Winds howled across the high walkway on the fortress’s north side. Nighttime chill had saturated the stone path and short walls that now emanated cold toward the person determined to push through it in the late morning. A gust yanked the hood of a threadbare parka off the person’s head to free thick braids that whipped around, thumping against one numb cheek and a padded shoulder.

Ulye turned away from the strongest push of wind to secure his braids under the hood again before continuing on down the path. His next target was in sight. From halfway across the walkway to midway up the part of the fortress’s exterior wall visible on this level was painted knotwork. On inspection, the thick weave of spell words were missing its edges, eroding their intention. Swathes of the spell had deteriorated in the relentless onslaught that went unwitnessed on this side since the last round of checks.

If not for the redundancy in the overlapping spells along the exterior wall, this one would have left a gaping hole in the fortress’s defenses. Ulre set down his ink bucket, shifted the heavy pack on his shoulders to rest higher on his back, and knelt on the hard stones to begin repairs.

~ * ~

Sun glare illuminated layers of smog overhead and approaching dusk storm. Lighting added a display of bright color into the dull tones of the dust. Ulye reflexively ran a thumb along his face mask where a seal had once failed then turned to his last task on this level.

Done with the spell repairs on this exterior wall, there were only checks of their rainwater intake left. With a kick to reset the heavy pipe that had tilted away as usual, he started looking for signs of unexpected wear or contamination. Rust was eating away at the rim of a crude filter but would not be a problem to solve for a while longer, unless it took a hit from large storm debris that made its way up the fortress.

Unneeded tools in his pack, saving energy for the lower levels.

~ * ~

Deeper into the fortress, the howls he could hear were different, mechanical and another type of hollow. The attack weapons were sourced close to the ground, so that’s where they were loudest. Ulye couldn’t remember when they flew high enough to attack directly from above. It didn’t matter anymore. He of course continued to write their protective spells to guard against all angles.

The manufactured natural threats had never ceased. At the top were high winds and twisting storms, hail and lightning and debris pulled out of the struggling woods around abandoned towns, and smokey dust dropping out of the sky when it was too heavy to carry in its determination to reconnect with the poisonous earth.

At this lower level Ulye had no name for, the invasion followed a program of deliberate hostility.

The attack sounds here reverberated painfully against his ear protection. At least he could relieve himself of the googles that protected his eyes above. He kept his respirator over his nose and mouth to process out the stifling stench of stale air over rusting metals shoved into neglected corners.

This was an uncomfortable routine. Ulye hurried between the knotwork designs, slowing only to peer closely in the dim light glowing from the chest straps of his supplies pack. The erosion of these spells tended to be consistent, and that’s what he found on this round.

He touched up the spells with his ink as he went.

~ * ~

Even deeper, water dripped like from a torture device. Their most important filtration systems were in this area, but Ulye hating returning to them. Blood from Ililyris’s accident stained broken furniture that had not been repurposed into firewood, but Ulye avoided going near it. Other signs of casualties were covered by indomitable life. Slime molds spread out at the base of the compost system. Vines for food crops grew from splintered beams over blast holes in the stone. Rows of grain-producing plants in raised beds stretched out down a long hall like a scene from old spaceship dramas. Human corpses and the resulting grief of the past had long ago been dealt with and weren’t a distraction.

Ulye was extra careful with his spells here. Fewer lines of words made up the intricate curls. He reviewed his work twice after any changes.

He took off his respirator and wash off dust before continuing on.

~ * ~

The area of the fortress with the most meaningful name was home. This was where the walls were colorful from paintings swirling in a joyfully defiant riot around the protective spells. The supplies in Ulye’s arms felt heavier as he trudged past fragrantly flowering trees and boxes of herbs and small grains, some growing fresh and some dried, and any number of crafts accumulated over the years. He rushed to deposit them out of the way so his arms were available for better things.

Ililyris greeted him with a smile from beneath a new painting. Propped up by one and a half surviving legs, Ulye’s partner raised a brush in one scarred hand, waiting to demonstrate a new concept of imagination.

This was why the spells mattered: the beating heart within the ancient fortress.