The Chronicles of Jonathon Postlethwaite: The Seed of Corruption

by Denny, David S

  Rislo's eyes brightened for a moment and he smiled at Jonathon. “So near, yet so far, my friend...I'm so sorry..." he sniffed tearfully, before his breath rattled in his throat and he slumped against the machine.

  Rislo had gone. He had found his freedom; the weakened walls of Dubh could not hold his soul now. Jonathon held his Rislo's head in his hands, but had no time for the grief which was rising in him. So near so far! He had hoped, above all hope, that Rislo was not right. Had they really run out of time? What now then? The Field Walls still held, but they would not hold for much longer.

  The defeated soul of the city was trying to tear them down, to escape into other dimensions when they collapsed completely, but then it would be dispersed and ineffective rather than concentrated through its tool Silus Flax.

  Whatever happened now, Jonathon and his friends needed to escape the dimension before its collapse during which they would surely die. Ideally the destruction of the realm through Rislo's machine was preferable. The energy of the city its corrupted soul and malign spirits would have been imprisoned forever in the Power Reservoir, a Pandora's box of all Dubh’s evil, safely locked beyond the boundaries of the living dimensions. This had been was Jonathon's hoped outcome now it seemed that had been dashed.

  Outside the shelter of the ruin the howling of the wind and the tormented wailing of voices, was increasing. They taunted Jonathon, mocked him, and accused him of deserting them, murdering them, judging them, damning them. A taloned hand came to rest on Jonathon's shoulder.

  “Master?” the Turkanschoner whispered almost inaudibly against the rising clamour outside. Jonathon turned slowly to the beast that held out a cloth covered package to him.

  “Is this what the Tallman spoke of?” the Turkanschoner asked meekly. “I do not trust. Never. I follow his scent, check his deeds. Found this hidden” he explained, as he unwrapped his hidden prize. The Power Reservoir rested in the palm of his hand.

  It was a small dark egg shaped object, reflecting nothing. Even the bright flashes of energy that seemed to be tearing Dubh apart now, had no effect on its smooth, matt surface. It drank them in.

  Jonathon took it eagerly, his eyes wide in astonishment. He looked to the Turkanschoner and smiled. It was icy cold and heavy, draining away the warmth of his fingers as he stroked it. His heart leapt. Here it was! He looked open mouthed at his servant. Here was the key to the destruction of Flax and all the evil this place had spawned.

  Leaping to his feet he felt the thrill of strange power course through him. He lowered the reservoir toward the awaiting dish. He paused a moment and and turned toward the Turkanschoner.

  “Take Milly to the gate!" he ordered his servant. “I will follow soon” he shouted. A look of anguish gripped Milly’s face. Jonathon knew what she was thinking. She did not intend being parted from Jonathon so soon again.

  She stood firm and folded her arms resolutely across her chest, her lips set firmly in defiance. Jonathon opened his mouth to speak again when a vice like hand closed around his arm and tore the power reservoir from his hand.

  It was the Turkanschoner.

  “Jonathon go. I stay. I run faster. Wait until you safe. Then I follow." He stated firmly.

  He looked fiercely down at Jonathon. “But...."

  “Go now!" Turk barked.

  Jonathon observed the determined beast for a moment and smiled.

  “Goodbye my friend." he said. The Turkanschoner nodded his head grimly.

  “Go now!" he repeated. And they did.

  The Turkanschoner watched the pair sprint from the refuge of the ruin where he stood and struggle through the chaos of the Underworld to the building opposite, where the dim light of the dimension gate to safety still glowed.

  He waited for a few moments and turned back to the machine, studying the power reservoir for a few seconds before placing it firmly in position. Then he stepped back.

  The machine glowed brightly and a soft hum filled the room. The sphere darkened further.

  The Turkanschoner grunted approvingly at the machine and hesitated. He looked at the body of the Rislo and paused for a while, then he picked up the Tallman’s limp body and raised it over his shoulder gently before trotting through the heightening storm outside, toward the gate and the sanctuary of a world he had tasted briefly through the dimension door whose flickering light beckoned across the rubble strewn street.

  There lay a promise of peace. He was only seconds away from it now. A short sprint and his life of pain would end and a new one begin, that was all he hoped for….all he had ever hoped for.

  Chapter Thirty Six

  Jonathon and Milly sat outside the dimension door from which they had emerged and took in the sights, tastes and sounds of their new world. It was night. Above them, in the deep, dark velvet of a winter’s sky, so different from the Tallmens’ pale imitation, the uncountable stars twinkled a welcome to them. At the foot of the grassy bank below them, a moonlit gurgling stream whispered invitations to a new world . Jonathon embraced Milly tightly and gazed into her eyes as Milly looked back into his eyes and detected anxiety lurking there.

  “Is it all over now?" she asked tentatively and then, before Jonathon could reply. “The beast will be here soon won't he?" she continued, a nervous edge creeping into her voice. Jonathon sighed and turned to the cave where the dimension door, from which they had only emerged a short while ago, still pulsed its rainbow colours.

  “As long as the gate remains open there is still a Dubh, still that sick place, still Silus Flax. But while it remains open our friend still has a chance to escape too. I don't know how long the Field Walls will remain intact after

  the Power Reservoir is put in the machine.............I'm worried Milly." he admitted. “He should have been here by now."

  They kept their vigil until the dull red glow of rising sun diffused itself into the soft dark canopy of the night sky and extinguished the friendly stars. A cold, dawn wind rose and blew steadily from the North, accompanied by the rising of a background hum of car engines as the town awoke.

  Jonathon shivered. It was as like the hum of the Halls of Machines, a sound that had always been present in his life. He shivered again. Something dark and cold touched had his soul, a laughing voice echoed faintly inside his head.

  “Wait for me my beautiful boy, we are destined to be together”

  Milly shook him back to his senses.

  “Look! Look in the gate, something's happening!"

  Jonathon looked apprehensively. A shadow was creeping slowly down the tunnel of light. For a moment Jonathon saw an unmistakable hunched form, the horned helmet......

  A dull boom sounded from deep tunnel of whirling light, its walls flickered, stabilised tantalising, then flickered ominously again. There was a dark stain creeping up behind the shadow of the Turkanschoner, stretching out grim fingers that slowly enveloped and grasped the familiar shadow. Abruptly the dimension door blinked out of existence.

  Jonathon stared blankly at the now dark cave.

  “So near yet so far." he gasped, attempting to hold back the tide of grief which was welling up inside of him. Milly held him tightly. “He’s doing it again Milly. He took him like all the rest. Somehow he's still there, still somewhere, still alive! "

  Together they wept as the dull red orb of the winter sun edged slowly over the horizon and some dark wisp of a cloud cast a shadow on its bloody face.

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  Silus Flax crawled. The thunderous roar around him heralded the beginning of the end for the city of Dubh. Already in the streets above him the artificial sky had opened in great swirling rifts to the real sky of other dimensions as the Field Walls began to collapse.

  The Halls of Machines great and venerated domes cracked and swayed as tremors rocked the city where less well constructed buildings were sliding, like packs of cards, into the streets. Winds generated by the pressure changes sucked out the rubble and ruins of the chaos in black great vortices, in other areas millions
of tons earth and rock slid into Dubh from rifts which had opened deep below the surface of other dimensions, only to be whipped up by the hurricane force winds and taken out again.

  The unfortunate inhabitants of the foul city, scuttling like ants for sanctuaries they would never find, died by the million. But there was another wind blowing in Dubh, one which began to leech the energy from all things here. It was causing the dimension walls of this place to collapse. Silus Flax crawled toward its source.

  He had seen the boy sprinting arm in arm with a young woman through the whirling chaos to the inviting glow of a dimension door across the street. He cursed him.

  Moments later another figure, a great hunched and horned beast with the body of the Tallman rebel across its shoulder, had, hurtled in the same direction. Flax spat and crawled onwards towards the hum and glow of Rislo's machine.

  Inside the ruin which hid the machine, Flax crawled and now smiled. In the midst of a vortex of dust and debris, he watched and felt the machine devouring his kingdom, his dream. He felt the energy flowing through the room.

  First, the energy of this place, that energy which bound its matter together would flow into its heart, then the whole physical world would collapse into the now bright blue pulsing orb. Flax approached the machine.

  The emperor of this dying world launched himself at it and tore the power reservoir from its seat, his fingers sank into it. Wrenched from the machine the orb continued to pulse, it had gone beyond the point of no return. The Field Walls of the now impossible dimension of Dubh had begun to irreversibly contract.

  Now Flax had become the machine which had drained the energies of Dubh and channelled them into the reservoir. He was the structure which enabled the process to continue and remained physically intact. Now different energies flowed through Flax. All the corruption and evil which had built up over the long dark years here, sped towards and through Flax and into the Seed of Corruption he held in his hand. He heard the screams and pleadings of legions dark souls as they passed through him. They gave him strength, charged him with their evil. Then the great malign spirit of Dubh itself surged through him howling in derision through Flax into the Power Reservoir. Now he felt a pressure building about him, a great final wall of energy advanced toward him from all directions. The physical matter of the city of Dubh was now beginning to reduce to atoms and piling up around Flax, the single channel into the black hole of the power reservoir. In an instant Dubh had gone.

  All that now remained was a dark sphere the size of the room Flax stood in. He seemed to be inside the reservoir himself, but alive and sentient. For a moment all was silent, activity ceased. All that remained of the vile world which had spawned Flax was condensed around him and Flax was holding the walls back, there would be no final blink out of existence for him.

  He grinned and globs of saliva glistened at the corners of his mouth. It was all his now, now HE was Dubh! All the corrupt energy that had dictated his life and the lives of millions of others in Dubh was collected in the dark globe now welded into the flesh of Flax's right hand. They sustained him. It was his! He was the master of this Seed of Corruption. Master! He laughed in hysterical irony.

  “You have given me the power of gods my beautiful, beautiful boy! You were the guardian of a golden gate, a gate to my divinity!" he screamed to no-one but himself.

  Flax's face now took on a mask of grim determination, his eyes blazed. Now was his time to fly. All this power had been given to him as the malign spirit of Dubh and its armies of corrupt souls passed through him. They relinquished their power to him. He was their last hope. As long as he survived they would not be lost, even they had a hope of redemption eventually. He had needed power and they, and the soul of the city had given it to him. Now they were his, all their knowledge all their souls and all their evil; his to command and use.

  In an instant he tore through the fabric of the realms which sought to crush him out of existence. He had the power and knowledge now. Jonathon had unwittingly given it to him and Flax had one goal, to thank him and his friends personally for this gift of gifts in the best way he knew how and a thousand new ways the knowledge the Seed of Corruption was now showing him. Jonathon could not hide from him; Flax would search the dimensions until he found him, until he found his beautiful boy....and thanked personally in only the way he could, for making him a god.

  THE END….but just the begining

  Jonathon Postlethwaite returns in:-

  ‘The Fields of Despair’

  About the Author

  David Denny was born in Uttoxeter England in 1959. He grew up in a working class family of 5 on one of the UKs new red brick housing estates in the housing developments of the late 50's, where a mish-mash of people and cultures from all around the UK relocated, and made for an interesting cultural mix in a small market town.

  David failed his 11 Plus Exams in the English selective educational system, and continued his education at an all boys school, one step down from a borstal. He flourished there as a sportsman and captained the school rugby team. Rugby, along with cricket and football were his teenage passions. Very academically able he eventually achieved a 2:1 in Philosophy later in life, although was often distracted by reading science fiction and fantasy along with horror from his favourite author at that time, Stephen King.

  He left school at 16 and worked in the Motor Industry for 15 years before studying English Literature & Philosophy as a mature student. He then spent 25 years as a career adviser, which took him around the UK in all types of illuminating work from Prisons to Universities, meeting many interesting people from all walks and corners of life.

  David has three self published collections of poetry to date (see books), although the vast majority of his work in these collections has been published in independent magazines. He admits he is not a prolific poetry writer, poems often being spontaneous and flawed, seizing the moment when the muse permits. He is divorced with one daughter, and lives in North Staffordshire.

  Other Works by this Author.

  Published Poetry :

  The Siege of Beacon Hill

  Incident at Congleton

  Transformations.

  All are available at www.thepoetryofdaviddenny.co.uk where you can also hear him read his work.

  Twitter : #Englishpoet

  Facebook : The Poetry of David Denny & Chronicles of Jonathon Postlethwaite.com

  Web : www.doomofdubh.com