"The Red World: The Jewel and Plague part 1" by Victor Lorandi Gonzalez

The climb was difficult. It always is. Especially to the Temple of Monks, a holy place inhabited by the Orange Monks of Thysoni, the northern country of the Western Continent, where the cold can kill a man in a matter of minutes.

Ryhan, soldier to the King Tharelas, is now trying to defeat the Grinding Mountain in order to reach the monastery, a place where only the worthy may live. And he considers himself worthy. He thinks that as he climbs, his body wrapped in thick robes to protect him from the cold. The icy wind cuts his face as he looks up to the white skies of the north. His breath is foggy even with the clouds around him. He feels his fingers numbing at each moment, threatening to give in and drop his heavy and encumbered body. He curses under the cloth in his mouth for bringing so much weight. Maybe unnecessary, maybe not. He will only know that when he arrives at the Temple.

As his breath becomes shorter and far more superficial, his mind wanders back to the warm land of Tyrrana, more precisely to the golden and silk laden halls of King Tharelas. He remembers the warm day with shivers running down his spine. The birds chirping outside the King’s window and the people in the streets talking in small voices, and though it may seem a very paradisiacal place, Tyrrana was facing one of its worst times. A strange disease was spreading quickly and King Tharelas was concerned for his people. So he ordered his best man to investigate the rumors of the disease ridden Monks of the Grinding Mountain. Ryhan was supposed to find the responsible for the disease and bring him down to Tyrrana to reverse its effects. He never thought the monks were responsible for the ill omen that fell upon Tyrrana, but he obeyed his king without question.

Before he could notice, he was on the final landing, resting place of the Temple of Monks, where his journey would finally end. Not a long one, but certainly harsh.

He gazed upon the enormous building ahead, carved into the face of the mountain, a god-like monument to men’s great skills. The entrance of the Temple was painted with polished gold and blood red ink. How they managed to preserve the colors so vividly was a question Ryhan thought not many could ask, since most of the men that climbed the Grinding Mountain never went down again. He had heard once that going down was far more difficult than going up. But his concern was with the disease.

As he approached the gates of the Temple, something moved near the doors. Ryhan quickly drew his sword, getting rid of his heavy and warm cloak. From the whiteness appeared a monk dressed in white, mingled with the snow. The shine of his blue eyes were the only indication of his presence.

“Reveal yourself, wraith, or I shall unleash my fury upon you!” Ryhan shouted. His voice was carried in awry directions by the strong icy wind.

The white figure raised a hand.

“Fight not, man from the south. You came looking for answers. If you take a moment to breath, maybe we can gather ourselves inside, where is warm?”

For a few seconds, Ryhan stood perfectly still, but his longing for a warm place got the best out of him. He sheathed his sword and covered himself again with his cloak.

“Lead on, monk.” He said to the man in white.

They went through the great wooden doors. Ryhan finally saw the details carved upon the entrance. It was horrifying. The doors had several skeletons engraved upon it, some seemed far misshapen and lacked many parts, as if the body had been dismembered. Ryhan noticed a single skeleton painted with darker shade of red, in an awkward position. He would reflect upon that, but not right now. Now he needed to talk to the monks.

Behind the great door, there was a small patio that led to the inner chambers of the Temple. They crossed the snowy patio and entered through a simple heavy wooden door and stopped right away. The door closed behind Ryhan as he looked mesmerized at the place. It was warm alright. Too warm. Countless candles were perched on small iron plates bolted to the rock ceiling, giving the room a dancing light, haunted and spooky. There were other monks there, but they didn’t move when Ryhan and the gate watcher stepped inside, even when a couple of candles went out because of the wind from the door.

“This way, southerner.” The gate watcher called his attention.

Ryhan was inspecting the pillars of red stone, carved by hand. The depicted men. Agonizing men, twisted and shaken by an unknown force.

They went to a side entrance to the left and walked for some time through stone corridors and halls of great proportions, all resembling the first one. They came to a stop in one of these halls, where a large number of monks were praying. Their bald heads shining with grease under a well placed pillar of fire in the center of the room. At the head of the praying monks was a heavily bearded man with long, scruffy gray hair.

“Master Gareh will soon come talk to you. I must return to my guard duty. Be well, stranger.”

The gate watcher bowed slightly and left before Ryhan could bow back at him.

For a couple of minutes Ryhan watched as the monks prayed in silence, their hands moving slowly in small circles around themselves. They breathed at the same rate and Ryhan thought he could probably hear a single heartbeat if he tried real hard. One unified heartbeat.

They suddenly got up and started to walk out of the hall, leaving Ryhan alone with Gareh.

The old man approached slowly, his bushy brows flowing into his white and smooth forehead.

“Welcome, stranger. I am Master Gareh, of the Temple of Monks. How may we help you?”

Ryhan looked around before talking. No one else was inside the room except the two of them.

“I hail from Tyrrana, land to the south. We are struck by disease and hearsay brought me here. It is said that the Monks of the Grinding Mountain could know of this sickness.”

There was a threatening tone to Ryhan’s words, but his face was calm.

Gareh smiled thinly, his lips barely showing under his long beard.

“Yes, I have heard so too. Contrary to belief, we do climb down from the mountain when we need supplies. And information. I am truly sorry for the ailment of you people, but I do not have answers nor are we responsible for it.”

Ryhan considered threatening the Monk, but thought better. They probably were fighting monks and he didn’t wasn’t to face a full temple on his own.

“Very well. But I am not lacking in wisdom, Gareh. You said you don’t have the answers. Who has?”

Gareh laughed satisfied.

“Very good, young man.” He sounded pleased more with himself than with Ryhan, who held his words inside his mouth, knowing that monks liked games. “Follow me. We will now see someone of great importance.”

“Not your god, I presume?” Ryhan asked, boredom showing in each word.

“Far from it. We worship Death in here, but only so that she will spare us. No, this is a man that faced death and returned.”

Ryhan felt a mix of disgust, disappointment and curiosity. He never knew about the deity of the Grinding Mountain Monks, but he never expected them to pray for Death to leave them be. And the man who came from the dead did not sound very promising.

They walked through many more halls, all alike and many more corridors, all the same. Ryhan thought how easily someone else might get lost there, but he would not, for his memory served him well and he saw that Gareh was sometimes trying to throw him off his direction without success.

“Here we are.” He finally said to Ryhan when they stopped in front of a single door at the end of a corridor. It looked simple and not protected against anything that could come back from the dead.

And he was not wrong. As he approached the door, he smelled the rot inside the room. It was a known sweet and sour smell of rotting flesh, untouched and soaked in blood. There was a dead man inside the room, no doubt. When Gareh opened the door, however, Ryhan lost his breath for a single moment and quickly drew his sword again, facing the man inside the room.

The room itself looked more like a prison. He saw only a single stack of hay in a corner and a wooden chair, where the dead man was sitting. And he was dead indeed. The smell was not deceiving. It was decaying flesh. It was undead flesh. The horror sitting in the room had a book in its rotten hand, fingertips only bones, white as snow. Its face was gone, only small pieces of red meat clinging to crevices in its skull, two round eyes, bloodshot, stared at them without expression. Its mouth was also meaty, but lacking cover. Its tongue was visible, purple and shriveled in its mouth. His body was covered with blood-soaked cloaks.

“This man is here to see you, guest.” Gareh said as the horror closed the book with a faint thud.

“Yes.” It answered with a hollow, rasp voice. “He’s come to destroy me, I presume. Like you said they would never come.”

Ryhan was speechless. The horror could speak, and seemed to speak very well, no traces of stopping to think what to say next. It was obvious that the creature was not a normal specimen.

“I’ve not come to kill you, creature. I’ve come to put an end to the disease that spreads throughout my country, killing many. Gareh says you have the answer. What is it then? What did you do?”

Gareh looked irritated at Ryhan as he spoke.

“I’ve told you that the disease does not come from the Temple, foreigner. It comes from elsewhere.”

The horror stood up and walked slowly towards them. Ryhan flinched back, but Gareh stood his ground.

“Indeed, warrior. The cloud of poison you seek comes from elsewhere. I can sense it, but I can’t locate the origin.”

Suddenly, Ryhan realized that this creature was what the King wanted. He remembered the King’s last words only now.

“The key to our salvation may be at the Temple. Nay, the key is at the temple, but I believe your quest will not end there.”

Surely, this was the reason the King sent Ryhan there. If someone could deal with this horror, it was him, but in what way?

“So, warrior of the south, what do you need?”

“I need help, but before I continue with my request, I must ask you: how come you are different from the others I’ve encountered so far? You seem to have a will of your own.”

The horror stared with the bloodshot eyes without moving.

“Indeed, I am different. But not entirely.” He said, his rasping voice low, almost a whisper. “My master raised me from the dead some time ago, giving me the ability to think. I could see new strategies to protect my master. He made possible for me to predict and improvise. It was a step away from consciousness. As time passed, my master simply let me wander around while we were at safe places and I began to learn with what I saw and heard. Sometimes I had memories of my past life, not that I’d want to remember. It was some time before my master gave me the ability to speak.” He paused at that moment, looking up at the ceiling, almost as if looking through it.

Ryhan moved closer and the smell of decaying flesh burned his nostrils, making him gasp for air.

“It was then that he realized I had become more than the others. I could speak normally, different from the others that would simply grunt and moan. He was killed a few days later, leaving me to roam the land on my own. I came here after I heard the Orange Monks were worshippers of death, figuring they would embrace one such as me.”

Gareh smiled openly.

“And we indeed do. We accept you and your graceful condition. You are unique in your stead, guest.”

Ryhan was breathing through his mouth now, looking nervously at Gareh and the horror behind him.

“And that is it? You came here and stayed for how long?”

Gareh looked at the horror and answered with a small voice.

“He reached us not long ago, when the year was nearing the end. He has been in this room ever since. Reading.”

Ryhan could not believe what had been told, but it was obvious he had to take the horror with him back to Tyrrana.

“I have an offer, horror.” The creature seemed to get angered.

“I have a name, warrior, as do you. Call me Zachary.”

Ryhan was dumb struck for a second and soon regained his posture.

“I am Ryhan of the Tyrrana Royal Guard. I came with an offer in mind.”

Zachary waved his hand, prompting Ryhan to continue.

“King Tharelas asks for your presence. He offers free passage in his kingdom at any moment.”

Zachary held his breath visibly.

“Free passage? I’ll be free to roam his lands? No guards chasing me, no hunters trying to destroy me?”

Ryhan nodded, knowing that was not true, but he had to try it anyway.

“I’ll come along, then. I believe your king will be waiting for us any moment now, am I right?”

Ryhan nodded again and Gareh looked a bit disappointed.

“I was expecting you would stay with us, guest.”

Zachary dismissed Gareh with a grunt.

“Your books contain only words. I long to see the real beauty of the world and your letters cannot show me.”

Saying that, he left the room, walking away from both men.

“I must go, Master Gareh. Thank you for your help. The land of Tyrrana will forever be in your debt.”

Ryhan bowed slightly as he finished the sentence, running after an anxious Zachary.

As he approached, he belched nauseated by the stench of the undead.

“I apologize for my smell, but I cannot do anything about it. You’ll have to get used.”

Ryhan was already used to the smell, it just seemed far more disgusting to be talking to the source of the smell.

They crossed the outer patio quickly and the great gate was opened as they approached. The guard greeted them as they went by.

“Safe tidings. Fall not from the mountain. The way down is far harder, southerner.”

Zachary looked down from the edge of the cliff.

“It is a long way down.” Ryhan said, tightening his equipment.

“Indeed. I’ll scout ahead, you may get seriously injured if you fall. I on the other hand cannot be harmed if not by magical means.”

Ryhan was still turning around to star climbing down when Zachary jumped down to the nearest landing below, a cracking sound echoing through the mountain.

“Ach, that sounded painful.” Grunted Ryhan as he started down.