Clara Mandrake's Monster

by Ibrahim S. Amin

  "Is Clara in danger?"

  "I… I'll make sure she's okay. Promise."

  He forced a smile. Rayya returned it, but her lips quivered.

  ***

  "Damn Kharjis! Stop hogging the street!"

  "Two down! Good start, that!"

  "Where's your im-am, where's your im-am, where's your im-am over there?"

  "Kharji scum, going down! Kharjis, Kharjis, going down!"

  "Ha ha ha ha ha!"

  Shouts, songs, and cheers drew Clara. She jogged towards the din, away from the theatre. People ran with her and past her. Some laughed, hollered. Others growled like beasts. A few wore no expression, made no sound, but meandered along with the rest.

  A Kharji procession filled the street ahead. Men and women in white clothes marched past and bore two bundles.

  "Oi!" A cart driver slammed her palm against her seat. "Hurry up! Some of us've got places to be!"

  Several Kharjis glared at her. One spat in her direction. It fell short, but another cry went up.

  "Kharji scum!"

  A turnip flew from the crowd. It hit a Kharji's shoulder and the young woman whirled round, clenched her fists. A couple of bystanders backed away. But others jeered.

  "Come on then!"

  "Can't chop us up like you lot did in Traverd!"

  More vegetables flew. The Kharjis babbled in both languages. Some waded into the crowd, went for the missile-throwers. Dozens of hands pushed them away. One Kharji pulled his fist back to smash a man's face, but a masked woman yelled at him and he withdrew.

  That woman…

  Her! It had to be!

  Nearby, a boy held a box of onions. Wares or weapons? Clara didn't know and didn't care. She grabbed one. He might've shouted at her, but the chaos drowned him out. Clara hurled it.

  The onion spun towards the woman. She slapped it aside without looking, and Clara Mandrake glared. The Kharjis went past. Some of the bystanders got on with their business, drove their carts or carried their goods. But others surged after the funeral procession. Clara hesitated. A press of bodies swept her along and she surrendered to it.

  No wall or fence encircled the cemetery. The Kharjis filtered between the tombstones, towards their portion — where a hole gaped, and shovels protruded from a mound of earth like a hedgehog's spikes. The crowd spread among the graves but kept their distance.

  "Kharjis, in the ground! Kharjis, Kharjis, in the ground!"

  "Traverd!" Clara's voice broke through the others. Her eyes blazed. "Traverd! Traverd!"

  "Traverd! Traverd! Traverd!"

  "They killed my mum!"

  Clara took her glove off, held it in her mouth. She undid the knot, tugged at the bandage-mitt, dropped it at her feet. A little kid peered over her mother's shoulder. The infant's eyes widened. Clara put the glove back on and touched a finger to her lips. The mother carried her kid away. The child's face stared till it disappeared. Clara's claws twitched. If she got close to the masked woman, it'd only take a second…

  "Kharji scum, out of here! Kharji scum, out of here!"

  "Traverd! Traverd! Traverd!"

  A band of youths carried the taunts into the Kharji area. Several Kharjis moved towards them, but the masked woman called out and they picked up shovels instead.

  "Traverd! Traverd! Traverd!"

  "Murderers! You're all murderers!"

  "You killed my cousin!"

  The mourners worked together. Those with tools passed them on, but many used their hands instead of waiting. Shovelfuls and fistfuls of dirt fell together. Soon it was done.

  "Screw you and screw your goddess!"

  One boy darted closer than the rest. He lobbed a clod of earth and it exploded across a young woman's back. Grime clung to white cloth.

  "Ha ha ha ha ha!"

  The Kharji ran at him. He backed away, but she lunged, hit him in the face. His limbs flopped like a ragdoll's. The boy's head cracked against a gravestone. He lay there, didn't move, and crimson trickled on granite. People screamed. Half a dozen charged at the Kharji. She held her ground until other mourners pulled her back.

  "He's dead! They killed him!"

  A woman knelt by the boy. More clustered around her and the cry spread.

  "Get them! Get the Kharjis!"

  The crowd rushed over the graves. Someone knocked Clara and she bumped between several elbows. Taunts and war cries and shrieks for calm mixed together and it was all just noise. Fists flew. Shovels swung. Blood splattered on white and brown and everything else.

  Clara slid through them. Barged where she had to. Where was the masked woman? Where-

  A man smashed into her and she sprawled on the grass. She tried to get up, but a girl fell on her, pinned her down. Clara howled. She wrestled, and the girl groped at her face.

  "Sorry!" Blood smeared the girl's eyes. She stank of urine. "I'm sorry! Please!"

  Clara grunted and helped her up.

  "Traverd! Traverd! Traverd!"

  "Allatu Akbar!"

  The Kharjis were running. But it wasn't a rout. They moved together, one beast with a hundred legs, guarded their flanks and rear. Most of the crowd fled from them. The rest caught fists or forearms and tumbled.

  For several seconds there were only groans, sobs, and wails. Then the shouting started again. A new mob formed, left the injured and the cowards in their wake. Clara ran with them.

  "Kill the Kharjis! Kill the Kharjis! They murdered my mum! They murdered the Shimuds! They murdered everyone! Kill the Kharjis!"

  Another crowd had already gathered at the foot of the masjid's steps.

  "They're inside!" a woman said.

  "Tear it down!" A man threw a turnip and it bounced off the wall.

  "Burn them out! Burn them out!"

  "You lot, get back!" A peacekeeper ran in front of the mob, held her halberd across her chest. "Now!"

  Other men and women in black and blue tabards formed up beside her.

  "Those Kharjis killed my boy!"

  "Where the hell were you?"

  "Peacekeepers my arse!"

  "Wankers!"

  The middle of the crowd surged. Youths tussled, some in tabards, some in jerkins or bare-chested. Polearms shoved. A man took a shaft in the face, toppled backwards, but there wasn't room to fall.

  "Traverd! Traverd! Traverd!"

  "Disperse, all of you!"

  "They're murderers! Let us at them!"

  "Get back! We'll deal with them, but get back!"

  Heat washed over Clara's hood.

  "Watch it with that torch!" someone said.

  More flames lapped above people's heads. The peacekeepers yelled. Some tried to penetrate the crowd, but bounced off as though they'd run into a wall.

  "Look!"

  "They're coming out!"

  "Get them!"

  "Oh, hell…"

  Kharjis poured from the masjid, fanned out at the top of the stairs. Swords shone in the sunlight.

  "Go back inside!" A silver-haired peacekeeper banged the butt of her halberd on the ground. "No weapons out here. We'll-"

  "Keep them away from Allat's house." The masked woman turned her blade and its edge glimmered. "We'll defend it with our blood if we have to."

  "Damn Kharjis!"

  "Traverd! Traverd! Traverd!"

  More voices cried out, but fewer bodies pressed against the line of tabards.

  "We'll handle this," the peacekeeper said. "No more bloodshed."

  "They killed my son!"

  "Whoever did that will answer for it, but you'll disperse…" She turned back to the masjid. "And you Kharjis will take your swords inside."

  The Kharjis and the mob glared at each other. Clara's fingers itched. She wanted to plough through the peacekeepers, charge up the stairs. Rip the masked woman's heart out. But a forest of swords and halberds stood between them, and the Kharji would live. Burn more villages. Murder more people like Ella Mandrake and the Shimuds.

  Unless…

  Clara squeezed and s
hoved and elbowed her way through the crowd. People yelped and yelled but she kept going, pushing, hitting, till the mob spat her out at its edge. She threw back her hood.

  "Mawlana! I'm Clara Mandrake. Come and kill me."

  17

  Fatima's grip tightened around the sword. Her fingers sunk into grooves where another warrior's grasp had worn away the leather. She prayed she'd do that brother or sister proud.

  "For Yasmin," she whispered.

  Her gaze flayed the crowd. She pictured their vital points, the places her blade would spill blood and life. A woman's eyes met hers. Fatima glowered and she looked away. The Kharji grinned. Non-believers were cowards.

  "Mawlana! I'm Clara Mandrake. Come and kill me."

  The girl yelled at the edge of the crowd, and heads turned.

  "Barzik!" Fahmaia went down onto the next step. Peacekeepers flinched in the street. "That's her! The girl from Traverd!"

  Clara walked backwards a few paces, held her arms out to the sides as though she challenged the entire universe.

  "Kill me, mawlana. Kill me, like you killed my mum."

  "Get back!" The silver-haired peacekeeper levelled her halberd at Fahmaia. The others did the same. "Get back, or-"

  "Kill me now, or I'll leave Lemstras and you'll never find me."

  The girl backed away, and… Goddess! She actually smiled. Fatima prayed for such courage.

  "Go, mawlana!" Azim raised his weapon. "Allatu Akbar!"

  He leapt from the top of the stairs. Soared above the peacekeepers. Landed in their midst, roaring, cleaving. Everyone shouted. One man went down. Halberd points skewered the Kharji, but his sword still swung.

  "Allatu Akbar!"

  Other warriors sprang or charged down the steps. They crashed into the peacekeepers, into the crowd. Clara ran. Barzik Khan, the mawlana, and Jasmina skirted the melee and raced after her. A peacekeeper tried to intercept them, but another Kharji tackled her to the ground and they rolled amid the chaos.

  "Allatu Akbar!"

  A rock clipped Fatima's shoulder. Pain burst and turned to fire. She stormed down the stairs. An infidel hurled a torch, flames flashed over her head. Another threw a vegetable but it went wide. Then she was on them.

  "Allatu Akbar!"

  The man screamed and Fatima hacked his face. Her sword thudded instead of slicing, jarred her arm. But blood splashed and the man went down and Fatima cleaved, left and right.

  "Allatu Akbar!"

  A woman fled but there was nowhere to go. Bodies held her in place and Fatima slashed her across the back. The Kharji cut and cut and everything stank of bladders and bowels and smoke.

  Hands grabbed her. She twisted, kicked, bit. A boy yelped and she tried to chop his neck, but her sword caught on something. Pain lanced her side. Her legs crumpled.

  Fatima fell and her blood gushed and boots stamped on her hands, her shins. Tendrils snaked over the masjid. Yellow tongues lapped within its windows. She tried to shout, tried to warn the others. But an ocean flooded her mouth and black waves washed over her.

  ***

  "Either Lemstras has taken up football," Katrina said, "or there's a riot happening over there."

  A wisp of smoke rose above the rooftops. The wind carried it their way, along with the clamour. Silas frowned.

  "Should we go help?" he said.

  "We aren't peacekeepers. If we waded into a street battle, we'd likely as not catch one of their halberds in the gut."

  "Clara might've got caught up in it. Could be why she didn't make it to the theatre."

  "She'll go back home eventually. Better to wait for her there than fight our way through half the citizenry."

  "Yeah, I suppose…"

  They walked on. At the end of the street, a park sprawled in the sunlight. The monster hunters turned at its railings, but something darted at the edge of Silas' vision and he glanced, stopped, grabbed the bars. A girl sprinted over the grass. Two Kharji women came through the gates, chased after her. Swords flashed in their hands. A bearded man followed, but he stopped at the entrance and faced a pair of peacekeepers.

  Katrina was already vaulting over the railings. Silas went after her, shouted as they ran.

  "That's her! That's Clara!"

  Katrina swore. Then a second time, louder than before, and Silas joined her. Another figure hurtled across the grass, from the opposite direction. This one was purple.

  "Clara!" Silas waved his arms. "Watch out!"

  She glanced at him, but didn't change direction. Clara went straight for the monster and it went for her. Katrina and Silas sped up. The masked Kharji called out, pointed at them.

  "Jasmina!"

  The other woman peeled away from the chase.

  "Take her." Katrina gripped her bludgeon. "I've got the monster."

  Silas' right hand closed around his club. His left drew the dagger. Jasmina slowed at the same time as him. Their chests rose and fell as they took up their stances.

  "Stay back." The woman advanced, both hands on her weapon. "We have to do this. We won't harm you if-"

  The bludgeon lashed out. She tapped it aside with the flat of her blade, made a cut of her own. He caught it on the dagger. Metal clinked, clanged. War music. Jasmina thrust and he dodged, struck to break her blade. But she was better than that and steel slid away before he struck. She sliced at his face. Both his weapons rose and it rang out across the park. Sword, dagger, and bludgeon locked. Muscles strained. Their eyes met.

  Silas kneed her between the legs. Twice.

  She buckled. He stabbed her in the side of the neck, twisted the dagger. Blood spurted. Jasmina fell. Silas dropped his bludgeon and snatched the sword from her fingers.

  "Allatu Akbar!"

  The bearded man charged at him. Behind, two bodies lay by the gates. Silas grimaced and adopted a long blade, short blade stance. This Kharji didn't slow down as Jasmina had. He chopped mid-run, and Silas leapt aside. The man pivoted, lunged. Silas parried with the dagger, thrust with the sword, and steel sang. Silas drove his dagger into the opening. Its point stabbed at the Kharji's breast, hit his beard, and clinked. Silas' arm shuddered. The Kharji threw his weight forward, sword on sword. Silas tried to shuffle. A leg hooked his and he staggered, flailed.

  The Kharji slashed. Silas put up his sword. Metal grated. The Kharji's blade snaked around his, darted, and Silas cried out. Agony sliced the back of his forearm. His sword fell from his hand. The Kharji kicked his legs out from under him. Silas landed on his back, tried to roll. But the Kharji's boot stamped on his wrist, pinned the dagger.

  That mass of beard loomed above as the Kharji's sword came down.

  ***

  Katrina swung her bludgeon. The monster leapt back, hissed. She swept through the strike and brought the weapon round from another angle. Its claws raked at her face. She slipped aside but pain cut across her cheek, ripped through good skin and scars.

  They circled one another. The monster lunged and she snapped a hit at its forearm. It growled, snatched the limb back. If she had her sword…

  Katrina took aim. Perhaps a-

  Silas cried out. The girl howled.

  Katrina's gaze met the monster's. They both ran.

  Silas was on the ground, the Kharji above him. And that was Barzik Khan. She'd seen sketches of the warlord's damn face, and now it would haunt her dreams with all the others, because they were too far and she was too slow, just like last time…

  Katrina sprang. The sword came down. Steel struck iron and the note they made fluttered through her muscles. She shoved him back, away from Silas. Khan adjusted his footing. His eyes flicked, took her measure. He lunged and their weapons clinked again and again. The warlord's blade danced, too swift and sure to take the bludgeon's force straight-on. Katrina swung at his hands and wrists. His collarbone. Temple. Barzik Khan slipped or turned each strike.

  If she had her sword…

  Anguish pierced her abdomen, burst through her torso. The warlord twisted his blade and it gushed along he
r limbs. The bludgeon thumped on the ground. Barzik Khan's eyes flashed, because she was done. He'd killed dozens… hundreds? And he knew what his blade was doing to her innards, churning organs, spewing life from her body. Death was a formality.

  But she was Katrina von Talhoffer.

  She drew her dagger and it plunged through his left eyeball. He fell first, and she smiled at that. Then she was down too. Her torso raged at her, but pain didn't matter now.

  "Katrina!"

  Silas knelt, tried to staunch the flow.

  "Won't work," she said.

  The world fluttered, dark and light.

  "Keep your eyes open! Focus on me, okay? Just… Listen! That day, in the dormitory… I knew you were there. I let them talk, because… So you'd…"

  Her laugh rattled inside her skull.

  "I know. Made me think you might be cunning enough for this life…"

  This time the darkness clung.

  ***

  Clara ran towards Xerachus, but he was too far, the thump of boots on grass too close behind. She stopped, threw her glove aside. Turned and shrieked and clawed.

  The mawlana slowed down, pulled away. Talons ripped her mask and tugged the fabric. It shifted, blinded her. The Kharji leapt backwards. Clara darted in but the sword flashed between them, spun a web of steel while the woman snatched at the garment. She threw the cloth aside. Black script whooshed across her face.

  "Please. I'll make this quick. I promise you won't suffer…"

  "You killed my mum."

  Clara lunged. The mawlana cut. Her right hand caught the blade. Bones shuddered, scales scraped. But no redness trickled from Clara Mandrake's palm. All was black, from claws to wrist.

  "The djinn have tainted you. Let me-"

  Clara pulled, tried to wrench the weapon away. The mawlana kicked her ribs. Bone cracked, her lungs convulsed. Clara howled. She clutched the sword, twisted away from the next kick, shielded her flank. It bashed the side of her skull instead. She rolled on the grass. The world wobbled. Stars exploded. Clara got up, fell down again. Her head banged the ground and another galaxy erupted.

  She lay on her side. White and purple whirled before her. So beautiful… Pink too. And red. Smells spun around with everything else. Fur and fury and her mother's egg porridge…