The Grand Tour

Much like our first meeting, I refused to participate, and so Missol carried me out like a cat.

"Behold, the Monastery of the Stone Solari, Castillo de Trazmos." Missol explained as she marched through the halls, her footfalls an echoing boom amidst the silence of the stones. "It was built some time ago, I don’t remember when, to contain the Dungeon of Trazmos. I don’t know when that was discovered, but this valley has an old reputation for birthing monsters."

She switched to lugging me around like a sack of potatoes on her shoulder, and from this greater vantage point I could start to see out of the tall narrow windows and arrowslits that let narrow beams of morning light into the musty stone halls.

"How many people live here?" I asked Missol

"I don’t know. A few hundred in the castle itself, maybe ten thousand in total among the different villages and fiefs on the mountain and in the valley." Missol said as we began to descend a spiral staircase.

"Who owns this place?" I asked.

"The Stone Solari." She said.

"Who owns the Stone Solari?"

"Technically the Katharoi Communion, but its current master is Bishop Aldebardo."

"What is the Stone Solari?"

"You ask a great deal of questions, don’t you?"

"Why wouldn’t I?"

"Then I suppose we’ll start from the top, starting with where we were. The entire fifth floor of the keep is reserved for the Bishop, other leadership, and the reliquary. Do you know what a reliquary is?"

"No." I said, but I did know. A reliquary was where relics, which are the personal belongings or the body parts of a revered holy individual, were kept. These relics were only removed for holy days or to be used as part of a specific ritual or celebration, or to invoke the blessings of the dead.

"They store bits and pieces of mystical people in there, along with magical artifacts. If you weren’t so rebellious, your control rod would be in there too." Missol said, completely unaware of my disgust for her insufficient explanation. "Now we arrive at the fourth floor, which is where lower ranking leadership, such as myself, as well as guests, are allowed to stay. Your room is here as well, but once you acclimatize, we’ll probably move you down to the third level. Speaking of which, down we go."

"Where are we even going?" I asked.

"I’m giving you the grand tour." She said, but given how poorly and lacklustre her explanations had been, I had reason to believe she had no intention of seriously explaining anything.

Unlike the fifth and fourth floors, we actually explored the third floor. In the light of day, I recognized it as being the floor where I found the armory. Additionally, she explained that this was where leadership and scribes worked on managing the bureaucracy of the mountain. Literally just medieval-fantasy office space. She would open the doors at random, greet whoever was there or was not there, and introduce me as her squire. They would offer a nervous, mildly scared greeting in turn, and then we would be off, to hassle the next person. She never bothered to explain who did what, only that they were sister superior so and so, or elder brother this and that, with titles that only vaguely hinted at their purpose, like the Master of Letters, or the Cupbearer. From what I could see, their lives appeared mundane, working entirely with ink, quills and books. To a modern earthling, they were basically the ancestor of the office drone.

Her path was winding and seemingly aimless, her explanations infrequent or brief. I feared that she put more effort into carrying me around than she had explaining how things worked. She found another spiral staircase and hauled me down to the next level.

"Behold, the basilica." Missol said as we emerged onto the second floor and were greeted by a vast and beautifully decorated all, lined with arches, columns and pews. Its ceiling was terribly high, at least three stories up, which probably made the keep actually six or seven stories high.

There were people here praying, and though they gave Missol a customary greeting as we passed, for the most part they did not pay us much mind.

"There is the grand altar, technically to the True God, but to any outsider this is an altar to the Deceiver. We just use regionally unique symbols, as is permitted by the Katharoi Communion." Missol explained, and properly so for the first time.

"So then, our true allegiance is a secret? Do all the people here know?"

"Yes, but the laypeople do not." Missol said, rubbing her chin. "Ah, I was supposed to tell you this later. Oh well."

"To the outside world you're just a normal fortified monastery for keeping an ancient and terrible evil contained, is that correct?" I asked, and Missol nodded, "But in reality, you're an evil cult that sacrifices children in vast quantities and practices heresy."

"How do you know a word like heresy?" Missol asked, only to realize what she was admitting to, "Yes, we are heretics, and yes we did sacrifice a great deal of children, but we are no worse than the nobles of other fiefs."

"How is that? You're killing people by the thousands."

"The war has not been kind. Ever since blood magic became commonplace, nobles have regularly been rounding up the poor, the displaced and the enslaved to use as living magic reservoirs. They are used up to the very last drop of their life." Missol said, her expression hardening. "And for trivial gains. A few miles into demon territory. May as well be for nothing."

"What do you mean demon territory? War?"

"You know fancy words like heresy, but you don't know about the war?" Missol asked, genuinely confused. "There is a war against a new type of monster that appeared twenty or so years ago. They came from the north, after a shooting star shattered the moon, and we've struggled since. They were thought defeated when their king died ten years back, only for them to come back about a year ago.”

"The moon wasn't always like that?" I asked, actually shocked.

"Did you think it had been bleeding like that forever?" Missol darkly laughed. "I remember when it used to be a beautiful milky white. You remind me of a miserable truth. One day, all of us will die, and only children who have never seen an unblemished moon will remain. You really will think it's always been that way since time immemorial."

We were now in front of the grand altar, made from beautiful wood, gold and marble. Curiously, I did feel some power emanating from it. "Where do they fit into your theology?"

"Outside context thing. Some alien God from another universe or the devil or something. The theologians continue to debate over it." Missol shrugged, "I don't much care for the idea, to me they’re just more monsters to kill. Anyway, this is the primary basilica, but we can clear it out to act as a main dining hall for feast days, and in the event of a siege, it becomes an infirmary."

Missol pointed to the opposite side, where a pair of tall doors remained shut, although there was a smaller, normal sized door cut into one side and left open. "That leads to the narthex, which acts as a guard room during a siege, and beyond that the atrium where the main gate lay, and outside that is the world."

She continued to explain the layout and structure of the main hall and side halls, mentioning their military function and largely ignoring their religious meaning and the mythology behind the imagery. I could only guess why this relief depicted a man being stoned to death, and another which showed a woman calmly being immolated. It felt both very Roman Catholic, and strangely alien, like it had been interpreted through the cipher of another culture.

Our tour continued to the first level and below, which was where the kitchen and servants quarters resided, as well as the primary well. Somehow they were pumping water from the Dungeon, and when I asked Missol why, or even how, she said "I have no idea."

Below the basement, where there was mostly storage, lay the actual Dungeon itself. She brought me before the grand gate where I had escaped from merely a week ago. It was heavily guarded, with a post of fully armed and armored warriors conducting regular and rigorous patrols.

"The first two levels of the Dungeon are relatively safe and do not change much, so we use it for storage and to house prisoners, like a normal dungeon. It is helpful in that it’s bigger on the inside than on the outside."

"Prisoners like me?" I asked, and she nodded.

"Some. The refugees we took in were kept in a village on the mountain. I will take you there later." She explained as we left those dark places and returned to the surface.

Back above, we went through the aforementioned atrium and main gates, and into the courtyard proper of the castle. We continued our tour, where she showed me the barracks, where the majority of the nuns and monks were housed. I learned that the Stone Solari was a military religious order, and that every monk or nun I'd met was actually a capable and trained warrior.

She showed me the gardens, gazebos and the central fountain, which endlessly pumped water from the Dungeon using technology beyond Missol's comprehension. There was the secondary eternal adoration chapel, where someone could be found praying at all times.

Across were the Chosen Halls, another barracks packed with lecture rooms and other training facilities. This was where I would be staying, once I could be trusted to stop trying to run. None of the hundred or so Chosen could be seen, as they were currently in lecture. It made me wonder if Javier with his future sight knew I would be passing by at this hour.

We continued our winding and aimless tour to the blacksmith and ferrier, the sound of their hammering ringing clear. Eventually we reached the stables, where she chose a great black mare and said "Loiel, meet Lydia. Lydia, meet Loiel. You're both brown haired, your names both start with an L, you're both animals, so get along well."

The horse gave me a lick and a neigh. I would've found it endearing, had I not smelled disgusting. She mounted me on the horse, and situated herself behind me. After exchanging a few brief words of thanks with the stablemaster, we rode out, following a rough path that snaked around the mountain and through the forests. The feeling of crisp forest air was a welcome change from the dank and smoke wreathed atmosphere of the castle. We rode for a couple of hours, leisurely stopping at a village to eat a little, and speak to the locals.

She left me seated atop Lydia while she dismounted and spoke to a group of old folks standing around a large boiling cauldron. There was some talk, brief and straightforward, and she returned bearing two mugs.

"It looks like something is going around stalking in the forests.’ Missol said after returning from a brief conversation with a group of villagers. "They've been finding the corpses of deer and other large animals. It might be another dragon."

"Like the Wheezing Dragon?"

"Oh, no. That one was special. We've been trying to kill it for years." She said, passing me a cup of a warm soup. "We call their kind Skull Dragons, and there are sadly many more of them. The only good thing is that most don't live to reach that size. As I said, the Wheezing Dragon was special."

"What do you even do here, Missol?" I asked, "I cannot tell what your job is."

"Oh, did the Bishop never give you my title? I am the Castellan, lord of the castle and of this land, in feudal tenure to the Bishop." She said, sipping on her cup, "But in practice I just go around sniffing out problems and fixing them."

"You do what you want, then?"

"Afraid so."

"Why have you brought me out here?"

"We're going to see your friend. I figure you haven't had a chance to say goodbye."