THE POWER OF ANCIENTS
Chapter One: Maruli
Chapter One: Maruli
I am damaged.
Sometimes I hated my arm, my shoulder—the stares, the ridicule, the shunning…inescapable shame. Nevertheless, there I was, with my friend, the warrior, creeping toward the forbidden, the shaman’s shack—the sweet smell of rotting banana trees mingling with something burning 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 are a brave protector, Andos,” I answered, loosening his grip with my good arm and leaping forward, to the door. A decomposing body covered with flies greeted me, 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.
I reached through the doorway and touched one—smooth, soft, like it might easily crumble, cool, 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, bad boys. We—what had we done?
Sometimes I hated my arm, my shoulder—the stares, the ridicule, the shunning…inescapable shame. Nevertheless, there I was, with my friend, the warrior, creeping toward the forbidden, the shaman’s shack—the sweet smell of rotting banana trees mingling with something burning 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 are a brave protector, Andos,” I answered, loosening his grip with my good arm and leaping forward, to the door. A decomposing body covered with flies greeted me, 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.
I reached through the doorway and touched one—smooth, soft, like it might easily crumble, cool, 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, bad boys. We—what had we done?
