Clara Mandrake's Monster

by Ibrahim S. Amin

  "An arrow."

  "Shall we go get him?" Parmeen said.

  "No. He died a martyr, doing the Goddess' will — as surely as if he fell in Traverd. Let him lie there, so Allat may look down upon him and smile when he meets her."

  Fahmaia went to the woman's body. Goo pooled where the top half of her head had been. Cords hung from her belt, and the dead man carried the same.

  "They killed our sentry," Fahmaia said, "but they may've wanted the rest of us alive."

  "Slavers?" Jasmina said.

  "Maybe. I've never heard of a slave-trade in this part of the country. They'd have to sell their captives far afield, or to those willing to risk the consequences…"

  She gazed into the night. Had the girl made it past? Or had they fallen upon her, bound her, carried her off the path and into their swamp?

  "There's a tattoo." Jasmina raised the dead woman's wrist.

  The design was obscure at first. A collection of shapes on the light-brown skin of her forearm. Fahmaia tilted her head, and they became triangle teeth inside an open maw. She went to the man's body, paused, then found his severed forearm. The tattoo was harder to make out on his black flesh, but it matched.

  "A bandit symbol maybe," she said.

  She tossed the limb off the hill. With her warriors' help, the corpses tumbled after it.

  "I'll keep watch for the rest of the night," Fahmaia said. "Sleep if you can. Tomorrow we'll find who did this, and take the Goddess' vengeance before they harry us again."

  ***

  "Stop staring and eat your breakfast, silly boy." Isley Darthun looked from the dog to Clara. "I don't know what's got into him. He must've taken a liking to you."

  "Yeah…" Clara Mandrake forced a smile.

  The dog lay in the corner and stared at her while Isley joined them at the table. Marvin shovelled bacon, eggs, and toast onto his plate.

  "Go on," Isley said, "before he gobbles it all up."

  Clara and Rayya claimed their portions, then waited for Isley and Tammie. Marvin looked at the girls and spoke through the wedge of toast in his mouth.

  "Dun wait. Breakfast's quick round 'ere."

  The table was half-empty. The farmhands were probably already in the fields, hard at work. Clara stared at the food and her lips twitched.

  "We can pick more apples. To pay for-"

  "Dun-" Marvin coughed and swallowed. Isley rolled her eyes at him. "Don't be silly."

  "You've got a long walk ahead of you." Isley glanced at Clara's plate, then smiled at her. "Make sure you eat enough. You'll need your strength."

  Clara bit into a piece of bacon and moved its salty sweetness around her mouth. She tossed the end of the rasher to the dog. After a couple of seconds, he sniffed it without taking his eyes off her. Then he devoured it. He continued to watch her, but that was okay.

  Isley went into the kitchen when they were done eating. She came back with a pair of bags that hung from cords.

  "Some lunch for the road."

  The girls thanked her and slung the provisions over their shoulders. In the doorway, Isley frowned at a grey sky.

  "It'll rain today. If you want to stay till it passes…"

  "Thanks," Clara said, "but we need to get to Lemstras."

  She took a step, paused, and looked back.

  "Ghadi…" She bit her lip.

  "I should see how she's getting on. She always likes my plum cake…"

  They both smiled. The girls walked to the road, and it carried them away from the farm.

  Rayya was silent for some time. Should she tell her about the dog? It was on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back. What did it matter? Just a silly animal…

  A droplet plinked on Clara's nose. One landed in her hair, then another. Soon drizzle misted the fields on either side. The girls sped up. The rain quickened too, pelted their faces and shoulders. Puddles rippled in the road. Rayya's stride lengthened, as though she could break through to the other side of the water. Clara matched her. It became a jog.

  But when Rayya's pace lapsed into a brisk stride again, then a slow one, the rain still endured. It cooled Clara's skin. Rayya hugged herself and rubbed her upper arms. A drop exploded on her brow. She flinched and lowered her head.

  Clara shielded her eyes. No buildings sat in the downpour. There was nothing around them but meadows and…

  She touched Rayya's shoulder and tilted her head towards it. Rayya nodded. They ran off the road, jumped over a patch where mud oozed in gashes. Water dripped from the fir trees' needles. It sunk into their hair and dribbled down their faces. But at least the copse kept some of it off them.

  They sat and sheltered there while the world drowned.

  ***

  Rain lashed the swamp, scoured its surface. But it didn't wash away the smell of decaying plant life. That thickened, as though the raindrops were made of the same foul water that undulated on either side of them.

  The earth squelched under Fahmaia's boot. She moved into the middle of the narrow strip, and the ground yielded less. Behind her, Jasmina blasphemed. The mawlana sighed but didn't chastise her. This place would've tried the patience of the ancient prophetesses.

  Fahmaia's foot sank. She stopped before the rest of her weight went into the step, then waved the others around that patch. They'd found the bandits' escape routes easily enough in the light. But the rain ate into them by the minute. At this rate they'd soon have to swim…

  The spur of earth snaked through the swamp. Ahead, where a line of trees cut across it, the ground rose. Once they got there, they'd be-

  She spun away an instant before she understood why. Her arm swung out, hit Azim on the chest, and knocked him back. He swore, then a second time when the arrow hissed into the water. The others yelled and drew their weapons. Fahmaia broke into a run.

  Her boots slashed the mud. The woman up in the tree fumbled with another arrow. She shifted on the branch she straddled, corrected herself. Rain beat down on her through the foliage and Fahmaia prayed it would ruin her draw, her aim…

  The shaft flew. Fahmaia leapt aside. The ground slid away underfoot, spilled her towards the churning swamp scum. She scrambled, waved her arms, threw herself forward. The balls of her feet caught something solid and pushed against it.

  Fahmaia rushed towards the trees. Narrow, mossy trunks. Was that woman a bird to perch up in one's branches? Stratagems flashed and clashed before her. If she made it past, the archer couldn't hit her. But the next arrow might take one of the others…

  Allat's Earring caught the raindrops on its edge.

  This wouldn't work. Couldn't. But it was too late to stop.

  "Allatu Akbar!"

  She swung the sword like a cavalrywoman slashing mid-gallop. Blade met wood. Then Fahmaia was on the other side of the trunk, and her speed drained away in a few more paces.

  The din of rain and swamp water swallowed any creak. The tree topped without a sound, but the archer yelled. She plummeted from its branches — little bigger than a child, though it was a woman's face that flashed by and disappeared in the splash. Branches crashed down after her. Green things on the surface surged in all directions, sloshed over her warriors' boots. They backpedalled in the mud.

  Fahmaia gazed at her sword. She'd seen it go through flesh and bone before. Even the leather armour around an enemy's breast. But this… Barzik Khan only wielded the weapon in battle. He'd refused to sport with it in camp and try its edge against wood or stone.

  "No mortal man should put the One Goddess' miracles to the test. I put my faith in them instead."

  Jasmina and Jamsheed stood by the water, blades in hand. But the archer didn't emerge. After a few moments, Fahmaia beckoned for them all to join her. Whether the woman had swum away underneath, drowned in the murk, or met a creature's teeth, that was in Allat's hands now.

  The Kharjis pressed on through the swamp.

  ***

  The apple yielded with a sweet crunch, and its juices mingled with the tang of preserved pork
in Clara's mouth. Rayya nibbled away on a slice of meat. Rain danced and shimmered across the landscape like ghosts.

  Clara gnawed the last bits off the core and tossed it among the trunks. A red squirrel stole it.

  "Do you think he knows?" Rayya said.

  "Huh?"

  "Sachin. About…"

  "Oh…"

  Clara tried to hold it all in her brain. Distances and routes, peddlers and mounted couriers. The ways knowledge might spill from Traverd into the world beyond. But how could she? She'd never even been past Ghadi's house before, and that was so close. She and her mother could've come through the forest with hampers, visited that kind woman and her baby, given her food and laughter and…

  "Maybe," she said. "I don't know."

  "If he's heard, he might think I'm dead too."

  Rayya sighed. Clara pulled her close, and Rayya rested her head on Clara's shoulder until the heavens quietened. Then she stood up.

  "Let's go. Before it gets bad again."

  They abandoned the copse and slogged through the field. The muddy patch was almost a bog now. They went around it, back to the road. Rayya's stride ate the ground. Her pigtail swung from side to side.

  They splashed through the smaller puddles, jumped or skirted bigger ones. Clara's legs pumped to keep up but her lips took on the ghost of a smile. When Rayya had a mission, she launched herself at it. If storming down the road kept tears from her eyes, if she imagined her brother weeping just ahead, so be it. Ducks, not chickens.

  Lightning split the sky and seared the corner of Clara's vision. The world rumbled. Rainclouds burst. It cascaded down, drummed against the road. Cloth clung to Clara's skin. Hair plastered itself over half her face.

  They ran, threw themselves into the tempest. But it battered them. Rayya moved close, shouted.

  "Need to find-"

  Thunder stole the rest. Clara nodded anyway.

  Fields rolled away in each direction. No trees stood against the deluge. Not even a bush or hedge to crouch beneath. They went on, and the rain washed them down the road.

  "There!"

  Beyond Clara's mask of hair, Rayya pointed. Clara slicked it back, splatted it atop her head. Rayya was already sprinting. Clara tore after her.

  The buildings stood far back from the road, and looked as half-drowned as the two girls. Water sloshed down their slates. It poured from a dozen places in miniature waterfalls. But smoke climbed out of a chimney and motes of light glowed behind shutters. They zipped past a barn, beyond the stable, towards a farmhouse.

  Clara knocked on the door. They both panted.

  Lightning flashed. Harsh brilliance painted everything, and Clara blinked again and again to dispel it — but afterimages stuck to the inside of her eyelids. She raised her fist to knock again.

  The door flew open and a voice boomed with the thunder.

  "What do you…? Huh."

  Phantoms flashed around a burly torso, broad, hard features, and a tuft of grey hair. Lencia stared down at her. The woman from the road looked at Rayya, then her eyes swept the space above their heads. She chewed.

  Lencia stepped back and waved them in. The girls looked at one another.

  "Hurry up. Letting the cold in."

  They entered and she shut the door. A bolt thudded into place behind them.

  ***

  The scream echoed through the dying rain. Fahmaia moved towards it and her warriors followed. If that was the girl's voice, if the bandits were hurting her… The mawlana's eyes narrowed. She gripped her sword, tore through the tangled foliage.

  Men and women cried out. Were those empty noises, or words from a tongue she didn't know? Wrongness thrummed in each sound or syllable.

  Trees encircled a clearing and a cluster of huts. Fahmaia crept among their trunks. The others did the same, quiet as mountain cats. She rounded one of the hovels and the central space lay open before her.

  A naked man sobbed and clutched the red stump at the end of his elbow. He let out a squeal that might've come from a wounded pig. Men and women in rough garb jeered at him. They shoved him towards a cage where a few people lay or squatted. All were undressed. None were intact.

  Another of those alien cries reverberated through the clearing. This time it came from a single throat. The man brandished a sword, raised it aloft as he roared, and his belly undulated as though it yelled too. A forearm rested on the wooden block in front of him. Burnt flesh capped its end.

  Invisible insects crawled along Fahmaia's limbs.

  The sword came down. It rose and fell again before the first thunk faded. Two new scars marred the wood. Wisps of steam drifted from five severed digits, but no crimson trickled. The swordsman gathered the fingers in his fist. Some yards behind him stood a totem pole, a stack of five faces that were mostly jaws and teeth. He laid a finger in each maw.

  Fahmaia turned and Jamsheed's gaze met hers. His eyes flashed, muscles rippled. She nodded. There was no sign of the girl, but…

  The mawlana gestured, gave the others a moment to prepare, and charged. She was on the first idol-worshipper before the woman looked round. Allat's Earring slipped through her back and pierced her heart.

  Shouts rang out, and this time she understood them. The bandits, the blasphemers… whatever they were… scrambled. An axe flew at Fahmaia's face, spun end-over-end. She cut it out of the air, lunged, and opened the thrower's chest.

  Jasmina grabbed the squealing man. She dragged him out of the way, then thrust at the nearest foe. Metal clanged.

  "Allatu Akbar!" Jamsheed vaulted the chopping block and went for the swordsman.

  Fahmaia moved to support him, but a spear point thrust at her face. She twisted, lopped one way then the other. The weapon's head and the woman's fell in opposite directions. Just an instant of steel and slaughter, but Jamsheed had already closed with the swamp priest.

  The young Kharji struck. The idol-worshipper jumped away, gulped. His cheeks puffed and a torrent of bile spewed out. The goo caught Jamsheed full in the face. He stumbled backwards, shouted for a split-second, then sputtered. The stench hit Fahmaia like a slab of spoiled meat. Her gullet convulsed and she didn't know if she'd vomit too. But she ran towards them, yelled a war cry to draw the priest.

  He didn't even glance at her. His sword slashed and the blow spun Jamsheed around. The Kharji's neck gaped. The smell of cooked flesh wafted as he fell.

  Fahmaia chopped at the priest. Allat's Earring came down to split his skull, part his brain. His sword flew up. The blades clashed.

  "Allat!"

  "Grush-ka's balls!"

  Clouds of dust drifted between them. A million grains slipped through Fahmaia's fingers and the idol-worshipper's. She blinked at her palm, turned her hand. Grey powder seeded the damp air. It puffed and bloomed.

  Impossible…

  The priest hurled himself at her. But without his sword he was just a fat fool, and she was the mawlana. Her first strike crumpled his throat. The second broke his nose. She knocked him down and went to where Jamsheed lay. Filth covered the young warrior's face, trickled into that second mouth. Fahmaia picked up his sword.

  Her enemy crawled towards the totem pole. Blood poured from his nose. Red fingers reached for the lowest visage. Fahmaia stabbed him through one kidney, then the other. She glanced over her shoulder. But the fighting was done, and the others stood near Jamsheed's body.

  A layer of dust coated the dirt. There was some on the priest's hand, where it mingled with the blood and formed clumps. She put down the sword and found traces of it in the grooves of her palm. All that remained of her holy weapon and the idol-worshipper's sinful relic.

  His djinn… demons… false gods… How had their gift, their sorcery, destroyed a true miracle? Only by the One Goddess' will. Allat's displeasure…

  Fahmaia strode to the cage. The one-armed man stood near it, but didn't look at her. He stared at his stump and sobbed. The others lingered inside, though the door was wide open. Two flinched from the mawlana, a man and
a woman. The third lay on her back, gazed at nothing, and mumbled. Her limbs ended at knees and elbows.

  "Was there another prisoner? A child?"

  The man shook his head. Both his forearms were gone.

  "No." The woman's voice rasped from her noseless face. One of her hands was missing its digits. "No kids."

  Fahmaia sighed. At least Clara hadn't fallen into their clutches.

  "What was this?"

  "They gave our fingers to…" The woman tried to point. She faltered for a second, then used her other hand. "Ate the rest. Said it'd make them strong."

  "Because you still lived…"

  She'd heard of such things. The abominations false gods and their worshippers inflicted on the world. Now Allat would destroy it all, unless…

  "Are you strong enough to walk?"

  "I… I don't know."

  Azim and Parmeen helped her from the cage. Maalam guided the man out. Jasmina murmured to the other man, who was sobbing again. Fahmaia waited till they were at a distance before she went inside and crouched by the last prisoner.

  "Can you hear me?"

  The woman's lips moved. Fahmaia put her ear beside them, but there were only noises. The mawlana's knife ended her suffering.

  "What shall we do with them?" Jasmina said, when she emerged.

  "Search these huts. Give them clothes, food…" She grimaced. "If they want to come with us, we'll take them to Lemstras. Otherwise, let them go where they wish. The way we came should be safe enough now."

  "Yes, mawlana."

  Jasmina carried her commands to the others. Fahmaia gazed up at the clouds. Allat had punished her, reclaimed that great gift. But her markings moved and the world lived. The One Goddess was merciful. There was still time to find the girl, make the offering, and spare all of creation from her wrath.

  But first, a token of their piety…

  "Find axes or maces." She pointed at the totems. "Destroy them."

  ***

  "Come." Lencia waited by the hearth. Flame and shadow shifted on her face. "Dry off."

  Clara almost grasped Rayya, held her back. But Rayya shivered and Clara stood still while she entered the firelight.