Dreams of a Red Horizon

5 - Hosea

I shook and adjusted the wool cloak wrapped around my body, attempting to close any openings against the cold mountain winds that tugged at it. I tucked my chin into it, blowing air into the space between the cloak and myself, warming my cheeks if only for a moment. If I had time, I'd start a fire but the old man would be here soon.

I looked out from the small gap in the cliff wall that I took cover from the wind behind. Beyond the mountain path I had ascended lay a valley surrounded by sloping hills. Stone towers and homesteads dotted the valley below. Tall clouds stood guard over the land like otherworldly knights in the deep blue sky. I had been to this world several times before, but the loving and artful touches still caught me staring. I had to remind myself that the world I stood in was only in my mind.

It wasn't long before I could hear the shuffling feet and the ancient song of the procession as they approached the spot on the path where I waited. Within a few moments, I saw them pass by me one by one. When I saw the old man among them, I stepped out.

He turned to face me, and he smiled. "Peace, my son!" He quietly said in excitement, and clasped his arms around me.

"Peace to all," I said, returning the required greeting he had taught me. I avoided his gaze by looking at the procession.

"Shall we join the others?" he asked aloud.

I nodded my head and we followed the group of a dozen men ascending the mountain. As we did, the peak came into reach. Jagged rock edges frosted with snow knifed out from the mountain as if they could stab the sky. To our right, a sharp cliff shot a hundred feet high. Rocks and pebbles clearly marked the path that led to the summit. Tufts of grass, weed, and mountain bush fought for survival in the rough place. A few flakes of snow lightly blew through the mountain pass like they were dancing with the wind. I exhaled sharply at the sight.

The men wore black robes, as did the old man and I. The man in the lead's cloak was ribbed with red, and in his hands he held a chain attached to a decorative lantern containing burning incense. He swung the lantern back and forth like a pendulum. Behind him another man carried a rope wrapped around the neck of a ram, who followed obediently and silently. Those that knew the old tongue sang a slow mournful song that bounced off the walls of the cliff and the summit rocks. My mother had taught me the language when I was a boy, but I had long forgotten the words and their meaning.

If it were any other language, I could easily download a translator app from the net. But, according to the old man, the rebels had sworn to never let such a technology to exist; saying that there were some things that should remain sacred. It must have been a war to get these people plugged-in, I remarked to myself.

As we passed a turn in the trail, the temple on the summit came into view. The rock structure stood carved into the mountainside like a natural formation. In front of it stood large bowls containing the flames of burning oil and incense. The rock and pebble trail gave way to steps carved into the mountain that led up to the temple.

We entered the temple's courtyard where a large fire burned on the altar. A man wearing a robe matching the one who led the procession, another priest, stood waiting for the group. He took the ram from the man who had led it up the mountain. The song stopped as the priest led the ram to the altar, and rose his head towards the sky. He bellowed out a long cry in the old tongue.

"He's praying," the old man said as he leaned over to explain the ceremony for my benefit. "A traditional prayer."

As the prayer ended, the priest turned his eyes to the animal. Tears poured out of them, as he began to speak to the animal.

"He's apologizing," the old man continued his explanation. "That we couldn't be better men. That the animal has to die for our sins."

The priest drew a sword from his cloak and with one sweep cut the ram's neck. Blood spattered across the altar as the procession stood around it unmoving. The two priests began to remove the animal's skin, then separated meat from the carcass and put it on spits to roast over the fire. The smell of roasting flesh soon filled the room. The room was silent except for the sound of the fire and the priests quartering the animal.