A dull numbness gripped Arn’s face as he pushed himself up from the ground. Animal skin of some sort fell from his shoulders, and the world became cold again. The humble cave he had wandered into before he slept came into focus, a fire crackling in the center of the space. He saw a small group of people seated on the other side of the light. Before he spoke, he took the skin and wrapped himself in it, finding buttons and a chain that made the thing into a cloak.

  “Hello?” He croaked out, voice hoarse and quiet. There was a woman on the other side who heard him. She whispered to the man next to her, and he addressed him.

  “Can you understand?” He said to Arn. It was a completely foreign tongue. But unlike the language the woman spoke, Aletheia the goddess truth, he could speak it if he wanted. Arn nodded in understanding. “Who are you, gorā?”

  The word meant a white man. Arn saw that he and the other people were darker than he or the Han nobility. Only the lowest of peasants had skin so bronze. In the voice, Arn heard weariness but nothing more than that.

  “My name is Arn.” Arn answered, clearing his throat and speaking louder. “Did you clothe me?””

  “Yes. My Lady Shanti commanded it.” The man told him. Arn saw the woman who whispered earlier straighten. He noticed for the first time that there was a young girl huddled next to her. They were dressed in finer clothes with various shades of red and purple, making Arn think that they were not struggling travelers like himself.

  “You have my thanks. You and your lady. Why are you all in this cave?”

  “What god do you serve?” The servant man said rather than answering Arn’s question. He seemed to tense up when Arn asked why they were there. The conditions were brutal, and civilization was undoubtedly far from here. If not for desperate despair, Arn would never have come here. Why would a group of travelers with noble women be hidden in these mountains?

  “I serve the goddess of truth named Aletheia.” Arn answered without pause. From the vision he had and the domain she ruled, Arn saw no good in hiding his god. “She leads me from my captivity in Han.”

  “You come from Han?” The lady, Shanti, asked. Her servant turned in silence. With a quiet exchange of looks, he bowed his head and let her speak. “You have traveled from far away.”

  “Yes. Ji was my home for many years.”

  “Why do you come to the mountains?”

  “Ji is my home no longer. With nowhere else to go, I came here to go west.”

  “How odd?” Shanti said, confusion marking her face. “You went to the mountains?”

  “A man has his own reasons.” Arn said, refusing to tell anything more than he was obliged. “A woman like you, however, has no reason to freeze in the cold.”

  Shanti remained silent, her face grimacing as if she felt pain. She pulled the girl next to her closer. The man stood and spoke.

  “My lady has her reasons. You would do well to answer her.”

  Arn struggled to stand up, and for the first time he noticed his sword was gone. He tried not to let any concern show on his face, choosing to instead sit closer to the fire.

  “I have answered your Lady Shanti.” He said, pulling his coat closer while he sat. “I assure you, I am no threat to you.”

  “How do we know?” The man said. Shanti told him to sit down, upset that he was so hostile. Arn, in the past perhaps, would have felt the indignity. A man falls before him, his sword is stripped, and then he is thought of as a deceiver after claiming truth as his goddess. What was he to think? But the fire was warm and Arn’s bones ached.

  “My name is Arnold Westlander.” He began, staring into the fire and not at the defensive servant. “I was born in the City of the Old People, Aeterna. Years ago, I left that home and ended up in the city of Ji. I served as an interpreter and executioner for lying merchants in the Emperor’s court. Then I was cast out, and a bounty greater than all in the world was placed on my head.”

  Suddenly, the servant man sprung and tried to wrestle Arn into the fire. He swore and cursed Arn as a deceiver while Shanti and the girl screamed for the fighting to stop. Other servants remained quiet but moved to grab them.

  Arn’s world felt surreal. Just like when he was branded with the crow and beat in the Emperor’s palace, he felt in danger. The fire, his assailant, the onlookers, they all felt slowed and quieted. Despair from not long ago still lingered within him, but it did not consume him. The call of death he knew so well did not grasp him.

  With all his strength, he shoved the man off of him and kicked the fire in the struggle. Both of them were hit with embers and flames, but only the servant burned. Soon he was restrained, and the servants helped Arn stand.

  “Moh, stop!” Shanti screamed at him. Her other servants flinched, their heads physically ducking at the harshness of their mistress’s words. Moh dropped to his knees, babbling about the disrespect and how he could not allow it. He clutched the burn on his right arm. “How do you know he lies! His goddess might strike us dead for your transgression. You disgrace me.”

  Arn watched as tears from the pain flowed from Moh’s eyes. What struck him was not the anguish Moh felt from the fire but the mortification on Moh’s face. His hands left his burn and grabbed at his throat attempting to choke himself, so much that Arn thought his skin would rip off.

  “Are you going to let him die?” Arn asked the whole of the group who did nothing as Moh started to gasp for air. “There is a child here.”

  “He disgraced his mistress.” Shanti said to him. “Do you admit that you have lied?”

  “My goddess is truth, and what I have said is true. I do not believe, however, that his offense is worth his life”

  Arn met Shanti’s eyes and then looked at the little girl, who could not have been older than ten years. Shanti waved her hand and soon Moh was again subdued and kept from dying. After a bout of severe coughing, Moh spoke again.

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  “You evil, evil man.” He was speaking directly to Arn first and then to the men who held him. “You will not even allow me to die to save my honor. My life is a disgrace and a curse upon my mistress. Release me so I can go be buried in the snow of the land of the gods so they might have mercy on me in the next life.”

  Shanti’s breath hitched. Her hand waved again, and soon Moh ran into the cold without his fur coat, soon to die in the tranquil and empty white.

  “He dishonored you?” Arn asked, unaware of the evil he had been accused of.

  “Had I judged you a deceiver, he would have been serving me faithfully.” Shanti answered, going to the girl and pulling her close. “Moh was loyal to my family by birth. To cast judgement upon you without my say was his sin. As such, his life was no longer mine, but yours. I had no claim to him because he had wronged you and owed you honor back.”

  “In Han, the rules are not so strict, or I would be dead.”

  “This is not Han. You are in the realm of the gods, no doubt sent to help my cause. As you have said, you were cast out of the Emperor’s court, a dishonor no man should live with. You will gain that honor back by serving me.”

  Arn took a moment of silence after Shanti spoke. Within her voice he could sense anger and desperation. Moh was a devout servant, now gone and dead to Shanti. Anger at him, Arn understood that. That desperation he sensed, however, worried him. Service was no small thing, and Arn did not view himself as even a servant. He was a man returning meekly to his home. Shanti took the silence as a note to continue.

  “My name is Shanti Pandya, former concubine to Yama, king of Bharat. Amala is my daughter from him.” She said, letting go of the girl Arn now knew as Amala. “He was a failed king, doomed to another life by the god of life. Without him, my daughter and I are not safe.

  “Arnold Westlander, after your disgrace from the Emperor of Han and the dishonoring of Moh, I— the lady of the grand king Yama of Bharat— charge you with leading my party to safety in the west. Lead us with your sword and defend us, as we have no weapons. I shall return your honor to you.”

  An imposing silence fell upon the group with Arn not answering right away. He thought of why he should refuse or accept such a charge. But he could not escape the word she had just said, honor. How might a woman like her return it? It was not her god that he offended, nor was it her blessing that he wanted. In the end, Arn knew that the release he wanted— being a man of honor, true to his word, and worthy of respect— could not come from Shanti. Perhaps, he would come upon one of his old patrons and beg their forgiveness. Or maybe, this goddess who claimed him might give him solace in her namesake.

  “I will lead you west.” He finally said, feeling relief from Shanti and her followers. Amala was watching him, but unaware of the gravity of his choice. “But know this, Lady Shanti, I will protect you because you clothed me in the cold. I take no fault with Moh, nor accept any redemption on your behalf. I am a foreigner in these lands, and what I seek cannot be found here.”

  Several of the servants were confused about what to do. Arn disregarded her authority by denying her ability to redeem him but, ultimately, accepted her charge. Shanti had a brief show of surprise on her face before nodding and telling her people to prepare to head west past the city of Shangri-La, the city of the Bharat gods and king of the entirety of the lands between the Silam and the Himalayan Mountains.

  Arn had heard of such a place while in Han. He reflected upon his knowledge as he took up his sword and dawned the cloak he learned was made of yak skin.

  The city of Shangri-La was once hidden from man, yet it inspired all kings. It was a land befitting of the gods. On that day when the powers of the gods seemed to grow beyond all measure, an old king in Bharat who has been called Rājā went up and built the first bulbous castle that became known as the peak of Bharat. The gods of the land seemed to favor him, and the powers that grew from his kingdom conquered the whole of the land over the past centuries.

  Why would a woman of Shanti’s standing be cast out of such a place, he thought? Her skin was smooth and her face well-shapen. The young girl Amala looked much the same but with a youthful innocence rather than one born of status and wealth. Once the party had left the cave and began its southwestward march, he asked her.

  “It does not concern you, Westlander.” She said, pulling along her daughter in the snow. The path that was made with the footsteps of leading servants was nearly up to the girl’s shin. “Deliver me. That is your only concern.”

  Amala’s small eyes turned back towards Arn and met his look. Though she was cold despite the smaller yak skin she wore, her eyes looked towards him in wonder, like he was some hero from a tale long told. Arn could feel it, in the same way that the woman Shanti now thought of him as a servant.

  Several hours passed, and to their south, a city appeared. It was unrecognizable to Arn, being of unique buildings and style. Many rounded and tall and white structures that were more befitting of the imperial city of Ji than the otherwise barren mountains. Great hardened ice walls surrounded it so only the tallest buildings were seen. When Arn looked to the base of the wall, he saw men coming towards them with spears and handlers with dogs.

  The route they were taking was around the city, barely far enough away that they would not have been spotted. Shanti had suggested it for this very reason. For the city to send men to their exact location was nothing short of a miracle. Arn thought of the man, Moh, who had nothing to live for but the moment he died and kept what little honor he believed he had.

  Shanti saw these creatures and screamed at him to draw his sword while the servants began to scatter. Amala clung to her mother and started to cry in fear. At that moment, Arn knew he would be abandoned no matter what happened. Death once again came to claim him after all those years ago when he was so ruthlessly stolen from it. Death in Ji, or death in the mountains, it made no difference. The only places, he thought, that might be different were Persepolis or Aeterna.

  From his back, he took his sword and brandished it. Cold iron that would break if it clashed with any well-kept weapon. Perhaps it might do well to fend off a dog.

  Shangri-La’s men came and attempted to surround Shanti’s party, slaughtering the two or three men who were successful enough to run a decent way away from him. Arn heard wheezing and crying from close behind him. Shanti and Amala had not made it so far. Soon, the other servants were dead, and the two women had crawled back to Arn who stood there with his sword, not even in a posture to strike. The men approached.

  “Gorā,” the bravest of the guardsmen spoke. Though they outnumbered Arn greatly, the sword warded them away. These were not soldiers, but a search party with weapons. If Arn were trained, maybe he could have fended them off. But the extent of his skill with weapons was for executions and fending off a common thief at most. “The dishonored servant Moh has given his life and named you demon of the mountain, proclaiming that you protect the mother and spawn of death.”

  “I protect a mother and child as I was charged.” Arn answered, having to yell so they could hear. “I see no demons here.”

  “We have no quarrel with you.” The man said. “Our duty is to return the concubine of the False King Yama and her spawn to the pyres where they may join the man in death and in the next life.”

  “What duty could be to condemn these two to death?”

  “Stand before them, and we will burn you next to them.”

  Arn did not answer. Instead he looked at the girl. Shanti continued her sobbing and uttering prayers to what she called the god of life. Amala cried too, though she was but a child not yet able to understand why the men had come for her. Her fear was innocent and pure. A sense of duty filled Arn. He had accepted this charge on his own accord, hoping to repay kindness that was offered to him. Should Aletheia be willing, his debt would be paid to Shanti, and death’s debt would not come due.

  Dogs rushed at him, and Arn swung his sword. Men charged him. Jaws of the beasts bit him. His sword continued on until at some point he could no longer grasp its hilt. Arn fell into red snow and heard the screams of Shanti and the cries of Amala. Hands of the men he fought grabbed his shoulders and drug him away with the women. The icy walls of Shangri-La got closer until he saw its great wooden gates opened. His eyes closed and his world faded as the snow under his feet became warm stone.