The King and his Axe: Part 2

Darker the room, light filtering in through the moat in the floor and the flicker of the furnace from the ramp behind the throne.  Cathis sits, head nodding, hand clenching around the axe haft then relaxing, then clenching again until finally the axe clatters to the floor.  Cathis jumps a little.  Stone still, he squints his eyes at the axe and the little glints from the chains at the foot of the throne.  He isn't looking at the axe, not in the dark.  No mortal eye could but begin to see the details beyond a vague shadow of the thing, not that Cathis isn't brutally familiar with the instrument.  He has seen and studied each of the dark black lightning bolts that run through its white marble head, he has counted the bands of sweat-stained leather that wrap the haft.  Instead he observes the idea of the axe, the primal concept of responsibility that is his power over a city of thoughtless peasants, and his burden of conscience for their well being.  A cynical mind's eye studies the smooth curves of the blade that cut through the flesh of the livestock he sacrifices, that he feeds to the hot master that lives below.  Servitude is his task, and in serving he rules.  Cathis' eyes narrow, brow furrowing as the sunlight departs, no moonlight to take its place this dark night.

Kingship his for nothing, no pleasure in it, and no reward, none even bittersweet.  Just a life of feeding the flames, listening to the crackle that seems to taunt and scream and laugh at him as it eats up bone and flesh and blood.  The satisfied hiss of the fire, the cold judgment and stinging amusement at his shackles.  The city may use the furnace to stay afloat, and he may use the furnace, but each day he feels more of him is taken than what use he takes from it.  Cold wind rises from the moat, grasping and dragging at his robes, throwing them first towards the furnace, then dragging them back towards the sea.  Cathis had toyed with that, though he hadn't thought himself serious.  Tonight the darkness had come into the throne room, and the fire had taunted him overly this past week, turning a mad fancy into his only light of salvation.

He had heard the laughter, the scorn.  A tedium-rattled mind had no way to tell if he imagined the voice that came from within the fiery maw, or if the furnace was home to some malignant creature.  Either way, an urge from deep within his heart moved Cathis to change this.

Long before, he had tried the axe on his chains, and the chains would not yield.  The axe had come away no worse for wear, but he had felt ashamed with himself for the thought for a year afterward.  Freedom did not lie within edge of the axe.

As Cathis rose, the chains rattled and hissed over the ground.  No shame held his legs still this night.  He walked the full way forward to peer down into the depths of the sky, though it was a black void with nothing to see.  A sharp turn and steps with a purpose brought him to the ramp, heat rising out from below.  Cathis hesitated.

Walking forward would place him face to face with the furnace, he would be baked in the heat one more time.  Avoiding it during the days had left him frightened to hear it, to let the fiery mouth talk to his face.  Each day away had made the fire's laughter pierce farther into the silence of the throne room.  He had to descend though, had to face it.  Slow suffering that his status piled on his back, the doldrums of dread that pounded at him, body, mind, and soul, it pushed him on.

Cathis descended, chains sliding down before him to the foot of the ramp, announcing his arrival.  As if on cue, the fire before him flared up in greeting.  He could not hear the voice, though he knew it was waiting.  Step by burdened step he walked forward, a quick glance to the sides, though he knew the room was just as he had left it.  The fire sputtered, chuckled.  Cathis looked forward at it again, locking the metal mouth in his gaze.  Rattle thump. Thump. Rattle thump. Thump.  Closer still.

"I am leaving."  Cathis voice cracked from disuse.  "I am leaving, and you are helping me, you eater." Hissing laughter, then silence.  Cathis stopped in front of the mouth, then stooped, grabbing a handful of the ankle-chains.  "Your final meal from me, eater."  Easily he hefted the shiny links in his hands as he rose, staring deep into the fire.  With a toss, they disappeared into the flames.

Silence at first, then a quiet whine, like steam escaping a small hole, growing louder and louder.  The flames went red, then white, brighter than the sun reflected on the water.  Cathis stumbled backwards a step, then caught himself, the chain jerked taught.  Heat billowed out of the furnace, coming in a wave.  Flecks of sweat roe up from Cathis' skin only to be blown back in streaks away from the fire.  He began to feel light headed, gasping for breath as the air emptied from the room.  Then a sound like thunder and he fell down, the chain now free from the furnace.

He fled, not noticing the weightlessness on his leg, not registering the familiar heft of the axe in a death grip in his hand.  Cathis just ran, and when he reached the moat, he fell.  The glowing end of the chain trailed behind him, drops floating off in the air.  All in front of him was blackness punctured by small dots of reflected starlight as he approached the water.  Wind rushed by him, ripping away at the madness and fear that remained from the fire, replacing the scream of the furnace from above.  He felt peace filling him, air refilling his lungs.

Then he hit the water.

Hard.