounter mysterious beings and guardians who confront them with memory, mortality, grief, fear, legacy and the consequences of a life once lived. Blending long-form narrative poetry with dark, dreamlike imagery, the book transforms its bleak purgatorial landscape into an exploration of the inner journeys we all endure, the things we carry, the things we must surrender, and the difficult truth that some experiences cannot be escaped, only travelled through. Ultimately, The Valley of Ashes is a melancholic meditation on loss, acceptance, resilience and the search for meaning while wandering the uncertain space between endings and new beginnings.
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.
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,
