THE POWER OF ANCIENTS
Chapter One: Maruli
Chapter One: Maruli
I was damaged.
Sometimes I hated my arm, my shoulder. The judgmental stares, the ridicule, the shunning—all brought inescapable shame.
Nevertheless, there I was, with my friend, the warrior, creeping toward the forbidden, the shaman’s shack. Mingling with the foul smell of rotting banana trees was something that burned my nostrils. I gagged, recognizing the stench of decaying flesh. The courage that had brought me, gone. Still…a childlike fearless curiosity.
“Let’s get out of here, One-Arm,” Andos scolded, pulling on my crippled arm.
But, I had to know.
“You’re a brave protector, Andos,” I answered, loosening his grip with my good arm and leaping to the door. A decomposing body covered with flies lay exposed before me. Gagging in horror, I nearly fled, but next to it…next to it…my goal, the treasure that drew me despite terror and nausea—a pile of silvery stones. Quassani stones, magical and dangerous.
“Astaga,” I muttered. Pulling nervously on his lower lip, Andos echoed my expression of wonder, surprise, alarm.
I reached through the doorway and touched one—smooth, soft, like it might easily crumble, cool to my fingertips, even in that hot place. I grabbed the nearest one, rolling backward into a hobble toward the thick jungle, my strong comrade keeping pace. We—what had we done?
Sometimes I hated my arm, my shoulder. The judgmental stares, the ridicule, the shunning—all brought inescapable shame.
Nevertheless, there I was, with my friend, the warrior, creeping toward the forbidden, the shaman’s shack. Mingling with the foul smell of rotting banana trees was something that burned my nostrils. I gagged, recognizing the stench of decaying flesh. The courage that had brought me, gone. Still…a childlike fearless curiosity.
“Let’s get out of here, One-Arm,” Andos scolded, pulling on my crippled arm.
But, I had to know.
“You’re a brave protector, Andos,” I answered, loosening his grip with my good arm and leaping to the door. A decomposing body covered with flies lay exposed before me. Gagging in horror, I nearly fled, but next to it…next to it…my goal, the treasure that drew me despite terror and nausea—a pile of silvery stones. Quassani stones, magical and dangerous.
“Astaga,” I muttered. Pulling nervously on his lower lip, Andos echoed my expression of wonder, surprise, alarm.
I reached through the doorway and touched one—smooth, soft, like it might easily crumble, cool to my fingertips, even in that hot place. I grabbed the nearest one, rolling backward into a hobble toward the thick jungle, my strong comrade keeping pace. We—what had we done?
