The Sulfur Carrier had dug its claws

Into the cliff face, on either side of

The shallow crevice where the Old Man stood

At bay. The rock walls were collapsing in.

When he had thrust his spear into the breach

To wedge it open, it had buckled and snapped.

Though Varr stood on the Sulfur Carrier's foot

Hacking with all his might, with Klau's black sword,

It paid him not the slightest mind, and grinned.

But even as it, grinning, stooped to slay

It hesitated, like a man who hears

Afar a voice that calls and words that hit

His mind in just the shape to light the clouds

And show him all the storm-shapes of his sins.

Varr snatched a disbelieving breath, then clawed

A desperate swift path up the lava skin,

A gambit only half formed in his mind,

A hope only half entertained, that his

Enormous foe would pause just long enough

For him to play it. The sword dragged at first

His left hand, then his right, as he hauled it

Above the backward ankles, to the hips.

And as he scrambled up the backward spine,

Boiling with noxious fumes, scalding his hands

And knees, the Sulfur Carrier stirred not

From absentmindedness. Its beacon eyes,

The color of old, cold, red, bloated stars,

Were fixed on something deep within itself,

And trembling, as if in oceans of pain.

Varr skidded from the shoulders down the slope

He gripped a twisted horn just quick enough

To save him falling over the blunt face.

He planted firm his feet and bared his teeth.

And still the Sulfur Carrier stirred not.

Said Varr, “Here ends your wanton ruinage.

Here for my brothers fallen is revenge,

For here there is a man, behold, he stands!

For here there is a sword, behold, he holds!

For here there is his will, behold, unbent

Before the hollow shadow of your fume!

Here there is prophecy, that this black blade

Will strike the blow that slays you. Here there is

Your death, foul death! Its name is Last-to-Flee!"

And even as he plunged the sword between

The twisted, rocky horns upon its brow

A shudder wracked it, and within it deep

A keening rose, like rust-anointed wheels

Of train cars stirred to motion in the night

As slow as glaciers. Still it did not move.

Varr struck again, the sword sunk deeper as,

Chips of metallic horn scattered before

His seeking point. Its horned skull was thick

But Varr stabbed on, encouraged, for he knew

Without the knowing how his knowing came,

Perhaps he heard it written on the wind,

That somewhere it had suffered a defeat.-

-For somewhere in the darkness it had fled

Battered and bleeding, bruises on its soul.-

-Somewhere in the trackless in between

Shane slumped, chest heaving, foe vanished away.

His victory drunkenness began to fade.

Around him all was emptiness and naught.

No stars, no worlds, no images, no guide.

He cursed his foolishness; if he had tried

To grapple it, to clutch upon its heel

He could at least have let it drag him back

Beyond the formless void. But then, if he

Had let his rage partake of strategy,

It would have been reduced, and he could not

Have beaten it. He shook his head, and winced

At the sore stiffness of his neck. He stretched

To loosen it, and stopped. A light drifted

Before his face, like snowflakes when the air

Is warm, melting before they touch the ground

And clump together. It alighted on

His glove, folded its wings, and gently flashed.

Shane started to his feet. The firefly,

Offended, drifted round his shoulders. He

Paid it no mind, for toward him coming was

A globe of fireflies. If all the stars

That cover heaven's face so it may sleep

Were gathered in a thin balloon of silk,

So that, as they expanded, it blew up:

A globe diaphanous and floating on

The pressure of its own light, growing still,

But each light pulling all the others with.

As if the universe were nothing but

A paper lantern, lit with firework bang,

For somewhere, someone said there should be light.

And in the midst of firefly crowd there came

A figure, walking on the empty night,

Like stained-glass madonnas on tiptoe. She

Was limping, for one leg was wounded. She

Was childlike, standing just to Shane's shoulder

As long as he slumped on his knees, but Shane

Had never seen a wiser face. “Oh Shane,"

She laid a hand upon his cheek, she felt

Like the warmth of a single candle's flame,

“Why do you slump in apathy? Your fight

Awaits you. The great bell is rung, the foe

Exults that he escapes you. To your feet!

For somewhere there is champion's work to do."

Shane did not meet her eyes. “Though sore It lied,

The Sulfur Carrier's lies were built of truths.

When weighed against this fathomless abyss

What weight has any world, or all the worlds?

What light is infinite enough to bloom

Enough to outshine so much darkness? If

I were to win, and that is if indeed,

What would that do but delay day of wrath?

All worlds will end. All heroes must go down

To death, and death, and death beyond again.

And even glory is forgotten quite.

What matters that my Barbara I loved?

What matters that I love Varr Last-to-Flee?

What matters any love or any hate

Of anyone? They flare up, and they shine,

And then they are no more. Darkness falls.

The night that comes is evermore the same,

And no light kindled is that is not snuffed."

She took his chin, in tiny fingers strong

Beyond his expectation, and turned him

To look into her eyes. In them shone

All million firefly lights that round them spun.

“There is one light, at least, that does not dim,

That of defiance. If the dark is strong,

And quite inevitable, it has not

The power to compel us to comply.

And look: one light already you have saved!

If forever within this endless void

My lonely light I shall send out, for no

Eye ever to see it, that is enough.

Behold! The darkness flees before my face!

How much more will it flee a Champion?"

She closed his eyes and kissed his cheek. Her kiss

Burned on his skin like cold breeze on hot brow.

When opened he his eyes, she was not there

But a long sweeping path of fireflies

Pointed the way toward the world he sought-

-Where Varr struggled to pierce a stony brow.

Where the Old Man watched trapped and wounded sore.

Where sudden stunned and disbelieving hope 

Watched breathless as the world hung by a thread.

Yet just when Varr was hauling on the blade,

To pull it forth, to thrust it down again,

The Sulfur-burning eyes suddenly blazed

As does a pilot light at rush of gas.

It shuddered like a ship striking a reef,

And on its head Varr stumbled to his knees.

It twitched and frantically it pawed its face,

As does a man bedeviled by a fly.

Around Varr came a hail of twisted claws,

Beneath him its thick brow bucked, and he grasped

At the black sword a half-moment too late.

The Sulfur Carrier stood shivering,

Its shoulder glancing over, empty eyes

Twitching from the horizon to its feet,

The black sword wedged and helpless in its horns.

And then it grinned with disbelieving glee.

All in a rush, it stooped upon the crack

Clawing at the rough rock edges. Ripping

Great handfuls of the living stone away

Like a possessed bulldozer, drunk with hate.

The Old Man shrank as through the rock came claws,

And flaming shark-teeth belching miasma.

But then, as does the very first report

Of firework cluster launched into the night

Turn every head, hush every murmer, though

Nothing there is as yet that can be glimpsed

Still toward the echo they all stare, so did

A man from off the precipice where late

The stairs had stood leap out into the air

Sudden as lightning. With one upraised fist

He bore down like a meteor upon

The hilt of the black sword, hammer on nail.

There was a mighty crack, like a great tree

Bowed down before high gale too suddenly.

The Sulfur Carrier's jaw went slack, its eyes

Went dark like burnt-out lightbulbs. First it seemed

To only sway, and then its sway became

A full collapse, falling upon its back.

And as it fell, crumbling into a heap

Of jagged stones, for just a moment rose

A shape of smoke and vapor, sinister

But impotent. The morning breeze awoke

And lifted the smoke shadow. With a hiss

It dissolved into nothing on the wind.

All was still. Then coughing, from the edge

Shane dragged himself from under the small scree

With gritted teeth and bruised shoulders. Like

A dog long locked within a car's back seat

Let out at last, quite unaware that he

Has journeyed anywhere, stops short, alert,

Blinking in all directions unsure if

He should be wary, awed, or both at once.

Shane pulled himself upright, slowly at first,

Too tired to realize his victory,

Then froze for half a heartbeat. In a flash

He scrambled from the slide of stones and ran

To where Varr lay. Slashed, crushed, barely alive,

 His wounds welling with sulfur-smelling blood.

“Hail, Champion," Varr whispered as Shane knelt

Beside him, carefully lifted his head.

“And I was right, you see. We all were right.

Klau's sword, it struck the blow. I was the Last

To Flee. And you it is that in the end

Have slain him? It is well. Now I must go.

Think not on me with sorrow, but envy.

I was promised vengeance, glory, and war,

And death in battle. All these have I had.

When you remember me, do not be sad,

Blood brother." More he might have said, but his

Eyes barely open suddenly went dim.

Shane knelt, in quiet, tearless weeping, on

The field of his triumph in the dawn

Alone, as silent the Old Man looked on.