Zhou took the lead, but Po quickly yelled to him. Zhou turned his head to look at his friend, but even with only a few feet between them he could not here what Po tried to say. Po gestured off in to the distance.

A man walked through the blizzard snows. He loomed massively even through the haze. His chest was bare as were his legs beneath the knee. His skin was a sickly yellow in color and almost translucent in its paleness. He stumbled towards them. He seemed confused, unable to walk straight.

Po rushed across the snowy field towards the stranger. Zhou wanted to call his friend back, to return to the relative warmth of the monastery. He knew Po wouldn’t hear. He could not go inside without his friend, so Zhou followed Po towards the stranger despite his apprehension.

As they closed in on the sickly stranger, Zhou could see the man was even larger than they first thought. He stood nearly eight feet and his shoulders were as broad as a mountain. His muscles rippled as he stumbled forward and caught himself with one hand. Zhou could see the blood pump through the man’s veins as he did so.

His deathly pale skin was heavily scarred in dozens of places, but no sign of wound covered his frame. His waist was slim, almost too slim, and his ribs were visible as he continued to move.

The stranger could several more rough steps before sinking to both knees. He looked up at Po and through rough yellow-gray lips spoke. “Help me.”

Po grabbed the massive man under one arm and pulled him slowly off the ground. He looked to Zhou and nodded to the big man’s other arm. Zhou reluctantly walked over to the giant man. He threw the massive arm on his shoulders. Together they hauled the massive man to his feet. The stranger struggled to move with them as they walked to the doors of the monastery.

*****

Hours later, Po and Zhou found themselves in the massive meeting room in the center of the monastery. Few were allowed in to this inner sanctum, and those that were did so only at the bidding of the Council of Seven. Each member of the Council arranged themselves in to a loose circle on raised dais designed for each of them. Their heads were bowed as each meditated. Some chanted quietly; some remained silent.

The massive stranger lay on a cot in the center of the room. Candles burned in a circle around him. They would serve to keep his body warm while also strengthening the chi, the life force, which seemed broken inside him.

Po and Zhou stood outside the circle, heads bowed. Neither said a word. They had never been allowed in the inner chamber before this time, and for each of them the experience was awe inspiring.

After hours in silence, the oldest and wisest of the monks, known only as the First of Seven, raised his head and looked at the unconscious stranger. “He awakens.”

The stranger stirred on the pallet. Slowly he raised his head, then his shoulders, from the ground. He opened his eyes and looked around the room. He said nothing as his head rotated to take in the seven figures that surrounded him.

The Seventh of Seven, a tall skinny monk with a long gray beard, rose from his seat and stepped down on to the stone floor. “Welcome, stranger, to sacred Shambhala. You have traveled far to visit with us today.”

The massive stranger’s eyes narrowed. “You speak English?”

“No, bless me, no. You have just discovered one of the many wonders of Shambhala. Our city sits on a conjoining of the world’s ley lines. The earth’s power flows through us now even as we speak. The blessing of tongues is just one of many gifts granted us.”

The stranger pushed himself up to his feet. Standing, he towered over the masters even in their raised seats. “How did I get here?”

The Seventh shrugged and stroked his beard. “Shambhala calls out to those in need of it. You must have traversed many miles to end your journey outside our mountain abode.” He gestured towards Po and Zhou. “Two young students found you nearly naked and freezing outside the doors. They carried you here before us.”

“Why…” He shook his head, fighting to clear it. The words rumbled through his skull, but refused to come to him. Frustrated anger boiled inside his skull. When the words finally rose out of him they came with hot bile. “What do you want with me?”

The Third of Seven, a younger monk with a greenish tint to his skin, rose from his seat. “The Council of Seven is not here to judge you, friend. All who find their way to Shambhala are welcome in its walls. You may stay here as long as you wish. You may work and learn if you will, or you may retire to your chambers at any time. The people of Shambhala live in peace with themselves and with nature. All we ask is that you do the same.”

The stranger glared at the man. He unclenched his jaw to speak. “Peace is not in my nature. I was made to destroy, to maim. It is in my blood. It burns down to my very core and erases all that is good and pure.”

The Third bowed his head. The First rose from his seat. “I sense much rage in you indeed. What brings you to such levels of despair and hate?”

The stranger shook his head. “My creator made me this way. He made me and all I could feel was hate. Hate for him, hate for all he loved. Hate for a world that would let such as me exist.”

The Seventh gasped. “I know not what path you follow, but you should not talk about your god in such a way.”

“God? God?” The stranger chuckled, not a humorous sound, but a cold, sadistic sneer of a laugh. “I owe my existence not to God. I owe it only to a man. A man who took it upon himself to create me. To unleash me on this world. And no matter how I try, I cannot die. I have walked through the icy abyss of the Arctic. I have thrown myself from mountains, walked through fire. Nothing I do can stop my rage from destroying everything around me. I will always exist and I will always bring chaos wherever I go.”

The First nodded. “I see you need us more than you can ever think. We will help you. We will center you. We will bring you from this rage. Let us ease your pain.”

“Ease my pain? I killed my creator’s family. I killed everyone that came between him and me. And eventually, I killed him. Surrounded by ice, I murdered my creator with my bare hands. He knew not what he did, knew not the monster he unleashed upon the world. And for that Victor Frankenstein had to die. Do you understand? Do you understand what I am?”

The stranger lumbered towards the First. Even standing on the raised dais, the diminutive monk only reached the monster’s chest. The First held his ground. He showed no fear at the massive figure before him.

The massive stranger swung a fist down at the First’s skull. The monk slipped to his left at blinding speed, just narrowly avoiding the blow. His hand shot up and forced the stranger’s hand down. “You will not succeed in your fit of rage here. We will not allow it. We hold the power to stop it. And we hold the power to help you control it. All you must do is accept.”

The stranger dropped his head down and released a deep breath. “Though I know you will fail, I cannot resist the hope your words bring to me. I will join you.”

The First nodded almost imperceptibly. “What is your name, stranger?”

“My creator didn’t see fit to name me. In hindsight, perhaps deservedly. But I am the first of my kind and I am a killer. I can think of no better name for myself than Caine.”

The First nodded again. “Welcome, Caine, to Shambhala.”

Zhou stepped forward. “Master, you cannot allow this outsider, this Westerner, in to our city. He doesn’t belong!”

The First looked down at the younger monk. “Any who find their way to Shambhala are welcome. You know this, young Zhou.”

“His is an abomination! We should destroy him now before he can corrupt us; massacre us like he did his people.”

“Enough, young Zhou. We will be at peace with the stranger, whether you approve or not. All are welcome.”

Zhou fumed, but he said nothing else.

The First dropped down from the dais. He reached up to pat Caine on the back. “Come with me, Caine. I will personally show you to your chambers.”

*****

Over the next several weeks Caine threw himself in to the training. He practiced the daily katas with the other students and quickly learned much of the martial ways of Shambhala. At the same time, the Council taught him the art of meditation and self-focus. He learned that in a meditative state he could block out the anger and fear which provoked his rage. He realized that for the first time there may be hope for him.

He listened and learned under all Seven of the Council, as well as many of the other monks. Everything he did in the temple he took as a lesson to learn. Often he was harassed by Zhou and several other young monks, whether it be at lunch or during katas. But he kept his rage away from them, instead channeling it in to the destruction of the property of the monastery. He refused to leave the temple itself, always retiring to the small chambers he called home when he wasn’t training or eating.

The first few weeks frustrated the giant. His focus increased ever so slightly with each attempt, but the slow process of meditation only angered him. But personal lessons with the First helped him to understand the force the monks called chi. After two months, he suddenly found the connection within himself. He could feel the chi course through his body, feel it flow out of him and in to the world. The rage still burned through his energies. Now more than ever he could feel it boil beneath the surface. But for the first time in his existence he felt a peaceful calm as well.

Just over two months after his arrival, a knock came at the thin bamboo door of his chamber. Caine rose from his seat on his pad. He opened the door and looked across the hall at the First of Seven. “What? Why are you here, master?”

“I wished to speak with you, young Caine.”

“Young? I am nearly as old as you, master.”

“Young in mind, if not in body.” He chuckled to himself. “Should you remain here you might also find that age is more subjective than you realize.”

Caine spoke not a word as he tried to grasp exactly what the First of Seven meant by his words.

“Now, young Caine, I am here to talk to you about the martial tournament tomorrow. It seems that you have been challenged to single combat, unarmed, in the first round.”

“Who? Who would challenge me?”

“Apprentice Zhou is the challenger. It seems like his dislike for you has not ebbed.”

Caine knew the First’s words to be true. On several occasions during training he and the young monk found themselves at odds. Whether it be a simple trip attempt during morning tai chi chuan or a blatant attack past his guard during sparring, Zhou seemed dead set on angering the giant. He succeeded often enough as well. On both occasions and several others, he attacked Zhou after the fact. The apprentice monk served as his greatest challenge to his quest to control his rage. “I won’t do it, master. I don’t think I can control myself on the battlefield with him.”

The First nodded. “I suspected you might see it that way. As a member of the order being challenged by another monk, you are required to answer his call to combat. It has been our way for centuries, and we will not stop it. However, if you feel it is too much for you to handle, you may leave the order at anytime. You can become a commoner here in Shambhala. Your job will change, but you’re welcome in the village will never fade away.”

“Thank you for the kind offer, master. But I know my place remains within the order. I will accept the fight. I only fear that Zhou does not know what he is doing. My rage…”

The First patted Caine on the shoulder. You will do just fine, son. You must only believe in yourself, focus yourself, and you will find that you can accomplish what you seek.”

Caine couldn’t believe the First could be so foolishly naïve. Still he respected the man, so he only nodded in return.

“Rest, Caine. Tomorrow you will face your demons, one way or another.” The First gave him a wry grin before sliding the door shut between them. Caine sat back in his bed. He wished he could believe in a god, any deity at all. For he suspected a prayer for Zhou’s safety would be in order. He could not.

Caine sat back in bed and contemplated the purgatory of his existence for the remainder of the night.

*****

The ritual battles were a grand tradition in Shambhala. Citizens by the hundreds flocked to the large rock and brick square in the center of the enclosure to watch the monks do battle. Despite the raging winter outside the walls, the city remained dry and warm. The locals thought nothing of it, and Caine gave up trying to explain the mysteries of the city months ago.

Several one on one fights came earlier in the day. Most seemed to be tests of skills between rivals or light hearted contests among friends. Caine knew he would see nothing of the sort. Zhou would be out for his blood, and he would have no choice but to answer in kind.

Po came up to him just as two younger monks, neither over twelve, ended a brief sparring session as a draw.

“It is time.”

Caine only nodded. He thought back to his creator, Victor Frankenstein. Victor brought him in to this world only because he could. Only to prove to himself and the world that the creation of life was possible. He had no thought about the lives of those around him or of the creature he designed. Or the rage, the malice, that Caine carried deep in his soul. Caine wanted nothing more than to rid himself of it, but time and time again he found it forced back to the forefront. He hated himself for it, but he knew change did not come easily.

He wondered if change could come at all for an ungodly creature as himself.

Caine looked around the square. The Council of Seven was in attendance. They sat in a neat row on raised seats behind the crowd. The First of Seven gave him an almost imperceptible nod. Caine nodded back as he walked to his place across the square from Zhou.

Zhou stared coldly at him. He gave Caine a sneer as the bigger man bowed.

“You deserve no honor, westerner. You deserve only death.”

Zhou took his fighting stance. Caine recognized the mantis position from their training exercises. An older monk stepped between them and sliced his hand towards the ground, the signal to fight.

Zhou lunged forward with a flurry of blows that Caine could barely see. Despite his two and a half feet height advantage and his immense endurance, Caine could feel every hit the young warrior landed. He staggered back and dropped to one knee.

Zhou stepped back for a moment. He sprung from one foot to the other as he gave Caine time to regain his feet. Caine tilted his neck until it cracked and beckoned Zhou back towards him.

Again Zhou sprung forward. Again Caine could not keep up with the flurry of punches and kicks landed on him. He swung wildly around, but Zhou ducked under his attack. Caine’s anger grew. Zhou ignored it. The speedy young monk delivered a hard kick to the back of Caine’s knee. It buckled and Caine fell down to one knee.

“Yield, outsider! Yield and swear to leave Shambhala forever!”

“Never!” Caine rose upward and threw his hands forward. Zhou’s cockiness got the better of him. The attack surprised the young monk and it struck Zhou hard in the chest. He flew backwards and crashed to the hard stones of the battlefield.

Caine rose back to his feet and surged towards the smaller man. He could feel the anger broiling beneath his skin. It burned to escape, burned to crash down on Zhou with a terrible fury.

Zhou performed a kippup to get himself quickly to his feet. He cried out as Caine’s fist flew towards his skull. The onlookers gasped as they saw his impending death. Zhou’s eyes twisted shut as he awaited the killing blow—

Moments later, he opened his eyes again. Caine’s fist hovered over his skull. The monstrous westerner panted heavily as he glared down on Zhou.

“Do it,” Zhou said. “Finish it.”

“No,” Caine said. “I’m better than that now. I can control my rage, my anger, thanks to the masters’ teachings.” He lowered his hands to his side and bowed to Zhou.

“No! It’s not over until one of us is dead!” Zhou lunged towards Caine. His palm angled towards Caine’s temple, a killing blow.

The entire battlefield vibrated around Caine. Zhou flew suddenly to his left as though pushed by some invisible force. Zhou crashed to the stones as the crowd scattered to allow him room to land.

Caine turned to see the First of Seven standing on his pedestal, his hand raised. He nodded towards Caine.

“The winner is Caine!” The crowd cheered and several younger students gathered around him. Zhou sat on the stone floor, untouched and alone as his friends and fellow monks celebrated around the westerner. Rage broiled inside him. He would see the foreigner pay, one way or the other.

*****

Six weeks later…

Caine stood at the gates of Shambhala. Several younger students surrounded him. The First and the Seventh of Seven sat some distance away, as always, on their raised seats. Caine walked away from the gate to stand before the First.

“Are you sure you wish to leave us, young one?”

“I am sure, master. Though I do not doubt there is much you could teach me, you have given me the gift of humanity. For that, I thank you a million times over. But I have a place in the world outside here. I just need to determine what that place might be.”

The First nodded. “Go with peace, my son.”

“And you as well, master.” Caine turned towards the gate. Several younger students pulled the gate’s doors open. Wind and snow ripped in through the gates and towards Caine. A pair of female attendants helped Caine in to a massive fur coat.

Before he stepped out in to the blustery snow, Caine looked back at the First for a moment. Again, the ancient sage gave him a slight nod. Caine nodded back before he turned and walked back in the outside world, another life ahead of him.