The kDira's World Anthology

by K R McClellan

  “He is but a boy,” Guller tried to reassure his friend.

  “You did not see how he looked at me,” Elick protested. “I swear, one night I will find him standing over me as I lay in bed, with a bloody knife in his hand and the blood will have come from my neck.”

  “I think you need to discuss this in private with kDira and Agis. They need to be aware of every concern you might have about the boy as he grows older.”

  “I do not think kDira wants to talk to me right now. She is still pretty upset we let this go for so long without telling her about the provicy.”

  “Then I would keep track of everything you observe. I believe there will come a day that we will have to confront her about Malak. I don’t look forward to that day.”

  “Neither do I, old friend, neither do I.”

  The next morning kDira and Agis awoke to find Malak absent from the hut. His clothes were gone, but no clue as to where he might have gone.

  “This is strange,” kDira said, puzzled. “Where could Malak have gone?”

  “I will go around the village and ask if anyone has seen him. He could not have gone far in this town without someone seeing him.”

  “Thank you, Agis.”

  “He is my son too, right?”

  The young boy strode proudly through the woods, not caring a bit about the chaos he was creating in his village by disappearing. His purpose was simple: kill an animal and be declared a real hunter just like his sister. Taking a path that was new to him, he was carrying only a dagger that he had liberated from his mother as she slept. He was not going to be satisfied with an easy bow and arrow kill; he was going to meet his foe head-on, and kill it like a warrior, hand-to-hand.

  He felt the hilt of the dagger as it hung from the unornate sheath on his hip. He imagined it to be a large sword like his father had; one that could take down two warriors in one powerful swing. He imagined leading an army of Blackhorn warriors into battle with the Karn, or other foes that threatened his village. He imagined himself a hero. His mother and father would be proud.

  He walked steadily and confidently through the woods. Hours went by before he began to notice how far he had really gone. He slowed and decided to rest on a fallen log to refresh with some juice and dried chideer he had brought with him.

  Alone in the woods, he felt free of the stresses that he felt in the village; he felt like an outsider within his own family. He couldn’t wait to become a full-fledged kreb and go on scouting missions for weeks at a time, to live off the land and battle beasts in the wild. He hoped that in the future there would be war and he could prove himself to be a great warrior to the Queen Mother, his mother. He would be heralded as the savior of Blackhorn and would rise to be king of the land.

  It was then that he heard it. Somewhere behind him, he could hear rustling in the woods. Slowly he turned, hoping to catch an unsuspecting chideer approaching him. He couldn’t see anything at first and strained to see beyond the trees. He scanned the area, and suddenly felt as though he had made a huge mistake coming out to this place in the woods alone, and so young. The reality of the situation began to weigh on him, and his only thought was to run home.

  And then he saw it, slowly making its way towards him. He had heard of the great blackber; one had attacked his mother when she was younger. Now he could see one slowly coming towards him, on all fours; it was twice his height. As it drew nearer, the blackber rose up on its hind legs and let out a growl.

  Growwwwwlrrrrr!

  Malak pulled out his dagger and held it with two hands as he backed away from the approaching blackber. Having forgotten about the log that he was sitting on, he stumbled and toppled over it onto the ground with a thud. The blackber charged.

  Malak scrambled to get to his feet just as the blackber was upon him. With one mighty swing of its massive front foot, it slapped the young boy across the face and chest, sending his lightweight frame flying between two trees and tumbling across the leaf-laden ground. He lay there for just a moment but quickly realized that the beast was chasing after him to finish off its prey. With the dagger still in his hand, the boy stood up and faced the mountain of an animal as it landed back on all fours and charged.

  Malak dove to the side in an attempt to avoid the charge but the blackber was on him, knocking him to the ground. Again, it slashed at him with its clawed extremities, cutting into the boy’s side with five claws almost the size as the dagger that Malak was carrying.

  Knowing his life was about to be cut short by the massive black beast, Malak again sprang to his feet and plunged the dagger into the thick hairy chest of the monster. The blackber reached down to bite, pushing him back once again. But with the dagger still planted in the beast’s chest, doing so pushed the hilt of the dagger into the boy’s abdomen, and slammed it deeper into the chest of the beast.

  The blackber let out one more howl as it toppled over onto its side. It lay there grunting in pain, then finally let out its last breath. Malak stared straight up into the air and saw the blue sky through the towering trees. What a beautiful day, he thought. Nice day for a walk in the woods.

  As the blood drained out of the boy, the sky above appeared to become dim and gray. Malak lost focus on the trees and began to feel a cold chill come over him. As the world went dark around him, he heard or imagined he heard, a voice in the distance of his perception. It was an older man’s voice, gentle but firm.

  “Come, my young Prince, let me tend to those wounds.”

  cHAPTER 8

  Malak drifted in and out of consciousness many times, but then finally stirred. He was aware of another person there with him, but he could not focus on anything and found that the light shining down through the trees blinded him. He closed his eyes once more. He could hear the sounds of footsteps walking away from him.

  “Go home, young Prince. Go home.”

  When Malak opened his eyes again, he found that his wounds were wrapped in white linen, and it appeared as though the bleeding had stopped. He hurt from his head to his hips and upper thigh. His head had received three deep gashes, while his hips and upper thigh had taken the deepest wounds. Malak lay there on his back, looking up at the sky until he felt he had the energy to prop himself up onto his elbows. He looked around but saw no one there; just the dead blackber lying next to him.

  Malak sat up completely and scanned the woods with his eyes to find the man that had bandaged his wounds, but he could see nobody else. He pulled his bota bag from behind him and uncorked it. Putting it up to his mouth, the tangy juice soothed his dry throat.

  He looked over again at the blackber and smiled. “You didn’t get me, you beast! I killed you! I, Malak…King Malak!”

  He stood up, favoring his uninjured leg, and though his legs felt a bit wobbly, he managed to stand without leaning against anything. Once more he looked around him, but there were no signs of anyone else being there. Could he have dreamed it? Certainly, he didn’t dress his own wounds. No, it could not have been a dream. It was, at least, a very fortuitous chance encounter; an encounter for which he was deeply grateful.

  Malak looked around again, got his bearings, and started down the path towards the Blackhorn village. And then he stopped. He thought for a moment, then turned and went back to the blackber. Knowing he could not take the entire beast back to Blackhorn, he decided that he would take at least part of it with him for proof of his conquest. Still a bit woozy and weak, he realized that even just the head was far too large for him to carry. Instead, he grabbed ahold of the paw, the one that had ripped into his face, and began cutting it off.

  “It’s been a day and a half and still no sign of him,” kDira said in a panic.

  “The search parties will find him,” Agis said, with his hand on her shoulder. “You must trust them.”

  The two sat at a bench in kDira’s hut. Winter was keeping busy cleaning and tending to Charlomine. The family hadn’t eaten a proper meal since the previous morning when they discovered Malak missing. Winter had made it h
er mission to see that everyone ate something to maintain their strength.

  A pounding on the door of the hut broke the relative silence. A voice from the outside called into the house through the closed door.

  “Queen Mother, Agis! Ari and Omiroe have returned. They have found young Malak!”

  Agis and kDira raced to open the door.

  “They are at the main gate, Queen Mother.”

  They raced towards the main gate, where they could see Omiroe carrying Malak’s bandaged and bruised body.

  “Malak, what happened? Where did you go?” kDira asked, barely holding back her hysteria.

  “Went hunting, mum. Killed a blackber, like you,” the young boy said weakly.

  “A blackber? He must be hallucinating. Take him to the elders to get his wounds looked at. “

  Omiroe started in the direction of the healers within the elder community while Ari came to kDira and hugged her.

  “He was over half a day out,” Ari said, “walking in a daze. He barely recognized us when we approached. He had this,” she said, handing kDira the dagger Malak had taken. “And this,” she continued, producing the blackber paw, with claws that extended the length of a full-grown man’s hand.

  “Do you think he really…?” kDira questioned.

  “It looks like it. But my question is, who bandaged him up? He would have died with the wounds he has if they came from this blackber.”

  “There are many questions he is going to have to answer.”

  “Aye, Queen Mother.”

  Ari hugged kDira again, and they both stepped quickly to catch up with Omiroe, Agis, and the boy.

  When they reached the hut of the healer, all stayed outside except kDira and Agis. Malak lay limp on the table as the elder named Whetstone quickly began looking over the boy’s wounds. He did a poor job of hiding his shock at the extent of the boy’s injuries as he peeled away more and more of the bandages.

  “He is very lucky to be alive,” Whetstone said in a slow, gentle drawl. “His wounds are severe, and he may lose the use of one of his legs if it does not heal properly. Whatever it was that attacked him barely missed the major artery in his neck. It would have taken off half his face if it had not sliced through so cleanly.”

  “He said it was a blackber.”

  “The wounds would suggest he is not lying, but how did he escape with his life?” the healer asked. “Blackbers are not known to leave people alive. They tend to…”

  “Tend to, what?” demanded kDira.

  “Well… eat them. They are not just killers; they kill for food.”

  “He claims he killed the blackber. He has the paw of the beast to prove it.”

  “Remarkable. Go now; leave me to tend to his wounds properly. Then I shall like to hear more of the story.”

  “Of course,” kDira said, turning towards the door with Agis. Then she turned back, “Do your best, Elder Whetstone.”

  “I will, Queen Mother.”

  That evening, Malak was returned to the hut of kDira and placed in his own bed. With the help of some sleep-inducing herb tea that Whetstone had given him, Malak remained quiet and unconscious through the night. kDira sat near the boy’s bed, holding baby Charlomine as the girl dozed on her mother’s chest. kDira looked at her son as he slept, bandages covering most of his body, and wondered if maybe it was she that had driven him to this point, where he would need to go to such drastic measures to gain his mother’s, and father’s, affection. She vowed to show him more attention in an attempt to possibly right whatever wrongs she may have committed to cause this chain of events. And then she wept.

  It was near noon the next day when Malak opened his eyes and was truly awake. He looked over at his mother, dozing in the chair next to the bed, her head on the table that separated her chair and his bed. Malak didn’t want to disturb his mother, but when he moved ever so slightly the pain was so unbearable that he let out a small cry of agony.

  “Malak, you are awake!”

  “Mum, I hurt. I hurt bad,” the young boy whimpered.

  “I bet you do. What possessed you to pull a stunt like that?”

  “I wanted you to be proud of me like you are of Winter.”

  “Malak, you have plenty of time to make me proud. You don’t have to keep up with your sister.”

  “I’m sorry, mum.”

  “I know. You get better, then Agis or I will take you on a real hunt, and you will most certainly make us proud.”

  “But I killed a blackber! I did!” he said trying to rise up onto his elbows but thinking better of it as the pain shot through his body.

  “I know you did. That’s pretty amazing. You must tell me about the person that helped you out there. Do you know who it was?”

  “I never saw him. I was dying, I think. He sounded like an old man. I heard him call me young Prince. Why would he call me that? Blackhorn do not have Princes.”

  kDira paused. Could someone outside the Blackhorn walls know of Malak and his bloodline? The thought chilled her to the bone, and she suddenly felt the unmistakable need to shield Malak from the outside world.

  “I do not know, my brave son. Seems like a strange thing to call you, doesn’t it? Maybe he was just being nice. Maybe we can find him after you are better and reward him?”

  “I’d like that, mum.”

  kDira handed Malak a small cup of water to drink. “I will see that you get some broth and some bark tea to build your strength back up. You rest now.”

  “Mum…?”

  “Yes, my son?”

  “I am sorry. I’m sorry I took your dagger without asking.”

  “I am glad you had it. It saved your life. Next time, we will all go on a hunt and do it properly.”

  “Yes, mum.”

  cHAPTER 9

  In the months to come, Malak’s wounds healed without serious infection thanks in a big part to the aid of the elder Whetstone with his constant attention and application of salves and herbs and daily changing of the bandages. When the bandages were no longer needed, the wounds that the boy had suffered truly became evident. Most prominent were the three scars across the right side of his face that narrowly missed his eye and neck. Everyone around him in the village took on a whole new respect for the young man, believing to some degree that he had power over death. While some admired him, others feared and distrusted him all the more for his narrow escape from certain death.

  Malak himself had a strong new self-esteem, and presented himself as a man now, even though he was all but eight years old. The other kids that trained with him would not willingly spar with him, yet they loved to watch him spar with others. Often Winter would be his sparring partner because she felt he had enough respect for her now that he wouldn’t play dirty with her. She was right. But as far as Malak was concerned, he was a celebrity and a bit of an outlaw at the same time. And he liked it.

  Throughout the months of Malak’s healing, kDira sent out search parties to find the person that had helped Malak, not only to thank him but to find out his secrets as well. kDira wanted to know how much the stranger knew about Malak and Hayden, and if he was a threat that needed to be dealt with. The man was never found.

  In the autumn, kDira and Malak went on their promised hunting trip. Malak had requested that neither Agis nor Winter go on this hunt, as he felt that he and his mother would have a better time together without anyone else coming along. This time, Malak carried his sister’s bow, the one with which she had taken the chideer a year earlier. He had been practicing with it, and both he and kDira felt he was ready for the hunt.

  “Do you still feel pain, my son?”

  “Sometimes. When I turn a certain way, or when I cough or sneeze, but mostly not often.”

  “That is good,” kDira said.

  “I dream about that blackber. I dream over and over that I kill it again and again.”

  “You have a warrior spirit.”

  “I am ready to be a warrior, mum.”

  “Slow down, there, youn
g kreb. You have a lot of training to do and a lot of growing up to do before you can become a warrior. Enjoy being young while you are still young; your youth will be gone before you know it.”

  “Wait…”

  “What, Malak?” she said, scanning the woods quickly. “Do you see something?”

  “I hear something.”

  “What is it?” kDira asked, her voice getting quieter.

  Malak cocked his head. Then kDira heard it too.

  “Quick!” kDira hissed, grabbing her son’s arm. “We have to hide!”

  She pulled him off the path and down into some brush. Pain shot through him as he rolled onto his stomach.

  “Shhh,” kDira whispered.

  They lay there, listening carefully as the noises grew closer. These were not the noises that an animal makes; they were the noises of many warriors rushing down the path toward the pair.

  “Wolfpack,” kDira whispered. She put her finger up to her mouth to keep her son quiet. Moments later, several dozen males with face paint and wearing very little clothing, ran past in the direction of Blackhorn. They were carrying spears, swords, and bows, and some carried shields.

  When the last one ran past, kDira jumped to her feet, pulling Malak up with her. “Come, we have to hurry back to the village!”

  “What do they want, mum?”

  “They are after the Princess Mothers, and me if they catch me.”

  “But why?”

  “I do not have time to explain. Come on!” she insisted, running through the woods, not the trail that they had come in on; the trail that the wolfpack was using to advance on Blackhorn. “We have to warn the village! Run! Run fast!”

  At a full sprint, kDira took off towards Blackhorn, leaping fallen logs and ducking branches. Malak could not keep up no matter how hard he tried. His little legs could not match the stride nor pace that kDira was running and he fell further and further behind.