Episode V: Monk's Journey

December 31, Year 1267

Five waitresses. Waitresses stood by the kitchen door, glaring at the blood-and-dirt-stained shirts of Amnar, Pannan, and Zanril sitting awaiting service and reading menus. As they glanced around the old wooden-log walls of the warm tavern, they remembered the events of the day just passed. They had entered the town of Tertius followed by a dozen rag-clad people, delivered these refugees to the local ranger outpost, and lead Art to the physician's office. After having done all these things on top of storming a dungeon, the three decided to take a short rest and have a meal in the tavern.

The waitresses all hesitated, but eventually one built up the courage to approach the strangers. She shook as she walked toward the group, and when she finally did make it to their table, before she could speak, Zanril opened his grumpy mouth.

Zanril: What took so damn long?!

Waitress: I...I...

Zanril: Well?

The woman looked as if she was about to cry, she shook almost uncontrollably.

Pannan: Zanril! Please, excuse the edginess of my friend, madame. We've been through quite a lot lately as you can likely see, and we just want some food, beverage, and rest for a while. If it's not too much to ask.

She began to warm-up again, but only just slightly.

Waitress: My...my name is Linda; what would you all like to eat and drink?

Pannan: Some mutton and a mug of your finest stout please.

Waitress: And you...monk?

Amnar: The beef and potato stew with cider.

Zanril: This menu is a farce. I want a truffled turkey with a side of vegetables flavored with eastern spices, and to drink I want a glass of Ibietrean port aged no less than twenty years. Understood?

Waitress: We don't...well...we don't have any of that.

Zanril: Are you joking?!

Pannan: He'll have the stew and an ale.

Zanril: No! I said--

Pannan: Zanril!

Zanril: Fine. Whatever.

Waitress: I'll just go tell the chefs.

She ran off, seemingly relieved for the time being.

Zanril: You know, Amnar, we've told you all about our adventures in the arena as we walked from place to place. I think its time you tell us something about your life since we last saw each other.

Pannan: But if you don't want to talk right now, it's fine too.

Amnar: Well...it's not that I really don't want to tell; it's just that my story is really boring.

Pannan: I saw the way you fought down there--there's got to be something worth telling about the fourteen years since we last met.

Zanril: Yeah how did you get such skills?

Amnar: Well...it's a really long story.

Zanril: We've got plenty of time.

Amnar: Okay. Fine I guess; I'll tell you my tale.

The waitress came by with everybody's food.

Amnar: That was fast.

Waitress: We don't want to upset our...erm...guests.

She laughed nervously as she dashed to another table. Pannan gobbled a chunk of his mutton and took a grand gulp of his stout. He spoke with his mouth half-full.

Pannan: Please, tell.

Amnar sipped a spoonful of stew.

Amnar: After I escaped with you guys from the estate, I was picked up by a group of traveling friars. I didn't see much of what happened after that because the energy I had spent escaping made me pass out with exhaustion. The next thing I remember is waking up in this odd, old church.

Zanril: And then what? The monks took you in and taught you their ways?

Amnar: No...I went outside and there were a bunch of yurts surrounding me.

Pannan: An Eguzke village.

Amnar: Yeah. I guess you could say from that day forward I started a new life in this new village. I worked as an herbalist's apprentice under a guy named Sabino; he was kind of like a father to me for a while. Um...I had some pretty good friends there too.

Zanril: Did you go all the way? Any lovers? Huh? Even monks need to have some fun, no?

Amnar could not help but burst into laughter when he heard this. He managed to speak as his chuckling began to let down.

Amnar: Hahahah. Yes. Her name was Nerea.

Zanril: Was she something to look at?

Pannan: Attractive?

Amnar: Yeah. We knew each other from the first day I walked around the village, but we didn't really speak much until one day she just started talking to me. It was only a little bit after I had finished my apprenticeship and I had just begun living on my own. She was so bubbly, even a little sarcastic.

As he recalled his romance, Amnar, sitting there in his blood-stained robe, smiled like a dunce, staring at the where the wall met the ceiling.

Amnar: We were good friends for a few months, but there was always a kind of pressure we felt when we were with each other, and then one night we just shared a kiss.

Zanril: Please, do tell more about the sex part. I think we both need to here a nice romantic story.

Amnar: So you want to hear a thrilling romantic tale from a chaste monk?

Pannan spat out his stout; his face turned red and he laughed hysterically and cringed.

Pannan: No! I honestly don't want to hear any kind of twisted erotica a monk might have to offer! No offense, but just skip that part.

Amnar: Heh...Thank you, Pannan. Long story short, we spent quite some time together for like a year or so, and then we got married.

Suddenly, the uplifting air of relief and laughter left as Amnar frowned. He looked down at his stew and remained silent.

Zanril: And then?

Amnar: Nothing. I don't think I should say anything else.

Zanril: Oh, come on!

Pannan: Zanril...shut up. Amnar, don't worry about it. Some other time.

Amnar: Yeah...she um...she died...

As he continued to swallow spoonful after spoonful of stew, and as his mind continued to muffle the sounds of Pannan's condolences, the darker memories that had hidden themselves so well for so long, became ever clearer.

امنر

January 05, Year 1261

The snowy plain stretched for miles in all directions--until the white ground and gray sky blended into a vague horizon. Just in front of that blurred meeting place, two large mountains stood nearly next to each other, separated only by a canyon half-a-mile deep and a full mile long. Thick clouds filled the canyon, but Amnar knew that at its end there stood a magnificent monastery--an abbey.

He stood just outside of his yurt's front door, clad in thick furs. He shifted his eyes briefly from the afar to the near--the village--his home. The yurts were covered in thick felts and hides, all dyed in an array of colors from maroon to indigo to khaki brown. The early birds among the villagers fed the morning bonfire in the village's center, and began to cook breakfast for their later-wakening neighbors.

He felt a pair of arms embrace him as he took in the simple beauty of a mellow winter morning. A head came to rest on his shoulder and gave him a gentle, warming kiss on the cheek. Nerea.

Amnar turned his head to look at her--her straight black hair which flowed down to just beyond the bottom of her shoulders, her light skin, her brown eyes...Amnar leaned his head forward to meet his lips with hers for just a moment. One tender peck and two smiles from the soul between two newly-weds.

Almost every bit of the young husband lit up and only a slight tint of something horribly, disturbingly cold kept him from feeling pure warmth. It was a dark sense that soon this joy would be over--a sense that something ugly was on its way fast.

Nerea: I'm hungry.

Amnar: Yeah...and?

He chuckled as he spoke, briefly sticking his tongue out of his mouth and shooting his eyes upward. With a big grin on his face, she hit his arm playfully, and he took her hand.

Amnar: Let's go eat.

They walked to the village center together. The chef began pouring the other villagers large bowls of Caribou stew. Between servings he rang a bell informing everyone that the morning meal was ready.

Amnar wiped the snow off of a boulder on the village's outskirts, and he and Nerea sat together on it. Eating their stew and watching their neighbors walk out of their tents with their families following, lining up before the chef and his assistants. The henpecked, but dedicated husbands, alongside their aging wives. The younger couples and their children, arguing and playing at the same time. The elderly--doing the same.

They heard a stranger's voice coming from behind. As Amnar turned around he saw a man covered in scars, wearing tattered clothing, furs, leather straps, and a short sword. Standing some two yards behind him were two men dawning similar apparel. Brigands. The leader pulled out his blade.

Brigand Leader: Hello. Name's Skull.

Nerea: What the hell?

Amnar: We don't want any trouble. What do you want?

Skull: We've been walking out in this frozen shit-hole for days. He just want to have some fun.

Amnar: Look, we have food and we can give you what you need.

Skull: You can and you will. Y'know...I should specify.

The two other brigands stepped closer to Amnar. He grew defensive and felt the adrenaline rushing through his body.

Skull: We want to have fun with your...female friend here.

Amnar: No. No!

Amnar clenched his fist and his face twisted into a defensive, angry scowl.

Skull: Just bugger off before I gut you.

Amnar: No...you're the one who should leave.

Skull: I'm really not in the mood for this!

He swung his sword at Amnar, who dodged and caught Skull's arm as it returned. He twisted it until the blade fell, and kicked the brigand leader into his followers, knocking all three down.

Skull stood back up infuriated; he shook his head and blinked his eyes several times, disoriented.

Amnar: I said leave!

Skull smirked and quickly turned his head toward Nerea. He grabbed her arm and pull her to him; the two followers held Amnar back. He forced a kiss as he drew and stuck a dagger into her gut, all within a second or two. By the time she had just begun screaming in pain and fear, he pulled the blade out and stabbed her in the neck.Then, turning back to face Amnar, he violently blew him a kiss before running off. The other two bandits let go of Amnar and followed as Nerea gurgled and bled to death on the snow. It had all happened too quickly--too quickly to even believe.

For only the briefest of moments, Amnar stood and looked at Nerea's corpse, unable to move. He began to shake as if breaking out of his paralysis, and then finally yelled at the top of his lungs into the air. He shot forward toward the retreating murderer. The two lesser brigands attempted to slow him down, but he ignored them, jumping over their heads and rolling onto his feet as he landed on his hands.

He sprinted through the snow and when he was close enough, he pounced onto Skull, who had only enough time to turn around and face his attacker. As he lay on the ground, pinned by Amnar, he lifted his head up, but Amnar punched it back onto the floor.

Amnar showed a mix of sadness and rage on his twisting and tortured face.

Skull just spit a bloody molar at him. It bounced off of Amnar's cheek, but left a red stain. He clubbed Skull's temple with his fist just before the two other brigands pulled him off, one of which attempted to slash him with his short sword. Amnar disarmed him and knocked him out with a punch to the face, and then he turned around and kicked the third brigand's head.

As Amnar watched Skull attempting to stand back up, he crouched and took a dagger from one of the unconscious brigand's sheathes. He used his foot to push the struggling Skull back down. His face twittered as he looked the man in the eyes--watering eyes--just like his. He slowly lowered himself and then, holding the dagger firmly, positioned it above Skull's chest. His tearing face morphed into one tormented with wrath and he violently stabbed the man below him in-between the ribs.

He pulled the blade out and stabbed him again, and again, and again. He cried silently as he stabbed again and again, almost as if his own thoughts consumed him as he mindlessly over-killed Skull.

He dropped the knife as the other villagers pulled him off. Two dozen stab wounds before him. Everything was blurred; nothing was quite real. The snow and sky blended into a white oblivion.

امنر

Zanril put down his tankard after gulping-down quite a lot from it. He used the blonde hairs on his forearm to wipe some ale of his face. Then he looked at Amnar.

Zanril: So...how did you become a monk anyway?

Amnar: Well...one day some six and half years ago, I spoke with one of the monks that had taken me off the roads when I was a child. He was an abbot--Abbot Zircles. It had been a few months since I had lost my wife, and I was some drunken tramp who roamed the slums of Iarbo. I guess I was hoping that I would die out there.

Pannan: Zircles? I think I knew a Zircles. Was he and old man? Black skin? Frizzy white hair and goatee?

Amnar: Yeah...that's right. How did you know him?

Pannan: He hired me to protect the remains of his master--Abbot Zen, from some fanatics who wanted to desecrate them or loot them or something. Anyway, what did Zircles tell you?

Amnar: I owe him my life. You could say that the old man gave me a reason to live. He offered me a safe place to live at first, and that was all. After some hesitation, I took him up on his offer.
When I first arrived at his monastery it was a simply amazing site--I remember--two enormous silver cliffs on both sides of this skinny canyon, which had a granite staircase in it that led straight into the abbey, within a fortress, half-a-mile farther in. The abbey itself was a simple building in the middle of a stone courtyard surrounded one three sides by tall cliffs, and on one by a reinforced stone wall. I also recall the gates on the wall to have several eastern folk stories carved into them, and the architecture of the building within was also very eastern.

Zanril: Woah...I love architecture! Do you know why these monks had chosen to give the building and gates an eastern look, reminiscent of the Yuan Empire's styles I assume.

Amnar chuckled a bit.

Amnar: You love architecture?

Zanril: Yeah...and?

His face straightened itself again.

Amnar: Right...The monastery was founded about fifty years ago by a Yuan priest, named Zen, and his apprentice, Zircles. They had formed a philosophical basis together with a few other men of both our nation and Zen's. They found a rocky, but well protected and isolated place and built themselves a fortress, and within it a place for their followers to eat, sleep, pray, and train.

Pannan: Yeah, that's right. You belong to an order of warrior-monks. Why do you guys learn combat?

Amnar: Mainly it's a form of exercise and meditation, but we also use violence as an absolute last resort in the defending people from more ill-motivated violence, and mostly non-lethal techniques at that.

Zanril: So when did actually become a monk?

Amnar: Although at first, I was just a healer there, my sense of misery calmed down as I felt a new sense of community. It was only natural for me to become an official monk in my new home. It wasn't long after that that Zircles, my new master and teacher, had me learning all sorts of things. From martial arts to Church doctrine to eastern philosophy.

Pannan: I heard that they made you guys do some pretty intense combat training.

Amnar: Oh yeah...You can bet on that. We spent hours everyday punching walls to strengthen our fists, kicking trees to strengthen our feet and legs, sparring at speeds so fast that they would make a soldiean easy target. As a matter of fact, after a while things actually become slower when you need them to. A crossbow bolt zooming at your neck looks as though it is passing through sap as it speeds toward you.

Pannan: I'm familiar with the feeling; Erigus made us do similar things. Did you ever "graduate".

Amnar: Well just a year ago, I guess you could say I "graduated". Zircles and a few of the more experienced monks came with me on my first mission outside of the abbey. We were investigating some old Imperial ruins when we found something...well...the aftermath of what we saw just a few hours ago, but I don't think any of us want to think about that right now.

Zanril: True that. True that.

Zanril finished the rest of his ale by the time that Amnar had emptied his bowl of stew. There was another silence between the three.

امنر

November 04, Year 1266

Another gray day in the Eguzke steppes. Snow flakes had just begun to fall on the blue grass and the stones of the abandoned imperial fortress that surrounded a party of twelve monks--one of them, Amnar. The doors of the ancient headquarters were wide open and all over the yard outside limped starving men. Dozens of pale men, women, and children walked almost aimlessly around the grounds near the monks. These people caught sight of us and, slowly turned toward us. One of the more able-bodied men, and he still looked starved and on the very verge of death, came to me, the Abbot Zircles.

His eyes were slightly foggy and he fell into my arms and cried. I held him and patted his back, which was covered in horrid burns. My face broke into a wretched frown as I watched the other victims of the inquisition. As gently as I could, I asked him what had happened here. He stuttered as he spoke.

Zircles: What's your name, brother?

Hungry Man: Mikel.

Zircles: Mikel, how did you all get free? Are you okay to tell me?

Mikel: These bandits came here. Some routine raid. They saw the inquisitors. They got angry and killed them. They freed us. They ran off. Do you have any water?

I handed him my waterskin, and he desperately drank from it. I could feel a tear silently roll down my cheek as I watched Mikel.

This was not the first time I had seen, such a thing, but it was Amnar's. I turned to him, and he simply stared at what he saw. I knew he had to gaze upon the worst of it. He needed to understand just what he would face in time.

Ordering one of my monks to care for Mikel, and another to find more help nearby, I went to Amnar and spoke with him softly.

Zircles: Amnar, come with me downstairs. We need to see if there are any survivors down there.

He looked up at me with a blank stare, asking me for an answer to a question he had no idea how to phrase.

Zircles: I don't know, but we must do what we can to help these people. Please, come.

Amnar: Yes...yes, Abbot Zircles.

امنر

November 30, Year 1267

Amnar walked into my private quarters on the top story of the monastery. He held his hands together at his waist and waited as a nurse tended to my fever with a wet rag. I turned my eyes to the door and spotted Amnar. I asked the nurse to stand by the door, and motioned for Amnar to come closer for I had something very important to tell him and my end stood very near.

I opened my mouth, and coughed madly before I could get out a word.

Zircles: Amnar, I can feel it in my bones. After seventy-two years on this earth I have only minutes--maybe hours if lucky--left, so listen to me closely for the words you are about to hear will be among the most important you will ever remember. Are you ready?

Amnar: Yes, of course. Continue, master.

Zircles: You and I have both seen, first hand, the darkness of the world interrupted only on rare occasion by simple pleasures, but there is a side to this life which you have not yet seen and one which my eyes are new to still. In defiance of my reason and my logic, I have seen something beyond description--perhaps they are glimpses of God. They are just so beyond me and cannot be literally seen or smelled or touched, and they have taught me many, many things. The most important of these is that there is hope for this world--there is a way out of the darkness.

Amnar: Have I not learned these things? God is the path to salvation. These are the words of our prophet Holtarna.

Zircles: It warms me to hear that you remember your scripture, but they are just words--words which mean little to those who have not lived them, and it is your destiny to live them.

Amnar: What do you mean? My destiny? What of the free will of God that you yourself taught me during lectures.

Zircles: Again, it defies my intellect, but somehow you have both choices to make and a destiny to follow, but please, listen. Your questions will be answered in time--if not my words than by the universe herself.

Amnar: You speak in riddles; this is not like you. What are you trying to tell me, Abbot Zircles?

Zircles: I'm trying to tell you that you are among a few who have been chosen--perhaps by God--to save the people of our world. Rather, you have been chosen to protect our savior.

Amnar: Save them from what? Protect whom?

Zircles: From many things--the armies of hell, the day of judgment, all of our wrongs. You have been chosen to be the first witness of the light.

Amnar turned to a nurse watching over me.

Amnar: Why does he ramble, what is wrong?

Zircles: I do not ramble!

I had a fit of coughing and soon began to speak again.

Zircles: I have seen visions from a greater place. I have been chosen to be a messenger in my last moments as you have been chosen to be a witness in your youth. I know what I say must seem jumbled and vague and have the ring of a delusion, but that is only because they are my best translations of the unfathomable things I've seen in my visions.

Amnar: Well...what do you want me to do?

Zircles: I want you to fulfill your destiny. Upon my death, you must gather your things and leave the abbey for a while. Find the shadow of God.

Amnar: What do you mean by shadow of God?

Zircles: A being who is somehow purely God yet purely human.

Amnar: And how will I know when I have found the "shadow of God"?

Amnar spoke as though he did not believe me, but only played along in pity. He felt scared and sad for me...as did I for him.

Zircles: Just remember to bow to the one who loves without being loved, for he is the shadow of God.

Amnar stared at the floor--he was still very confused--but eventually nodded and agreed to my request.

Zircles: Don't worry. The universe has a way of making vague words concrete. Leave the abbey, explore the land...in time--

Amnar: I'll find my destiny? This shadow of God?

Zircles: They will find you. Please, have faith.

Amnar: I'll try, master.

As he saw my eyes red and my skin pale, I could feel the tears in his eyes. He tried to hold them back but to no avail. With all my strength, I lifted my arms and offered him all I could offer him for comfort--an old man's hug, and he accepted it. As he cried in my frail arms I offered him words, not from above, but from my soul, a place more sacred perhaps.

Zircles: If nothing else, have faith that in the end everything will work out. Have faith that good things are somewhere near. Just, have faith.

He gently let go of me and put me down.

Amnar: Goodbye, Abbot Zircles. I will do as you ask. I will leave here and let destiny find me.

Zircles: And when you come back home, I want you to be the new abbot.

He wiped his tears with the sleeve of his robe.

Amnar: Thank you, master. I will accept it upon my return. Goodbye.

Zircles: No...goodbye is what you say to a man you will not see again, and in due time you will see me again, as will you Nerea and your parents.

I smiled as wide, yet as gently, as I could.

Zircles: See you.

And with that, I closed my eyes, and never awoke on this mortal Earth again--the grin still on me.

امنر

December 26, Year 1267

A gasp. A young man, Amnarillaeus's, head sprung from the pillow it just laid upon. He touched his forehead and felt cold sweat; a nightmare. He steadied his breaths and turned his head to look at a white-gold amulet with a stone of rare onyx in it. It was pitch black except for a wisp of starry blue-white light that floated within, and in the wisp a vague image showed--the gates of the city from last night's dream quickly shut and then slowly faded away. He looked at the onyx bewildered...

Here he was, at the beginning of the monk's journey.