Whiteout II: 1 (Empty Slopes)

1. Empty Slopes

     It was around midnight on the trail. The light of the moon still guided us, and we did not stop. The blizzard wasn’t going to hold forever, and soon Manchester and his well-experienced team would begin their ascent. I didn’t even have an idea of where to start looking. The lost valley of Shangri La had remained lost for a reason. Any of the pages referring to it were nothing but cryptic madness.

     “Oh dear.” Muttered Lopsang, as he stopped dead in the middle of the road. There was nothing around for miles but hillside and rocky trail.

     “Why did you stop?” Lopsang stared straight ahead and got down on his hands and knees. There was nothing there, only the light wisp of snow as it fell. “Lopsang, this is no time for rest! He’s going to be leaving in the morning! Get up!” And then I saw them, emerging from the mist like pale warriors were three men holding AK-47s and pointing them directly at us.

     “Well shit.” I sunk to the ground and put my hands behind my head. James followed suit and began to mutter a prayer to a God that I never put much faith in. As the men advanced their shapes became clearer. They all wore heavy climbing gear, and their faces were covered by silver masks from the nose down. They glinted in the moonlight, giving an even eerier sense to their approach. “We might be in trouble.” I whispered to James.

     Behind me I could feel the thick bag containing all of our weapons. Should have carried them on our backs. Need to always be prepared for this sort of thing. Who are these guys anyway? As they got closer I could hear a deep chant coming from beneath their masks. It was deep, sonorous, and resonated with the mountains around us. It rumbled onward, and soon there was the barrel of an AK in my face. The cold barrel pressed against my skin and I couldn’t help but giggle a bit.

     If they were going to kill us, they would have done it by now. They mean to take us prisoner for some reason. Wonderful. Being taken prisoner always carries with it the possibility of future life, where execution is very much so final. I’ve been in quite a few hostage situations, and for the most part left unscathed. Maybe the leader will even monologue long enough for us to escape. It was a long shot, but a little hope never hurt anyone.

     “You will stand now, come with us.”

     “No!” Muttered James in an utterly stupid show of defiance. Maybe he had heard my giggle and thought that we were in no true danger. Maybe he had just wanted to show how brave he was to his new Sherpa pal. Either way he got a rifle butt to the face and spit out blood onto the snow.

     “You keep acting like that and you’re not going to have many teeth left.” I said standing, remaining with my hands on my head. Hostage situations while better than executions are still quite dangerous. It’s best to tread lightly. Perhaps I should have better explained it to James before we left, but who takes into account highwaymen in the Himalayas (one of the most unpopulated regions in the world)?

     “Walk! Now!” The man’s English was broken, and in an accent that I was unfamiliar with.

     Maybe a Russian dialect of some sort? For some reason people always hire Russians to kill me. I think something to do with Bond films has helped them put a cap on the market. James finally stood and we began to trudge once more through the snow, only this time at gunpoint. The walking seems a lot less tiring when someone has the potential to end your life at any moment. Every step further is an opportunity to keep on living. So in a way the highwaymen did us a favor by picking up our pace.

     Who are these guys? Some sort of Russian. The face-masks indicate a cult, or secret organization maybe? It wouldn’t have been unusual to tangle with a cult. We’ve dealt with our fair share. Once in the Hawaiian Islands I lost an assistant to a volcano sacrifice. Boy were they mad when they found out he wasn’t a virgin…

     The masks. Where have I seen them before. None of it fit well together. Their accent sounded Russian, but the masks looked like they were from somewhere further East. They looked almost like Japanese samurai masks. None of it fit together well, and the more I thought about it, the more my head began to spin. The snow continued to fall around us, growing heavier as the storm moved down the mountain. Hopefully they can get us to their hideout before we all freeze to death.

     We were all bundled up tight, but being caught in a blizzard wouldn’t bode well for any of us. It’s disorienting, and the wind-chill cuts through even the thickest coats. I did not want to have to contend with hypothermia for the second time in weeks.

     They led us through the snow for about an hour. We wound our way off the main path and into a rocky ravine. From the shadows it felt as though I was being watched by thousands of eyes. Every so often there would be burst of quick movement from in between the rocks, but then I would look and there would be nothing. Chittering sounds echoed off of every wall, but did not bother our ‘guides’.

     At the end of the ravine was a tall stone door. It was intricately carved with symbols of many different cultures. There were Hieroglyphics, Kanji, Sanskrit, everything. No two symbols were alike. The door itself was made from thick stone, and was over twenty feet tall. Inside the mountain a red fire burned and the sound of drums began to echoe.

     Fires lit up the sides of the canyon, accompanied by more drums. More silver masks glinted from hollows in the walls as we drew closer to the door. Warmth flooded from inside, contrasting sharply with the bitter winds from the mountain top. “We are definitely in trouble.” I whispered to James. Our weapons were on the shoulder of the man at the front of the line and out of reach. Who knew what the others in the walls were packing. We were trapped.

     As we passed through the door I felt the hot breath of hell flow outward and bath my skin. I began to sweat instantly. We entered a hallway flanked on both sides by fire burning in hollows. One misstep and we would become nothing but a crispy reminder of what used to be a human being, a thought which I was not too fond of. The drums grew louder inside as we twisted our way through a narrow series of passageways.

     We stopped in front of an iron gate. One of the men in front of us knelt before it and prayed. Black iron twisted around the gate, leading downward to small sets of black pools which rippled with the drumbeat. The man kneeling pulled out a large knife and brought it to his wrist. Methodically he pulled it across the skin, allowing the blood to flow into the black pools. Only after he stood did the others push the gate open.

     This is definitely a cult. Blood sacrifice made me a little queasy, both at the thought of it, and what it meant for my companions and I. We were led through a longer tunnel and finally to a spacious chamber containing many stone carvings of a large beast. They varied in size, from 10 feet to 50, depending on where in the chamber they stood, but they all depicted the same thing: A yeti.

     The beasts looked fearsome. Some had teeth so long that they could not close their mouths. Others were thick, corded muscle running through their bodies. At the base of each was a small pile of bones. As we passed I could make out human skulls, some far too small to be adults. Well this just keeps getting better…

     In the center of a room was an altar, and at it stood a man. He was dressed in a long black robe with a gold helmet in the shape of a yeti. He looked down at us, or at least I think he did. The helmet obscured his eyes and face from view, and replaced them with a grisly snarl. The teeth were thick and sharp like razors.

     “Who have you brought before me?”

     “Three travelers who wished to go into the beast’s domain. They were on their way up the mountain when we caught them.”

     The man made a tsk sound from within the helmet. “Is this true?” He asked motioning to Lopsang. Lopsang made a grimace and said nothing. “You’re silence will not help you here friend. Speak the truth and your death may be quick and painless, as the almighty would want it. Withhold from me and we have ways of making you suffer for days in the chamber of the beast.” Lopsang held firm and said nothing.

     This is on my head if they die. Have to think of something. When in trouble I find it is often the best course of action to lie. “I was here to hunt the yeti. These two were not privy to my plans. They were merely pawns in my master plan.” The last sentence made James grimace. Not the time James. Pick your fucking battles.

     “Why would you engage in such a fool’s errand?”

     “Fortune and glory. Same reason I do everything. This is quite a nice place here. To whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?” a rifle butt caught me in the stomach and doubled me over.

     “This one talks too much.”

     Nickel for every time I’ve heard that.

     “Leave him be. If he is willing to talk, allow his tongue to be loose. It will be the last chance he gets. You have the pleasure of addressing the Leader of the Herukas.”

     Where have I heard that name before? I know I’ve heard that before. “Lopsang? A little help here?”

     “Wrathful Gods.” Said Lopsang quietly. “They are nothing but a ghost story.

     “Yes, nothing but a ghost story indeed.” I said, sarcastically. Men who think themselves incarnations of a vengeful God. Wonderful. “I remember now! You are the blood drinkers! That would explain all the pools, the skeletons, the scary idols. Yes, yes, it’s all coming together now! So what would you want with us? Merely a couple of lowly monster hunters on a quest doomed for death anyway?”

     “For thousands of years we have kept watch over the sacred valley, and those who attempt to enter it.”

     “Well there’s a bigger party that you should be worrying about leaving in the morning.”

     “The great Manchester? He will be dead before he reaches base camp. Don’t worry about that.”

     Well, at least we’re going together. Now if I can only manage to outlive him by a few minutes. There’s got to be some arcane rule to get us out of this. There is always a loophole. The man beside me licked his lips in a way that made me most uncomfortable. Knowing now that they were blood drinkers made the situation even more unpleasant. “So what do you want with us then?” Stall with more questions. Think of a plan. Come on think!

     “You were a threat. I am disappointed that it only took three of my men to bring you in. I really thought it would eb more of a challenge.” He paused to look at the flickering shadows around the room. Flames crept in to small recesses in the floor, filling the room with a sulfurous stink. The shadows grew darker and threw menacing looks around the walls. “The hour grows late. I am afraid that our chat is at an end. Time for you to face your gods Dr. Ventner…”