Outcast: Keepers of the Stone Book One (An Historical Epic Fantasy Adventure)

by Andrew Anzur Clement

  Shoving the message into his pocket, the Lord Major went back to reviewing the status reports of army units stationed within the Raj. He tried to focus on them. However, every few minutes, the sound of a new gust of howling wind would send him looking through the study’s rain-pelted window until the sky had almost turned from gray to black.

  He took a deep breath, then got up and headed for the front entrance of the house. Noticing his movements, the servants brought his two-horse carriage around to the front of the cottage. The older woman made herself ready with Pluckett’s hat and coat as he neared the dwelling’s front egress. The Lord of Yorkshire took them and moved outside into the driving rain.

  “There’s no need for the two of you,” he directed the men seated atop the carriage, one of whom held the reins for the horses that pulled it. “I’ll take it myself.”

  “Very good, sir,” one of them replied immediately. Both of the men climbed down onto the ground. They were clearly confused by the lord’s orders, but also glad at not having to brave the weather. Major Pluckett situated himself onto the carriage’s right side and, taking the reins in his hands, urged the horses forward.

  The ride took about twenty minutes. Having become thoroughly soaked during the process, Pluckett eased the carriage to a halt near the right side of the way in front of the bridge, which the note had mentioned. Climbing down, he moved to the small outcropping of earth that lay under it and waited. Given the wind, the bridge offered little in the way of shelter from the elements. It was all Pluckett could do not to shiver.

  He checked his pocket watch. It was clearly past sundown. The watch showed that he had been waiting for half an hour. The Lord Major had been about to leave when suddenly a figure, even darker than the space around him, appeared in the gloom.

  “Mister Pluckett, we have fulfilled our end of the bargain. It is now time that you fulfill yours.” It intoned the words without preamble.

  Pluckett huffed at the being’s choice of appellation.

  “I am His Grace, the Lord Major Pluckett. You will address me accordingly.”

  The figure moved slightly, almost seeming to bow, despite its indefinite edges. Then it said: “Only because we have ordained it. For a price.”

  “You claim one of my daughters still lives. If so, you can have her,” he graveled, hoping the show of annoyance hid the growing uneasiness he felt.

  “If you recall that, then you know it is not enough. She is not yet in our possession.”

  Pluckett recalled the contents of his conversation with a similar dark figure – he could not tell if it was the same one – a few months prior. He knew what he had agreed to. Yet, he automatically decided to try another argument before giving ear to whatever this figure sought to demand from him.

  “That,” he said slowly, “is not my problem.”

  “Maybe, but it is your responsibility. As I believe you also recollect, there is a role you must play for us in return for this oversight.”

  “Should I refuse?”

  “We have made your success, Mister Pluckett. Our Order can put an end to it just as easily. You may choose not to fulfill your end of this agreement. If you do, you will find yourself destitute and accused of high treason.” It paused for a moment, assessing his reaction. “You doubt us? Think of how suddenly your fortunes changed since our last conversation.”

  The knight swallowed, remaining silent for a moment. Finally, he responded.

  “Very well, what do you ask of me?”

  In response, the dark figure moved forward. It bent down and produced from its edges a package. The dark form laid the bundle on the ground. A bit over four feet in length, it was wrapped in black fabric, which protected it from the elements.

  Noting that the pelting rain seemed not to affect the shadow in front of him, Pluckett knelt down and lifted one of the folds of cloth that covered the package’s contents.

  Catching a glimpse of what was inside, he stood up, backing away.

  “What, exactly, do you expect me to do with this?” The major gestured towards the package with his right hand, as if accentuating his shocked reaction to the contents of what the Urumi laid before him.

  Again, the dark figure moved. This time, a small piece of paper appeared from its form, falling slowly onto the top of the object that the Urumi had deposited before the army officer. Before the parchment could get too wet, Pluckett snatched it from the top of the black fabric and held it close to his face as he read it in the dim light:

  23 Victoria Avenue

  Molesey

  “I don’t understand. What does this address have to do with…,” the major pointed again at the item laid in front of him, “that?”

  “Then, I shall reveal it to you.”

  In low tones, the dark figure explained what was expected of him. Pluckett frowned as he heard the instructions. He had no moral compunctions about what he was being asked to do. Yet, the thought of being caught unnerved him greatly.

  “After, you will wait for our further instructions,” the figure finished.

  “Further instructions? I would have thought that after I performed this task I would have absolved any debt I might owe you.”

  “In that, Mister Pluckett, you are mistaken. You have no knowledge of what we require in payment. But remember, what is given can be just as easily taken away. And then some.”

  Without another word the dark figure moved slightly. Then it was gone.

  Slowly, the Lord of Yorkshire hefted the item that had been left for him. He ascended the slope and placed it on the floor of the carriage. Then, climbing back to the driver’s position, he turned the horses and headed back toward his nearby cottage.

  Upon arrival, he pulled the carriage not to the front entrance, but instead to the cellar doors located along the left side of the dwelling. Quickly, he moved the object inside, down the wooden stairs. After, he carried it to a wooden cabinet built into the far wall. Laying the object lengthwise along its bottom, Pluckett shut the cabinet’s doors and locked them, sticking the key into his wet coat. Hearing voices, he turned. Two of his servants could be heard above. Having realized that their employer had returned, they were wondering why he had parked the carriage next to the cellar and was apparently inside, instead of bringing it to the front as normally done.

  Looking around, Pluckett spotted a rack of bottles on the left end of the cellar and moved toward them. Selecting a bottle of single malt whisky, he re-ascended the stairs to ground level, allowing the bottle to show as he came into the open. The servants looked up as they saw him.

  “Just a wee something to warm the innards.” Pluckett made a show of smiling as he said the words. Then he headed for the country house’s entrance.

  The Lord Major, knight of Her Majesty the Queen, was desperately looking forward to a change of dry clothes. And, knowing what he must do to keep his newfound titles, John Pluckett realized that he really could use a drink. Or three.

  Nineteen

  The dark cloud that was Bozhena reappeared in the partially collapsed barn where she had met previously with the two other Urumi. She immediately made her figure invisible. They would not be around, the Slav knew, having gone in pursuit of their quarry over the hills to the east.

  Focusing her thoughts, she detected the location of her fellow Shadow Warriors. Her arms began to move the cape that lay about her shoulders in their direction. But, before completing the motion, the descendant of the Lubomirski and Korczak lines paused.

  At least here, for the moment, she could be alone with her thoughts. Even while on reconnaissance missions for the Order she had been indentured to serve, Bozhena had found it necessary to force this part of her mind onto the sidelines.

  Now – as she did whenever she could – she allowed herself a moment of solace. If it could be called that: I despise what I must do. The sentiment resolved in her head, a mixture of Polish and Russian. Yet, I have no choice.

  Bozhena took a seat on a rude wooden shelf, attached to one of
the barn’s walls. She looked at the earthen floor. The Chosen had not made the details of what he was planning, or what he knew, clear to her. However, being more experienced than he, the Podole native could guess at the general nature of the consequences.

  She had helped Pluckett realize dreams previously out of his reach. Just now, the Urumi had given him what she could only assume was a means of bringing about the Fragment’s restoration to those who served the Dark Prince. Bozhena knew the success that the newly minted lord now enjoyed would only be temporary.

  Not that he merited his newfound status; the nature of what he had just agreed to do under the bridge near Hampton Court proved that in Bozhena’s mind. Eventually he would fall, she reassured herself. Insofar as the blond-haired warrioress was concerned, he deserved it. As had her own father.

  But for what? the question entered her mind. Why must I do this? For perpetration of the Dark Prince’s and his allies’ vengeful angst, which I must serve?

  In truth, she could understand the emotion well. And in principle, she had no compunctions about carrying out sentences that followed from such feelings, when deserved. After her upbringing, it had seemed intuitively to be a form of righteous retribution.

  However, the fact that their angst was directed so indiscriminately disturbed her. She hated Pluckett and all that he stood for. But, the thought of him laboring endlessly away behind a desk in some Lahori functionary’s office gave her greater pleasure than seeing him used to serve those who had enslaved her at Prince Lubomirski’s behest.

  As for the item she had given Yorkshire’s newest lord, Bozhena knew it would only further the agenda of the Order that she served despite her hatred, while consigning yet others to their clutches.

  Bozhena stood. A determined sigh crossed her lips as she forced the reverie back into the recesses of her consciousness. She was what the Transmutation had made her. There was nothing that could be done for it.

  With a flick of the fabric draped around her, the Slav transported herself to where the search of the Chosen’s advisors continued.

  ***

  Bozhena’s invisible aspect appeared in what looked to be a desert, characterized mostly by scrub brush and the occasional succulent tree, which had thick leaves arranged around branches in a tight conical pattern. She could not see the other two Urumi. But, close to them as she was, the blue-eyed Order member could sense her fellow adherents’ locations and movements such that she could perceive exactly what they were doing.

  One of them turned to face her, standing up from the patch of earth that both of them had been examining.

  “Finally, you return,” he said out loud.

  Bozhena looked around, making sure that there was no one in the vicinity who could hear their discussion.

  “The Chosen had a short mission for me. I have discharged it.” Though the Urumi knew each other’s exact locations in relation to one another, if an innocent bystander had been present, it would have looked as if the air itself were vocalizing.

  “Very well. What do you make of this?” He pointed to the ground.

  The blond-haired Urumi moved forward. She bent down, examining the contours of the soil.

  “It appears to be a disturbed patch of clay. Two sets of tracks merge here, each moving in an opposite direction; one moves west,” she observed. “What is your interest in it?”

  Bozhena perceived that the first of the two pointed in the direction behind where he was standing:

  “Those we were assigned to capture. They appeared to be headed in a northeasterly direction, on foot. Then, abruptly, they stop. Nearby, we found another set of tracks, horses, possibly three of them. They head back in the direction whence our quarry had come. They continue for a time in a vaguely parallel manner to them, before turning again.”

  “The tracks appear to merge with our quarry’s previous path, here. Beyond this, we cannot tell in which direction they went. Unless, for some reason, they somehow acquired mounts, moved in a large circle, and then decided to retrace their steps almost exactly,” the second of the two finished.

  “Show me where you say our quarry’s track stopped so abruptly,” Bozhena ordered, attempting to keep the impatience from her voice.

  “We do not require your assistance,” the first of the two said. Then, after a short pause, he added, “However, we shall give you one more opportunity to prove yourself.”

  In an instant, the two invisible forms were gone. Again, Bozhena mobilized her own cloaked pursuit. She appeared next to a large boulder, around which the topography looked mostly the same. Except, a large salt flat now spread out to one side of her, situated at the bottom of a shallow incline.

  The blue-eyed servant of the Dark Prince slowly circled the large red rock. The earth around it had clearly been swept thoroughly. It was, Bozhena had to admit, an admirable attempt to disguise recent activity in the immediate vicinity. Even to a more than casual observer, the soil patterns would have appeared to be a mere work of the wind.

  Bozhena knew better. Continuing to circle the rock, she eventually observed a small blot of dark crimson, which had begun to form near one of its edges.

  “Assist me.” Though the other two Urumi remained in the Chosen’s inner circle, both figures obeyed her with only slight hesitation. Digging slowly with their hands, they extracted one body from a shallow grave half under and half next to the boulder. Then another. After that, three more.

  “We must return to the location where I last met with you,” Bozhena intoned.

  “For what purpose?” one of her supervisors asked. “You saw. The horse tracks merely met those of our targets. Why would they come this way and then retrace their steps so clearly after such an altercation?”

  Because you missed something, Bozhena wanted to say. Instead, she countered:

  “Yes, I did see. Yet, the way ahead is clear.”

  “What you say makes no sense. It is small wonder that the Chosen dispatched us to assist you.”

  Bozhena grated her teeth briefly.

  “I see your point. In which direction do you suggest we head?”

  Both of the two Urumi remained silent; the blond-haired warrioress perceived that they were looking around as if attempting to glean some clue that they had missed on their first visit to the outcropping.

  “The one who carries the Fragment is a Thag. I know something of their tactics,” she challenged after a beat.

  “The Chosen has judged your abilities to be of less value than ours. Your offer was not solicited.”

  “Very well,” Bozhena responded immediately. “Then I will allow you the privilege of informing him that you have been unable to locate those who keep us from the Fragment.”

  She turned, moving her cloak about her as she prepared to leave.

  “Wait! You have not been given leave to depart,” the first of them of them yelled.

  Bozhena stopped.

  “What more do you require of me?” she asked, innocently.

  “You will accompany us back to where the sets of tracks meet.”

  The herbowina regarded the unseeable figure who had spoken the words.

  “Very well,” she said.

  “We allow you this chance only so you may prove worthy as a member of the Order,” he reminded her.

  Bozhena moved her cape about her as she prepared to return to the locale in which she had most recently met the duo of the Chosen’s servants. Before so doing she paused briefly.

  “You have made your reasons clear. I understand.”

  Then she was gone.

  After a moment, the remaining two Urumi followed, moving to pick up a trail they hoped would lead to the Order’s most sought-after prize.

  Twenty

  Nell stalked away from the main building of the school where she had been enrolled since her arrival in England. As the previous night had gotten colder, the rain had turned to snow; the white field in front of her seemed to glisten in the sun. It shone in the aftermath of the passing storm.


  Her first two weeks had started better than she had expected. The classmates at her new Episcopal, all-girls school were excited to hear her stories about the more exotic corners of their empire. Though Nell knew better than to reveal anything about India’s lost jewel, her characterizations of those she had met over the course of her upbringing and travels seemed to enthrall the other students. At least, for the first few days.

  Then Nell had heard some of the other girls, seated next to her, whispering during a math lesson.

  “A leopard that can turn into a person? She’s making that up.”

  “I know. And did you hear how she talks about the Africans she met? It’s as if she thinks they’re her friends or something.”

  “What did you expect? It sounds like her best friend was the son of some Russian refugee.”

  Nell could recognize the attitude from her time in Madras. But, never had she heard it so brazenly expressed within her own earshot.

  “Hey! Kali and Mea are my friends. Stas isn’t Russian. And Balu saved my life. Why won’t you accept that?” Nell’s response carried a plaintive note.

  “Listen,” one of the girls said, jerking her head back toward the new arrival, yet speaking as if Nell was not there, “she’s gone native.”

  “What a savage!” the other girl snickered.

  “Why don’t you believe me? You’ve never even left Eng…,” Nell asked the question in a slightly louder register, although at some point, she’d already theorized an answer.

  “Excuse me,” the instructor said, glaring directly at Nell. “Miss Rawlison. This isn’t some unwashed corner of the empire. Here, you are expected to pay attention in my classroom.”

  In the few days since, Nell’s treatment by her classmates had only grown worse. Between lessons, she had often overheard rumors about her uncivilized nature, and that of those whom she had known in the colonies. When she had tried to correct the record, her only reward had been a smattering of snickering before her presence was again ignored.