Justice: Part 1
This story is fan-fiction made in the Grimdark Future universe, by One Page Rules.
Sika’s hands ached. Her knees bled. The cold wind scraped against her cheeks and her back throbbed with fierce vigor. Nevertheless, she kept climbing. She was so close, just a few more feet, and she would be at the Monastery’s doors.
She wanted to pause and catch her breath, but she knew the moment she stopped would be the moment her strength failed her. She followed a thundering heartbeat in her mind; keep climbing. Don’t stop. Keep climbing. She didn’t look down, nor up. She had no idea how much further she had to go. She didn’t want to know. Knowing was for those who needed to risk despair for the chance to hope.
Sika was beyond hope, beyond despair. It didn’t matter how far from the Monastery she was. She would keep climbing until she reached it, or she died.
She reached upwards and grabbed at a protruding rock. She felt it shift, and in one horrible moment the mountain-side spun beneath her. She felt herself fall away from the icy cliff to be gripped by the winds. The rock fell from her hands…
Something tugged at her other arm. The world stopped. The winds became steady. “We have you,” came a choking voice. Sika felt herself being pulled back towards the mountain-side. Had the mountain itself shown pity on her? She could feel a gnarled tree-root grabbing her arm and supporting her —
No. The root was warm through her coat and was gently pulling her upwards. Not enough to move her, but to give her strength for the rest of the climb. In spite of herself, Sika looked up.
A robed figure stood several feet above her, reaching down with a long tentacled arm. The robe whipped about in the wind, obscuring the figure’s face and form. As she looked, the figure beckoned with its other hand. “Keep climbing, if you will,” the harsh voice cut through the howling wind. “Unless you would fall at the last stretch.”
These last few feet were the hardest. For the past hours she had moved only because there was nothing else to do. Now, with respite so close, her body was no longer willing to act without complaint. Her muscles failed, her grip loosened, and her feet could not maintain their purchase.
The figure helped her, however, keeping a tight grip on her arm and gently pulling upwards, ensuring every inch gained was not lost. At last, Sika felt her arm crest the edge of the cliff, and she scrambled with a beastly panic over the lip and onto flat ground. She lay there for a moment, gasping for breath like a landed fish, unable to sob or laugh or even move. The robed figure picked her up with the help of another, and the three of them slowly and carefully picked their way up a nearby set of stone stairs.
Sika passed out, or perhaps she was simply too tired to remember the journey from the cold mountain’s edge to the warmer innards of the Monastery. A deluge of strange and horrific images drifted through her mind before she woke again, wrapped in a warm blanket and resting on a thin cot.
The room was tiny. The Winds howled outside the closed window, pushing hard against the thick wood and metal clasp. The stone walls were warmed by a small fire set in an alcove-pit next to the bed.
Next to her sat a bulbous shape covered in a monk’s robe. The hood wagged gently as Sika stirred, and a voice full of scabs and gravel hissed from its shadowy depths: “Ah, child. You are awake at last. No, no, do not try to rise. Not yet. Your body is well abused, and it will take you some time to heal.”
Sika sank back, letting her body push into the soft blankets. Her limbs ached, her eyes burned, and her skin felt like it had been pealed off. She took a deep and painful breath before opening her cracked mouth. “I must speak with the Bishop.”
“So you have said,” the ragged voice was like rocks shaken in a bag. “Rest a while. Eat, drink, and when you are strong enough, rest assured the Bishop will see you.”
“No time,” Sika managed to gasp. “Please.”
The figure shifted, and the dim light of the small fire flickered over gnarled and haggard skin with pulsing veins. “Do not worry, child. You will see the Bishop in due course, but it will do you no good to speak with them only to faint before you finish. Come, drink.”
Sika accepted the small wooden cup and drank the liquid in a single gulp. It was slick and bitter, tasting of vinegar and leaves. She collapsed back again, her voice stronger. “Please, I beg you. I must have justice!”
The figure took back the cup and gave a small shudder. “I will inform the Bishop of your need, but the Monastery is not a place for leisure; they are likely quite busy at the moment. I should prepare for disappointment if I were you, and focus my efforts on resting.”
Sika wanted to protest, but her climb finally took its toll and her aching body dragged her back into unconsciousness.
It only took until the next morning for Sika to lift her body off the small cot and walk with the aid of a monk’s arm or crutches. She had pushed her body to exhaustion, but the medicines of the monks worked swift and clean.
Their food was a boiled gain porridge. It was filling, if bland, and Sika found herself acclimating to the bitter drink they gave her. She continued to ask for the Bishop, but the monks were not swayed by her insistence. They continued to shake their hooded heads and bid her keep patient, while reassuring her that the Bishop would speak with her soon.
She was even becoming used to their skin. While they mostly kept hidden beneath their hoods, fragments of their faces were visible in the day-light. Their skin was pale, almost translucently white, while thick red lines curled under their flesh. Long ropy veins bulged out from their bodies, wrapping around their limbs and torsos. Some had thick rock-like growths pushing out from their shoulders and necks, while others looked like they were withering down to their skeletons while somehow being larger than the other monks and possessing a throbbing vitality.
At long last, a monk approached Sika while she paced the inner cloister of the Monastery. “The Bishop requests that you share your dinner with them this evening. If you are willing, and prepared, I will guide you to their chambers.”
Sika was more than ready, and swiftly followed as the Monk took her to a large pair of thick wooden doors.
When the doors were opened, Sika saw the Bishop for the first time. She had thought she knew what to expect and believed she was ready for anything. She was not ready for the massive monstrous shape that squatted in the middle of the room, towering over her even as it sat.
It’s horrible smooth head split open like a pealed fruit, revealing a monstrous muzzle of bone and teeth. A thin tube-like tongue flickered through open holes in the mouth and a rumbling hum filled the air, half-way between a wasp’s buzzing and distant thunder.
From nearby, a thick monk stepped forward, pulling down their hood. A face half covered in bony protrusions and fleshy mounds stared at Sika with milky-white eyes. The craggy lips parted and the monk spoke with a rattling voice: “Welcome. I am glad you accepted my invitation. Come, please sit and refresh yourself.”
As if in a dream, Sika moved towards the small table that sat in front of the beast to sit on the cushion in front of a small place setting for dinner. It was absurd, to see the monster sitting so calmly and waiting politely for their guest to make themselves comfortable.
The giant moved its head to follow Sika as she moved. The Monk spoke again through the humming. “Please do not mind the translator. She is necessary so that I may communicate with you. I do not have the lips required for your language.”
Sika looked back and forth between the giant and the monk. “I…I understand.”
The humming shifted in pitch and volume. It reminded Sika of the holy hymns her father had sung for the old harvest festivals, or the singing at sundown on Landisday. After a moment, the doorway was filled with five more monks, each carrying a tray of food.
Sika watched as the meal was placed on the table. There were vegetables, fruits, a small roasted bird, a bowl of nuts, a small square of curd, and bowls full of broth, custard, and a soupy stew of roots and herbs. A full flagon of krimberry juice and a large cup of water followed after.
Sika’s stomach growled at the smell. She grabbed her fork and spoon and tore into the meal, all concern about the giant forgotten. It wasn’t the best food she had ever eaten, but after the blandness of the porridge it tasted divine.
For almost half an hour she sat, devouring every scrap of food that was placed in front of her, ignoring the gangly and bulbous shapes of the monks and their Bishop as they watched.