It had been many weeks Since sleep Had carried the dreamer Beyond the waking world.
Reality had become Loud. Heavy. Uncertain.
Yet, in the quiet hours Before dawn, Sleep finally deepened, And once again The Ocean of Dreams Called them home.
They awoke upon the seabed.
Great dunes of pale sand Stretched endlessly Towards the horizon.
Seashells lay exposed, Their songs long silenced. Ancient shipwrecks Rested crooked Upon dry earth, The ocean Had quietly abandoned This world.
The light house on the peninsula, No longer shined a guiding light, The sky hung grey and charcoal, The dunes connected desolation, To death.
The wildflowers lay lifeless, Brown dry and withered, The stench of rotting flora, Filled the sleeper’s senses.
The willow trees hung like skeletons, over dried thought ponds, where the bones of dreamfish dried.
The edge of the great forest Seemed hollow and emptied, No longer a dividing wall, It was now open for all to see, As the dreamer walked within, Every tree stood barren, Their trunks black from burning, Ashes covered the empty ground.
Great ribcages rose from the ash Like broken cathedrals. Entire packs of Devourers Lay where they had fallen Their hungry jaws still open, As though death Had caught them Mid-howl.
The mountain peak itself Was but a grey stone. Hanging in the landscape, Bereft of snowy caps And its lush forest base. Low grey clouds crowned It’s forgotten peak.
There was nothing here for the dreamer No beauty remained.
The Cranes were absent From the sky above, Replaced by a brewing storm That darkened the land, And no songbirds sung.
Back standing upon the peninsula, Looking out over the vacant sea, The ground shook and lifted, Rumbling as the great serpent Grimvael began his approach.
Perhaps this was the cause, For the grim vista They were now unable to escape.
Grimvael breached the surface Red eyed and hungry, Its vast black mouth opened.
The serpent consumed Both dream and dreamer. Darkness fell. Then a violent gasp.
Rain lashed the bedroom window. Thunder rolled Across the waking world.
The dreamer Sat upright, Listening.
Hoping that Grimvael Had remained behind.
While all the time knowing That the great serpent Always remained within.
For five consecutive nights, They have risen. Dressed. Left the house. Moving with quiet certainty, Functioning Like everyone else.
The city never sleeps. Its streets remain alive, Bathed in the cold fluorescence Of trains, Streetlights, And convenience stores.
Humanity continues, Relentless. Insanity, Open all hours.
Among the midnight crowds, The Somnambulist walks unnoticed. They board public transport. They wait at crossings. They wander forgotten laneways Until dawn begins To soften the skyline.
Nobody questions them. Nobody suspects That although they left their bed, They never truly woke.
The body walks. The dream continues. The sleeper exists Within two worlds at once. The waking world. And the dreaming one.
When the Somnambulist Finally opens their eyes, Morning greets them With unfamiliar streets, A racing heart, And hands Still wet with blood.
They cannot explain The crimson stains, Nor why a fifth broken body Lies silently At their feet.
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,
The traveller had wandered Through desolation For unknown hours.
The barren plain gradually surrendered To fields of volcanic stone.
With every step, The path narrowed.
The black rock rose Like towering walls On either side.
Higher. Higher still. Until the grey sky itself Was almost swallowed.
Stone and gravel showered the traveller.
The canyon groaned.
Then, silence. The path ended.
A ghostly figure emerged From the drifting mist. A woman. Her long pale dress Hung in tattered folds, Its edges dissolving Into the swirling grey.
She stood unmoving.
Blocking the western road.
Where her face should have been, Only black veins of smoke Twisted through the mist.
An ancient axe rested Across her chest.
“Who walks this road?”
Her voice echoed As though spoken By many mouths at once.
“I am a traveller.” “To whom do I speak?”
The apparition remained still.
“We are many.”
An elderly man’s face Materialised within the smoke. Then faded.
“We are none.”
A young woman. Gone.
“We are the Spirits Of the Thunder Road.”
More faces emerged.
A forgotten friend. A teacher. A stranger glimpsed once Long ago.
Each appeared only long enough To be recognised. Then the mist reclaimed them.
“Why do your faces change?”
“They are yours.” “My memories?” “Your attachments.”
The smoke drifted slowly.
“They shaped you.”
“They continue To shape you.”
The traveller watched As another face emerged.
A child. Their own face. Hopeful. Untouched. Then gone.
“Are they dead?”
“Some.” A pause.
“Some merely belong To another life.”
The traveller lowered their gaze. “Why have I been brought here?” The canyon answered With many voices.
“Because every traveller Mistakes Limbo For a prison.”
“It is not.”
The words echoed Among the stone walls.
“It is a passage.”
“And there is a way out?”
“There has always been.”
The traveller looked ahead. “I see no road.”
“You are standing upon it.”
“I don’t understand.”
The spirit slowly raised its axe Toward the darkness beyond.
“There is no road Around Limbo.” “No hidden gate.” “No secret passage.” “No escape.” Only silence remained.
Then,
“The only way beyond…
…is through.” The words settled heavily. The traveller remembered. The swamp. The drowning mud. The Hollow. The creature. The fear. The acceptance.
“Then every road…” “…is a lesson.”
The spirit finished the thought.
“You cannot outrun grief.” “You cannot walk around fear.” “You cannot hide from loss.” “You pass through them.” “And when you emerge…”
The mist shifted again.
This time The face became The traveller’s mother.
“…you are no longer The one who entered.”
Then, A brother. Gone.
A friend. Gone. A lover. Gone. A rival. Gone.
The traveller again. Older.
Then, No face at all. Only mist.
“So every journey changes us.” The spirit lowered the axe. “That is why The roads exist.” The canyon trembled. The mist slowly parted.
“You understand.” “I think I do.”
“No.” The voices softened. “You lived it.” For the first time, The spirit stepped aside.
“The western road Is open.”
The traveller continued.
The canyon narrowed once more Before ending abruptly.
Beyond it stretched A bottomless abyss.
Across the void Hung an ancient rope bridge.
Its ropes sagged Beneath impossible age.
Every weathered plank Held a single carved symbol.
An eye. A key. A serpent. A hand. A tree. A flame. A broken crown.
Each worn smooth By countless travellers before. The traveller stepped forward. The bridge groaned. Each board shifted Beneath uncertain feet.
The wind howled Through the endless gulf.
Halfway across, A sharp crack. One rope snapped. The bridge lurched violently. Another rope failed. Timbers splintered. The traveller reached For the remaining rope, It slipped away.
Then, Nothing. The bridge vanished above. The world became Endless white mist. No wind. No sound. No up. No down. Only falling. Darkness gathered. Everything disappeared.
The traveller awoke With a violent scream. Heart pounding. Breath ragged.
They lay once more Upon the Thunder Road. Only a short distance away, The Path Keeper waited.
“You have returned.”
“I have.”
“And what did The western road teach?”
The traveller stood quietly. At last they answered.
“That there is no road Around the hardest parts of life.” “Only through them.”
The Path Keeper smiled.
“Then the western road Served its purpose.”
The traveller looked north. Far beyond the drifting ash, A great volcano Breathed smoke Into the colourless sky.
Without another word, They turned, And walked toward it.
The Valley of Ashes fills with howling wind. Stepping from the Thunder Road, The traveller follows a path eastward.
The sky grows darker. The landscape becomes swamp-like. Small islands of dead reeds Scatter the black waters.
The path itself submerges at intervals, And deep mud soon cakes the traveller’s feet. Each step grows heavier. The path becomes harder to follow.
Then, without warning, The traveller sinks. Head tilted back, Face raised above the mire, They struggle.
The cold mud squeezes the air From their lungs. White lights bloom At the edges of vision.
Then darkness. And they sink silently Into the black swamp. They awaken with a gasp. The memory of drowning remains vivid.
A dim orange glow flickers nearby. The ceiling hangs so low They must crawl. Mud coats the floor. Damp walls glisten. The smell of smoke Draws them forward.
The tunnel widens. A vast cavern opens before them.
At its centre, A roaring fire burns Within a circle of stone.
Beyond the fire, A sleek feminine creature lays on their belly, Nestled on a straw bed, Its body is smooth, naked and shining, It’s skin reflects light like white glass.
“You’ve awakened” it whispers, The creature’s arms and feet end In thorny vines that bury themselves in the mud, Its head appears to be reptilian, long lizard like, “why do you enter my realm?” It whispers as a long grey tongue Laps at the air briefly, It shifts its weight to receive the answer, Unknowingly exposing three sets of breasts,
“I’m a traveller,” the walker replies. The creature’s pale eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “A traveller,” it whispered. “They all say that.”
Its long grey tongue flicked briefly through the smoke. “They arrive afraid. Confused. Angry. Proud. But always believing themselves separate from the fate that waits for all things.”
The traveller glanced toward the fire. “What is this place?”
The creature shifted slightly, the vines rooted in the mud tightening. “This is The Hollow.” “Those who venture here must learn a lesson before they are permitted to continue. through the valley” “What lesson?”
The creature smiled. “That they will die.”
The words hung heavily in the cavern. The traveller said nothing. “You sank beneath the mud because all things sink eventually. Stone crumbles. Trees rot. Rivers dry. Kingdoms vanish. Flesh fails.”
The creature slowly extended one clawed hand toward the flames. “The mud is not punishment. It is remembrance.” The fire crackled. “I drown travellers so they may feel the shape of their ending.”
The traveller’s stomach tightened. “I died?”
“No.” The creature shook its head. “You experienced the fear of it.” The flames reflected from its glass-like skin.
“Most spend their waking lives running from the inevitable. They build walls around the thought. They pretend they are exempt.”
The creature’s eyes fixed upon the traveller. “But the road ahead cannot be walked by those who refuse to acknowledge what waits at its end.” The traveller sat quietly. The cavern seemed impossibly still. “And what happens if I refuse?” “Then you remain.” “Forever?” The creature smiled again. “No.” Its smile widened slightly. “Nothing remains forever.”
The traveller stared into the fire. They thought of the swamp. The helpless sinking. The crushing pressure. The panic. The certainty that everything was ending. Then they thought of every path they had walked.
Every dream. Every memory. Every person they had known. All temporary. All precious because they would not last.
Slowly, the traveller nodded. “I understand.” The creature tilted its head.
“Do you?” “I think so.” “Then tell me.” The traveller considered carefully. “The path drowns travellers because death cannot be avoided.”
The creature remained silent. “The fear comes from fighting it.” Still the creature watched.
“The road isn’t teaching us how to die.” The traveller looked into the flames. “It’s teaching us how to live despite knowing we will.” For the first time, the creature seemed pleased The vines around its limbs loosened. The fire burned brighter. “Very good.” The traveller exhaled slowly.
“So I may leave?” “You may.”
The creature settled back upon its straw bed. “But first, you must satisfy my curiosity.” The traveller frowned. “What curiosity?” The creature’s eyes gleamed. “I wish to know whether you truly accept your fate.” “And how do I prove that?”
The creature smiled. “With a kiss.” The traveller stared. The creature simply waited. The cavern fell silent once more.
Finally, the traveller rose and approached. The fire’s heat washed over them. The creature lowered its head. The traveller leaned forward. And kissed it.
Instantly, the creature’s vast mouth opened impossibly wide. Rows of pale teeth unfolded from the darkness. Before the traveller could react, they were swallowed whole.
Darkness consumed everything. Then motion. The traveller slid downward through a slick tunnel filled with warm milky-white fluid. The descent accelerated. Faster. Faster. The tunnel twisted sharply. Then vanished. The traveller fell.
Moments later they plunged into a vast pool of the same pale liquid. The impact drove them deep beneath the surface. Silence surrounded them. Weightless. Drifting. Then they kicked upward. Breaking through the surface with a gasp.
As the fluid streamed from their face, something felt different. The fear that had gripped them in the swamp was gone. The panic had dissolved. Only understanding remained. The white pool faded. The cavern disappeared. The fire vanished. The world dissolved. The traveller opened their eyes.
They were lying once again upon the Thunder Road. Grey clouds drifted overhead. The howling wind carried ash across the landscape. Slowly they stood. Then turned and followed the road back to the crossroads.
The Path Keeper was waiting exactly where they had left him. The old figure regarded the traveller silently. “You returned.” “I did.” “And what did you find?” The traveller told the tale. Of the swamp. The drowning mud. The cavern. The creature. The lesson hidden beneath the fear. When they finished, the Path Keeper nodded.
“Then the road served its purpose.” The traveller looked toward the remaining paths stretching into the distance. “What was the creature called?” The Path Keeper smiled faintly. “Some call her Ash-Mother.” “Others call her the Keeper of Endings.”
He glanced toward the eastern horizon. “But names matter little.” The traveller nodded. Then turned toward another road. This one stretching westward. Without hesitation, they stepped forward.
