Outcast_Keepers of the Stone_Book One

by Andrew Anzur Clement

  Those skills had progressed even further, making her martial skills some of the most impressive in the village. At least, that was what Husain told her. Still not being allowed to leave, she had never actually tested those skills while fighting alongside members of the Sect.

  As she had almost every day since her Master had questioned her about the purpose of the Thags’ depredations, Malka wondered just what the story was that he had elected not to tell her. And, if she would ever be trusted enough to find out.

  Stepping out of Mira’s hut, Malka moved towards the approximate center of the village, where most of its inhabitants had already assembled. Husain stood in the center of the crowd. It kept a distance of about ten paces from him on all sides. As Malka pushed her way to the front, he began to speak:

  “Fellow disciples of the Black Goddess, I call you here today in order to bear witness to an important occasion. You know that those of my line have served as Masters of this Sect by command of the Black Goddess Herself, since its creation. You also know that my mate…,” he gestured to Hamda, a slim woman of about the same middle age as Husain, “and I have been unable to have children. It is a fact we have accepted. So must all of you.

  “Today, I name the one who shall succeed in my place after my passing.”

  The village was silent. It had been rumored for years that, having no offspring of his own, Husain would have to name a successor from a different bloodline.

  “Further,” the Master continued, “for the first time since before the oldest alive of the Thags can remember, I announce my intent to mark my successor with the Sign of Aghasi – the symbol bestowed upon the first Master by Shakti Herself.

  A murmur went through the crowd. This had been completely unexpected. Many looked around, wondering whom he would select. Many eyes fell on Malka’s chief detractor.

  “The individual I have chosen has shown exemplary martial skill in service to the Black Goddess. She has displayed remarkable understanding of our faith. Despite adversity, she has not wavered in the commitment she demonstrates to Shakti. I would be pleased to call her my daughter.”

  As Husain spoke, he noticed that Zaima, also standing in the front row of the crowd, was regarding him with increasing pride. He looked directly at her.

  After a moment, he spoke again without preamble.

  “Malka. Step forward.”

  The blue-eyed girl was vaguely aware of the commotion that exploded around her. She felt her legs carrying her forward towards her Master, although she couldn’t believe that she had heard correctly. As an established and well-liked leader, Husain’s power as Master was absolute. But, had he really selected her – a distrusted outsider to many in the camp – as his successor? Even coming from him, would the Thags accept it? It was common knowledge that Husain had acted as her personal tutor for years. However, many of those in the village remained convinced that he did so in order to keep the attempted escapee under close watch.

  As she approached Husain, Malka heard one voice pierce through the commotion. Predictably, Malka thought, it was Zaima.

  “This is madness!” she yelled. “How can you entrust the leadership of our sacred Sect to the only one among us who cannot be trusted even to quest for Shakti?”

  Murmurs of assent greeted the camp-native’s outburst.

  “Neither the judgment nor the decision is yours to make, Zaima.”

  “No,” Malka’s contemporary conceded, “it is not. But, how can you make such a decision? How can you, our Master, descended from the one anointed by Shakti Herself, not only hand the leadership of our Sect to one who has never proven herself on even one quest? How can you also ignore the evidence that she openly questions its sacred purpose?”

  Again, a good portion of the crowd offered rumblings of agreement.

  “You are young, Zaima; I will forgive your outburst. Once. Do not presume to lecture me on the purpose of our Sect.” Husain’s response was quiet, causing the assembly of villagers to stop talking among themselves, in order to hear.

  “I do not, Master. But maybe you could lecture us. You hear the voices of all those behind me. They are as confused as I am. I have worked all my life to become the best fighter of my generation. You have not noticed. Instead, you waste attention on this outsider, who will never be worthy to be called a Thag. And now...this? Forgive me, Master, but I am disgusted.”

  This time, no one else spoke. They did not want to risk coming as close as Zaima had to directly challenging Husain’s authority; while many might have agreed with the natural-born Sect member, they knew that there were at least as many who would support the Master no matter what they thought of his decision.

  “Allow me to assure you, Zaima, that at this moment, you have my full attention.” He paused for a moment, staring out at the assembled villagers. “You believe that Malka is unworthy of the honors I have bestowed upon her. Very well, you will have the opportunity to prove your case. Step forward, Zaima.”

  Looking to either side for some outward source of support, Zaima did as her Master commanded. Then, the Thag’s leader issued another proclamation.

  “The terms of the challenge will be simple. Using only your sashes, the two of you will fight. I will consider the one left standing at the end worthy to be my successor and of the Sign.

  Without hesitating, Zaima unfurled her sash from her right palm. Her brown eyes gleamed with zeal as she pulled it taut, gathering its excess with her other hand.

  Crouching as she did so, Malka grimly did the same, pacing slowly in an arc to the left. Her opponent could have mirrored her movement in the opposite direction as they circled each other. Suddenly, Zaima rushed forward, letting forth a feral yell. Malka sidestepped her easily. The circling resumed.

  “Do you think that you can get away that easily?” Zaima taunted.

  Malka did not respond.

  Zaima came at her again, sash raised over her head in a clear attack posture. The blue-eyed girl suddenly dropped her own sash from her left hand as her opponent neared her. Moving it upwards as she sidestepped, Malka grabbed the length of fabric between the hands of her challenger, who had intended to bring it around her head as she passed.

  The sudden force, focused so highly above Zaima’s center of gravity, knocked her feet out from under her. She fell, landing on her back. The force of the impact sent Malka staggering a few steps back as well; she found herself standing in front of Zaima’s prone form.

  Yet, this did not incapacitate Malka’s opponent. Almost immediately, as Malka closed on her, Zaima launched her feet upward into Malka’s torso, using the momentum to right herself as she did so. The camp-native leaped to her feet as Husain’s protégée fell, knocked to the ground by the impact.

  As quickly as she could, Malka skidded backwards. When she judged herself to be a sufficient distance, she kicked her feet up and outward using the same technique as Zaima had used to right herself. She noticed that her challenger was coming towards her; Malka needed to recover from the fall that put her in a tactically defensive position, toward one of the edges of the circle formed by the crowd.

  Letting forth her own wordless scream, Malka charged her approaching opponent. Leaping into the air, she moved past Zaima, catching the girl’s neck with her own sash as she arced towards the ground.

  She had underestimated the power of her leap. Malka’s momentum kept her moving as she hit the ground. The captured member of the Thag’s camp collapsed again on her back as she landed, her head thudding hard enough against the ground that the entire village crowd could hear the sound. Her eyes shut, Malka’s mouth let out a soft moan of pain.

  Smiling, Zaima stood from where Malka’s jump had knocked her only partially to the ground, the sash having slipped from around her neck as Malka fell. She approached, ready for the kill.

  Still suffering from the impact, Malka still did not move.

  The native-born Thag, her enemy since childhood, closed for victory, bringing her sash to close around Malka’s neck.
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br />   At the last second, Malka brought her sash up from the ground, where her hands still held it above her head, over Zaima and onto the back of her neck. She pulled downward while moving her own body sideways and upward. By using her opponent’s weight, their positions had become reversed.

  Malka tightened the sash, and felt Zaima’s breathing grow labored as the girl struggled for air.

  Husain’s protégée and chosen successor tightened her sash further. She held it taut as the brown-eyed Thag began to kick, struggling frantically in the throes of oxygen deprivation.

  Without warning, Malka slackened her grip, withdrew her sash from Zaima’s neck, stood and turned to face her Master.

  Zaima, confused, gasped for breath. She continued to lie in a prone position on the ground.

  “What is this? Finish it,” Husain demanded. His expression was as unreadable as always.

  Malka bowed deeply.

  “I have, Master. You said the victor would be the one left standing. I am that person.

  “You also once told me years ago that we must never fight each other, lest we fall to our real enemies. It is a lesson I have not forgotten. I will not kill a fellow Thag, even though she does not accord me the same distinction. If I have misunderstood, then allow her to kill me, that I may serve as an example. I will not resist.” A visible shiver wracked Malka’s body.

  Husain regarded her. “Such an event will not be necessary. You have understood my teachings.

  “Malka of Aghasi, future Master of the Sect of the Thags. Rise. And be recognized.”

  Malka stood, wishing that she were worthy of the great praise her Master had bestowed upon her.

  Later that evening, Husain’s mate heard a knock three times on the wall next to entrance of the village Master’s hut. Recognizing the cadence, she knew exactly who it was.

  “Enter, Malka,” Hamda called.

  Malka pushed aside the well-cured animal skin flap.

  “Husain is elsewhere. Wait for a moment. I will find him.”

  Hamda exited the hut.

  Momentarily, Malka stared at Husain’s altar to the Black Goddess. It was the most ornate in the village. Then she looked down at the fresh tattoo on her wrist: the Sign of Aghasi. It resembled an ax and a single word written in Sanskrit. It was the highest honor that one could receive among the Thags. Since arriving in their camp as a stranger, Malka knew she had achieved much. Yet, she felt undeserving.

  A short while later, Malka’s Master entered his hut, followed by his mate, who moved to a crude pitcher in one corner and laid two wooden cups of cool water in front of him and Malka as they seated themselves on cushions in the main living space.

  “Something troubles you, Malka.” As always, Husain asked the question as if it were a statement of surety.

  “Yes.”

  “What could it be? You stand now as the most decorated living Thag in the camp, destined to lead us one day.”

  “I know. But, half of the village – they now look at me with a special sort of disdain.”

  “Is that not understandable? There is your background to consider. Does any of this negate my decision?”

  “Of course not, Master…,” Malka paused, looking around the hut’s main chamber, “but there is something more.”

  “Yes?”

  “When I fell and lay on the ground, when Zaima came to finish me, it was not my intention to ambush her. I panicked. I erred. I overpowered my leap, failed to stop my momentum.” Husain’s successor looked at the ground. “I managed to recover at the last minute, come up with a plan. But, I intended none of it.” An increased desperation crept into her tone. “If I make these kinds of mistakes, ones you have taught me to avoid for years, what right do I have to wear this?” She held up her wrist.

  “You think the Sign of Aghasi is bestowed only upon the infallible.” Again, it was not a question.

  There was a short silence, after which Husain intoned, “Even the able make mistakes, Malka. But, the most able, as well, find a way to cull strength from the ashes of blunder.”

  Husain rose, and then added, “I will leave on a raiding party tomorrow.”

  Upon hearing the news, a wave of nervousness passed through Malka.

  “I will go with you?” she dared to ask.

  “You will stay here,” her Master replied.

  “I don’t understand. You have marked me as the next leader of our Sect. The first bearer of our most holy mark since Shakti bestowed it upon the first Master. Why do you still not trust me enough to allow me to leave the camp?

  “When, Malka, have I said that it was only a matter of trust?”

  “Forgive me, Master, but then what is it a matter of?”

  “A few seasons ago, I seem to recall that we discussed the theology of our Sect on a rise near that end of this camp.” He pointed in the direction where Malka remembered him having asked her questions, regarding her own about the function of their faith.

  Malka nodded.

  “You will remember that I informed you of a continuation to the story of the genesis of our Sect?”

  She nodded again, swallowing.

  “Malka. If I did not trust you implicitly, I would not ask what I am about to now. You recall that, when asked as to why Shakti would command us to take these items in secret, you surmised that the Black Goddess founded our Sect in order to aid Her in a great quest for a certain object of immense power.”

  “I remember.”

  “Then, let me ask you, what do you think will come of our Sect when that object is found?”

  Malka hesitated.

  “Shakti will take it into Her possession?” she ventured.

  “It may be a great deal more complicated than that. As you will one day lead our Sect, it is now time I told you of something else you must know. When Shakti appeared to the first Thag – my ancestor – he stayed behind and asked Her motives. Instead of punishing him, She bade the first Master go to what he came to know as the Invisible Circus – the hall of Her enemies – to glean the answer. It was there he learned the story of the true purpose of the Thags. Since then, every Master has watched over that truth and the mystic spectacle of the Urumi.”

  “The Urumi? Our enemies? You have been to this place?”

  “Yes, Malka, like all Masters of the Thags, we do so to keep track of what our enemies know. You too shall attend one day.”

  “May I ask, Master, what did the Urumi have to impart to the first Master of our Sect’s future?”

  “Ahhh, Malka,” Husain mused. “That you can know only once you have become its Master.”

  ***

  As Malka rode on, still tracking the footprints of her erstwhile captive, something occurred to her. She turned to Liza who now rode next to her.

  “How did you know?”

  “Know what?” the felinoid’s tone conveyed annoyance at the vagueness of Malka’s inquiry.

  The Thag raised her wrist to expose the tattoo of the ax and Sanskrit inscription.

  “How did you know what this meant?”

  “You mean how did I know that’s one of the highest marks your people give out? Simple. Arunesh and Zitar told me.”

  “They told you? How do they know about our Sect?” An edge of aggrievedness threaded into Malka’s voice. This level of casual disregard, she thought, was presumptuous even for Liza.

  “They know more than you might suspect. And apparently so do I,” was all the information the black-haired young woman chose to initially give in response. After a beat she continued, “For instance, from what else they have told me, I’d like to hear you try justifying why you took Henry prisoner.”

  Malka took in a deep breath. After a second, she marshaled her response.

  “There is an old legend among the Thags. If one encounters a person of light hair or blue eyes while questing for Shakti, that person must not be killed. Else, bad fortune will befall the Thag seven years in the future.”

  “Bull.” Liza replied immediately, as if she had kno
wn what Malka was going to tell her.

  The brown-skinned girl, whose native language was Tamil, looked around. Seeing no male bovine in evidence, she furrowed her brow, confused at her protector’s apparent non sequitur.

  “Bull?” the Thag asked.

  “Yeah. Bull. Crap. Hogwash.”

  Malka brought her horse to a halt and faced Liza. Although their quarry was on foot, the attention to detail involved in tracking required that they not move much faster than a human could walk.

  “How can you say that? That legend saved my own life!”

  “Oh, come on, Malka. We both know the legend you’re talking about applies only to European girls with light hair or blue eyes.”

  “You do not know what you are talking about. You are not a Thag.”

  “And I don’t need to be one.” Frustration became increasingly apparent in Liza’s voice. “Like I said, Arunesh and Zitar know more than you apparently might suspect. So, that brings me back to my original question: why did you spare Henry?”

  “I told you, the legend says….”

  “I think we’ve established that I’m not going to buy that story, Malka. We just went over this,” Liza scoffed. “Though, while we’re at it, what’s this crap you told him about being in your debt for life? The Thags don’t have any tradition like that.”

  Malka remained silent for a second, unable to deny what Liza had said. The blue-eyed Thag was shocked that her travel companion knew as much as she did about her Sect.

  Then the camp-raised girl said: “If you knew all of this, then why have you waited until now to confront me?”

  “Because, Malka, it was better if he thought you had some claim over him when you took him prisoner, even though we both know you were pulling it directly out of your backside. None of which, of course, answers my question about why the hell you did. Besides, just in general, when you have a captive it’s usually better not to let on that you’re having internal disagreements. Which, if you didn’t notice, was another thing that you weren’t doing such a good job of yester….”