Outcast_Keepers of the Stone_Book One

by Andrew Anzur Clement

  “No,” Malka snapped. She stood up, taking a step back, almost as if in fear.

  There was a silence around the campfire. Then, Liza barked, “Come on, Malka. Tell him.”

  “What? You are the one who says that we cannot trust him.”

  “Don’t look at me. It’s you who’s trying to goad him into co-conspiring in a felony crime so that he can live in a cave for the rest of his life.”

  Malka looked at the satchel she kept slung over her shoulder even as she sat around the campfire, thinking of the time when her Master had finally enlightened her as to what she now suspected was the tale of the object she now carried. It was the first time she had attended the Invisible Circus.

  The Thag sat back down across the fire and met Henry’s blue eyes directly with her own. Then, she began to speak.

  “My Master imparted this to me only a few months ago,” she began “It was evening; I was in Mira’s hut, reading as usual. There was a knock on the wall….”

  ***

  “Yes, Husain?” Malka recognized the cadence. It was the same as her own when she called at the village leader’s hut: three rapid strikes, executed once in rapid succession. Still, Malka was surprised. They had spent their usual training interval during the morning, it being the end of the monsoon season. Usually she was free afterwards, insofar as she did not leave the camp.

  As she sat on a mess of rude fabrics, reading one of the hardcover books that had been recovered during the Thags’ quests – The Book of One Thousand and One Days – Malka wondered for what reason Husain was calling.

  “Enter,” the bearer of the Sign of Aghasi responded after a moment’s contemplation.

  Husain whispered from outside.

  “Malka, it is time for us to be going.”

  The statement startled the young Thag. She arose from the coverings that lay atop the earthen floor where she had been reading. Turning, she exited the hut to face her Master.

  Malka had never gone anywhere beyond the boundaries of the camp since her abortive escape attempt seasons earlier. The blue-eyed Thag attempted to keep the apprehension out of her voice as she responded.

  “Go? Where shall we go, Master?”

  “It is time I showed you something, Malka. With this mark,” he pointed at the tattoo that adorned her wrist, “you are ordained to become the next leader of our Sect. Come.”

  He turned about; his protégé hesitated for a few seconds, then she finally followed, catching up. Husain moved to a pair of horses that he had ordered left waiting at the edge of the camp. Climbing atop one of them, he gestured to the second. Malka hesitated.

  “What is it, Malka? I have taught you how to handle a mount.”

  It was true. As part of her training, Husain had taught her a variety of horsemanship skills. Yet, she had never put any of them into practice outside the camp. On some level Malka had always dreamed – in the abstract – of leaving. Now as the prospect of actually moving across its borders presented itself, she found that she was experiencing fear.

  “Very well,” she responded after a moment, leaping onto the second horse’s back easily as she had been taught.

  Slowly, they moved towards the camp’s only open ingress or egress. Malka had expected the guard standing at it to attempt to put a halt to their journey, due to her presence. But, Husain merely nodded at the man, and the guard offered her only a suspicious glare as she passed the narrow aperture that marked the border of the Thags’ encampment. It was the first time that she had been across its borders in almost a decade.

  Suddenly, she was outside. The blue-eyed Thag still followed her Master. But, from the back of her mind, the urge to escape made itself evident in her thoughts for the first time in the years since she had agreed to become Husain’s initiate. The thought of being around her own kind – she thought of the term generically – acquired a new allure in light of her newfound freedom.

  She set her gaze on the leader of the Thag’s Sect who rode ahead of her. Mentally, she quashed any such ideas.

  “Where are we going?” Malka asked.

  “It is time you experienced the Invisible Circus. At my last encounter, I was informed that there is an exhibition tonight. It is one I wish you to see.”

  “You know of this? How?” the half-breed asked as she moved to ride alongside him.

  “I acquired this at the last meeting.” Reaching into the pocket of the western pants he wore, Husain removed a small piece of paper. He handed it to Malka.

  On it, a snake adorned one of the upper corners. Its black visage appeared as though rearing its head to strike. Text below it read:

  A requiem for the Throne.

  “What of it?” Malka asked.

  “A requiem for the Throne,” he repeated. When his protégée remained silent, Husain continued. “You remember I told you of a continuation to the myth of the Thags, revealed by Shakti to the first Master?

  Malka nodded.

  “It has been passed down through generations in this manner. What you will see is the same spectacle, rumored to have been shown to every Master.”

  “But….”

  Quickly Husain turned leftward, onto a narrow path, wide enough for their horses to fit through only by single file.

  “Remember our path. You will need it to find the Circus again.”

  “But I’m not allowed to leave….”

  Husain ignored her; they kept moving. Every so often, at a large branch or large stone, they would turn – right, then left, and then left again – into an even smaller passage through the jungle. Finally, they arrived at what appeared to be a dead end.

  Malka’s Master stopped. Then, he pulled on a vine hanging from the left side of one of the trees. Impossibly, the foliage appeared to part, making evident a narrow passage.

  The two moved forward, into an immense clearing. The stars shone clearly above them. In front of the Thags, a crowd of dozens appeared to cheer. In their center, a large fire burned. The cheers grew louder. Malka and Husain crouched near the front.

  “Let it begin,” a seemingly disembodied voice intoned.

  From the crowd, a gray-bearded Tamil strode forth from the assembly. Sticking his hand into the flames, he arched his back in pain. Yet, the man did not scream. Looking more closely at him, Malka realized that his hand – though immersed in fire – did not burn.

  Then, the air itself around her seemed to luminesce. The Invisible Circus began.

  It started with a flash. Then the air, as if projected from the flames, seemed to resolve into an image: a man in a palace, clearly of ancient design. Dressed in a well-made sleeping robe, he was confronted by three dark figures. One of them held forth a box, which the man opened. Light shone from it, glistening off his blue irises.

  The flames made the air in front of them go white again. After, a series of battles ensued. The same man could be seen in each one, rushing ahead to vanquish his enemies. Each time, his arms were raised in triumph.

  Another flash of white.

  A younger man – yet the image of the man she had seen before – moved towards a range of high mountains covered with snow. The same box was in his left hand. He climbed the slopes and entered a cave. There he enshrined the box. The luminescent air of the Circus’s fire showed him walking towards the cave’s exit.

  Again whiteness.

  An army of men on horses – smaller and with more hair than the ones than Malka was used to – rode forth. They neared a city guarded by hardy stone walls. Over them, a keep and a building with two tall towers could be seen rising above. A trumpet call came from the town, sounding over the thunderous hoofbeats of its advancing invaders. As they grew near, the bugle call ceased abruptly, in mid-phrase.

  The scene changed just as the horsemen appeared poised to override the city’s defenses. The fire of the Invisible Circus again flared.

  For a second time, Malka saw the same box. This time an older man handed it to a stout woman, who had her back turned to the Circus’s spectators. The
man’s aged Asiatic features smiled sadly.

  A small burst of light.

  She saw the back of the same woman again, this time moving toward what was unmistakably the same high mountain range. Again the box was placed in the altarpiece fashioned for it by the South Asian man, who had first founded the cave as a sort of temple. Then, that same woman was pictured wandering into a tropical wilderness.

  The scene again went blank. Monochromatic light emanated from the fire. Without warning, more images resolved. Natives of the subcontinent fought one another. One man was shown to win battle after battle: then another who shared his aspect, and then another. After two more, Malka saw the construction of buildings she had seen pictures of in the camp: the Taj Mahal, the great fortress and Mosque at Lahore. She drew in a breath.

  Without a flash, the image jumped to show a frigate moored off a tropical coast. Skiffs landed men in red coats onto the beach. Increasingly, their aspects grew faded. The image overwhelmed as the fire grew brighter.

  The flames from which the vision emanated seemed to explode in front of her. Malka put up her hands, with the intention of protecting herself. However, no heat was to be felt. Lowering her arms, the Thag realized that the crowd had begun to murmur. Looking around, she noticed that the fire had been put out completely. The barest wisp of smoke wafted from it.

  Husain stood and moved to remount his horse, which stood calmly at the far end of the clearing.

  Malka moved for hers as well. They proceeded out of the narrow passage that had led to the clearing. Malka thought that the others were soon to follow. Yet, she could not hear any behind her. When the Thag looked about, no one was there. The opening to the clearing had closed completely.

  “Master?”

  “Yes, Malka?”

  “What happened to the others?”

  “They took other routes back whence they had come.”

  “And what we saw? That mountain range. Where is it?”

  “North of here,” Husain replied simply.

  “And what did they hide there? What was in the box?”

  Her Master remained silent. Now back on the main road, the two continued on without speaking for a few moments. Then Husain said:

  “Malka, that you can only be allowed to know once you have crusaded for Shakti, consecrated yourself as a member of the Black Goddess’s Sect,” he responded to her as if no time at all had elapsed.

  Malka sighed. “I understand, Master.”

  After another thoughtful silence, her Master stopped. Turning his horse, he looked her placidly in the eye.

  “Tomorrow we leave on an expedition. I would be honored if you would accompany me.” Placing his palms together in front of him, Husain bowed briefly. It was a gesture of respect.

  “Of course, Master.”

  The girl who had been brought to the Thags camp as a captive felt overwhelmed as much by her Master’s gesture of respect as she was by the pronouncement he had made. In the same manner, she bowed deeply for a longer period, her head almost reaching her horse’s neck.

  “Let us go back to camp. Hamda will prepare us dinner.” Husain turned to go.

  Malka still had questions.

  “Master, forgive me,” the girl called after him. “I remain curious. Where was the place in which the box lay? It must contain whatever our Goddess seeks.”

  Husain nodded approvingly.

  “That, you already know from the books brought back from our Sect’s quests. From their writings, surely you must know of Xanadu. But that is also not important. What we seek is no longer there.”

  “If not there, where is it?”

  The Master frowned.

  “Ah, Malka,” Husain responded as he had so often, “that is the one question which the Thags exist to solve.”

  ***

  The logs of the fire popped again as Malka finished speaking. She had stopped her account to Henry and Liza at the end of the Invisible Circus’s spectacle, not wanting to divulge what Husain had told her on the day before life as she knew it had been turned upside down.

  “Your Master? Who’s that?” Henry asked her. “And that Invisible Circus you talked about. What is it?”

  “Husain,” Malka responded, pondering for a minute. “I guess that he was like a father.”

  “Like one? What happened to your parents?”

  Malka glared at the youth she had captured. Her mien telegraphed a cold manner.

  “Um, Henry,” Liza intervened during the silence, “if you remember what I told you about minding your own business just after we first met, then I’m guessing that you can also recall what I told you about questioning Malka’s circumstances, questionable though they may be. Even if she does want you to embark on a life of crime, maybe you could at least adhere to that advice?”

  Henry sighed, directing his gaze to the ground. When he spoke, his voice carried a hint of indignation. “All right, okay? I won’t ask for details. But what went on at the Invisible Circus? I mean, what exactly was all of that supposed to show? Who were all those people? Where did all of this happen?” He turned to look at Malka.

  The Thag continued to stare at the fire. She shrugged once in simple acknowledgement of the questions Henry had asked. When it was apparent that she did not intend to respond, Liza piped up, speaking in an almost condescendingly singsong voice.

  “The first man Malka described was King Asoka, who lived in India over four thousand years ago. He was the first man to whom the Fragment was entrusted, as he was the first descended from Zitar’s celestial blood. Thus, he was capable of controlling its power. He used it to conquer a great territory. Then, with Arunesh as one of his advisors, he turned to peace. Before his death, the King entrusted his son to hide it in the mountains to the north of his kingdom.

  “More than three thousand years later, the Mongol horde spread across the steppes; eventually they conquered westward. The Society suspected: the son of King Asoka had let slip the Fragment’s hiding place. The Horde’s current leader had obviously found it. He was using it to expand the empire.

  “After his beloved wife had expired, the leaders of the Society appeared to Kublai Khan, then leader of the Horde. They convinced him to return the object to its hiding place. Aged, he tasked one of his nieces with the journey; she took charge of the object. Under increasing pressure to take a husband at court, the girl disappeared after she departed.

  “The final scenes which the self-styled warrior-thief described,” Liza cocked her head towards Malka, “depicted the rise of the Mughal empire, which ruled most of India before the arrival of the British.”

  “I know what it is,” interrupted Henry.

  “How do you know all of this?” Malka accused. While she had seen these events depicted in the Invisible Circus, the Thag possessed no such knowledge of their specific meaning.

  “Calm down,” the felinoid groused. “The Society has tracked this stone for thousands of years. Its information is relevant to my current assignment.” She let out a deep breath, then continued.

  “That empire was the latest manifestation of the Fragment’s power. And Zitar realized that. Appearing to him as a black apparition of herself, she commanded Akbar the Great’s grandson, Jahan, to relinquish its power. Realizing what might befall his world if the stone fell into the hands of the arriving British, the emperor did.

  Only he did not return it to the place in the mountains that Asoka’s son had fashioned for it, as the Society’s leaders had expected. All trace of it was lost. Though, rumor has it had the emperor had two maps made, which describe the Fragment’s location. And that of another unknown object of equal power, discovered where Jahan’s son sent the Fragment into hiding.”

  At the last sentence, Malka’s head jerked up briefly, before again lowering her gaze.

  “Where did he take it? Was the Fragment ever found?” Henry asked.

  “Yes,” replied Malka softly, refusing to look at him.

  “It was in Pondicherry. That’s in French India.�
� Liza again found herself interpreting.

  “I know where that is,” the Anglo youth cut her off, a bit of woundedness in his voice. Seeming to ignore him, Liza pressed on.

  “Your tan-skinned friend there,” she again indicated Malka with a flick of her head, “who’s staring morosely at the flames, is the one who now guards the object in question against the ones who first offered it to Asoka.”

  “You mean the Urumi?”

  Both of them turned to look at Henry.

  “You really think I haven’t heard you talking about them?”

  Silence greeted his question. After a bit he continued. “Fine. Don’t tell me. That’s perfectly okay too.”

  He stood, turning away from the campfire. Silence again assumed mastery.

  “Yes. The Urumi.”

  It was Malka who spoke. Her voice was almost a whisper. The brown-haired youth turned to stare at the mysterious girl who had captured him and who now turned her head to stare wistfully at the boy who questioned. She offered a small sad smile.

  “My parents. They are dead as well,” she said. The words contained equal parts of explanation and admission. Malka returned to staring at the fire.

  Following a moment’s contemplation, the Thag shuddered slightly. Then gathering her resolve, she stated suddenly: “We have a theft to plan.”

  “Seriously, Malka?” came Liza’s voice. “Tell us. Exactly how are the three of us supposed to rob an entire bank full of people without any weapons other than your almighty sash?”

  “As the Thags always have,” Malka replied, “with elements of deception and surprise.”

  “Such as, in this context?”

  “With your abilities….”

  “My abilities? You really think that if I change forms in front of an entire building full of people that’s not going to draw attention? Because, I guarantee you, rumors of it will draw the Urumi’s.”

  “If we get far enough…,” Malka began to retort.

  “Um, ladies? I think I have an idea,” Henry interrupted again. “What we need is a distraction.”

  Both women turned to regard him.