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, the inescapable shame.
Nevertheless, there I was, with my friend, the warrior, creeping toward the forbidden, the shaman’s hut. Mingling with the foul smell of rotting banana trees—something that burned my nostrils. I gagged at the stench of decaying flesh. The courage that had brought me, gone. Still…a fearless curiosity. After all, I had spotted him carrying a large object, slipping through the forest on unused trails as if to avoid attention. Between the folds of the cloth covering his burden, the hint of glitter. That could only mean one thing. Determined to prove it, I pressed forward.
“Let’s get out of here, One-Arm,” Andos scolded, pulling on my crippled arm.
But, I had to know.
“You’re braver than this,” I scoffed, 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 rumored treasure that had drawn me—silvery stones—Quassani stones, magical and dangerous.
“Astaga,” I muttered.
“Astaga,” Andos hissed, echoing my surprise as he peered over my shoulder. Then, he sprinted back to the dying banana trees.
Teetering on the brink of indecision, I glanced over my shoulder at Andos whose frenzied waving signaled his desperate plea to retreat from the doorway.
Urgency pushed me over the edge. I reached through the opening and touched one—smooth, soft, like it might easily crumble, cool to my fingertips, even in that hot place.
Floorboards creaked from the opposite dark corner. A silhouette loomed amidst the shadows.
Grabbing the nearest stone, I leapt back through the door, diving into 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, the inescapable shame.
Nevertheless, there I was, with my friend, the warrior, creeping toward the forbidden, the shaman’s hut. Mingling with the foul smell of rotting banana trees—something that burned my nostrils. I gagged at the stench of decaying flesh. The courage that had brought me, gone. Still…a fearless curiosity. After all, I had spotted him carrying a large object, slipping through the forest on unused trails as if to avoid attention. Between the folds of the cloth covering his burden, the hint of glitter. That could only mean one thing. Determined to prove it, I pressed forward.
“Let’s get out of here, One-Arm,” Andos scolded, pulling on my crippled arm.
But, I had to know.
“You’re braver than this,” I scoffed, 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 rumored treasure that had drawn me—silvery stones—Quassani stones, magical and dangerous.
“Astaga,” I muttered.
“Astaga,” Andos hissed, echoing my surprise as he peered over my shoulder. Then, he sprinted back to the dying banana trees.
Teetering on the brink of indecision, I glanced over my shoulder at Andos whose frenzied waving signaled his desperate plea to retreat from the doorway.
Urgency pushed me over the edge. I reached through the opening and touched one—smooth, soft, like it might easily crumble, cool to my fingertips, even in that hot place.
Floorboards creaked from the opposite dark corner. A silhouette loomed amidst the shadows.
Grabbing the nearest stone, I leapt back through the door, diving into the thick jungle, my strong comrade keeping pace. We—what had we done?
