The Ruins of the Lost World

by C K Burch

  “Quiet,” Dust hissed. Perhaps Jack held some information that might have been useful in a more diplomatic situation. This, however, was not that situation. Dust understood the implications of Karaang's body language, and he knew very bad things were about to transpire. Understanding this, he kept his eyes locked with the beast's gaze, he slowly moved to his right, away from Jack. He would need space to move.

  Dust and Karaang stood in the middle of the street, facing each other. Muffled, anxious sounds of the demons above drifted down. Shuffling, growling, whispering; the whispering was the bit that rose the hair on Dust's body. These creatures were highly intelligent – language, communication, formation, hierarchy. Not mere primates, but somewhere between ape and man. Dust did not feel fear so much as he felt knee-deep in an unknown situation without the slightest understanding of what to do. An audience was gazing upon this sight, a makeshift coliseum as it were. Gladiatorial imagery whirled through Dust's head, and he swiftly realized what was going on: Karaang had assembled its legion to prevent him from escaping one-on-one combat. But why? All Dust could do was stare at the demon leader and try not to appear as confounded as he was.

  Karaang saw right through him, and grinned malevolently. Then its face twisted into righteous fury, and it raised its mace to attack.

  Dust rolled to the right, just barely out of the path of the offending mace, which struck the pavement with such force as to crack the stone. Impressed and shocked, Dust attempted to regain his footing, but Karaang was faster: it lifted the mace and swung it outward in a horizontal arc, forcing Dust back down to the ground. The swish of air over his head gave Dust an impression of how much force would collide with his skull should he be foolish enough to take his attention away from the weapon. All around him now, the audience of demon monkeys began chanting, low and rhythmic at first, but soon in quicker time and in higher volume. Karaang, Karaang, Karaang, came the chant, mingled with words in their language that, frankly, Dust was trying not to give attention to as he had other things on his mind.

  He got to his feet, stumbling backwards in an attempt to wrestle control over his movements. Karaang watched with a mirthful grin on its face, and faked a step forward, which gave Dust a flinch as he regained his footing. Karaang then chuckled and danced back and forth on its feet, passing the mace between hands playfully. It raised its hands to the crowd, which reacted gloriously: hails and cries of Karaang's name between hoots and hollers of encouragement.

  I'm being toyed with, Dust realized as he fought to catch his breath. The beast could have ended his life with either of the first two swings, and yet had held back to see what Dust was capable of. Only then would it end him with some speed. Which meant that Dust had to play mouse to the cat – were he to do otherwise and turn the tables, the horde would no doubt descend upon him and that would be possibly the more painful outcome of the two. Unless he had a decisive way out, which currently was not something he had up his sleeve.

  Karaang moved forward again, slowly, circling round Dust's position, growling softly. Dust moved in the opposite direction, matching pace for pace, his eyes locked with his opponent. He dared not look away, not yet, as he could sense the guardian measuring his reactions quite closely. Perhaps they'd been watching him evade the Venture crew and that was why he'd been chosen for this particular trail; they had been pressed back by the guns of the caravan, and yet here was one who could give the guns some strife. In that, Dust felt quite the compliment.

  Karaang pointed at Dust's belt and nodded, gesturing at something.

  Dust's hand reached down and gently touched the handle of his bullwhip.

  Karaang smiled. Yes, it nodded, gesturing for him to take his weapon.

  Oh, it wants to put on a show, Dust understood. Well, fie to that notion. It was either play mouse or play dead, and currently he was less inclined towards dead.

  Dust stood his ground and folded his arms over his chest.

  The chanting ceased; a hush descended over the crowd.

  Karaang appeared beyond confused. It looked hurt and insulted at such a gesture. It pointed to his belt again.

  Dust shook his head to confirm his stance.

  “What are you doing?” Jack hissed frantically.

  He did not respond. He needed to maintain Karaang's attention.

  Rage crossed the features of the demon, and briefly it appeared to make a move towards him, but then it held itself back. Something was preventing Karaang from attacking Dust outright – were there rules of engagement in this duel? Perhaps Dust needed to be armed in order for Karaang to press a dedicated attack. Which would make its first couple of swipes at his person a method of inciting Dust to dance the deadly tango. Karaang couldn't kill him without him being armed because of – ah, he understood. It was an honor system. One must save face. Dust smiled; he had the beat of this music, now.

  “Fa herra, quo moreh!” Karaang gripped its mace tightly and used the business end of the weapon to point at Dust's belt once more.

  “Eat me,” Dust responded politely, knowing his words meant nothing to the ears of the demons, but since they were speaking he might as well speak back. To highlight his intent, however, he dutifully raised the back of his fist towards Karaang and extended his middle finger.

  Karaang took umbrage to this and rushed forward.

  Dust predicted rightly that this might be so; he waited for the beast to come forward, expecting the mace to be raised over its head in a downward strike. He was surprised when Karaang's foot came up and struck him square in the chest – air rushed out of his lungs and he skidded backwards along the street, hopping like a skipped stone. Pain overtook him momentarily as he fought waves of panic at being unable to breathe. It felt like being trapped in that cave-in as a child. Don't do it, he shook himself, don't do it, don't panic, not now, you can breathe, you can –

  A surge of air rushed into his lungs as Karaang strode over and kicked him in the ribs.

  Dust winced; but he could breathe again. One hand washes the other.

  Karaang grabbed a fistful of Dust's shirt and lifted him high into the air, shaking him slightly as if to introduce some sense. “Fa herra, quo moreh!” it spoke again, this time with added fury at being denied honorable combat. It tossed him along the lane and Dust rolled with the impact to his feet. So it was. He'd had quite enough of being tossed about like rag doll, and so if the demon wanted combat, combat it would get.

  Karaang saw the look on Dust's face and was pleased with the result.

  As Karaang strode forward once more, Dust dropped his hand to his bullwhip and unhooked it with his thumb. Smoothly, he drew the whip and shot it outward; he flicked the tip beside Karaang's feet and cracked it, a harsh blast that echoed up and through the buildings. Karaang's eyes popped comically and it turned its attention to where the whip had struck – it had not been hit by the strike, but by god it had felt the air of it, and wonder lined its features.

  Once more Dust drew the whip and brought it down. His aim now rested on the mace in the grasp of the demon, and he knocked it out of Karaang's hand quite forcefully. The tip brushed Karaang's knuckles and it howled in surprise, clutching its hand to its chest in pain. As the mace hit the ground, Dust gave a third pop along the bullwhip and landed dead center of Karaang's chest; a wide, angry lash opened up across its pectoral muscles and it gave a surprised shriek of anguish. It hobbled backwards momentarily, unable to decide between tending to its wound or to attack once more.

  Dust chose for it: he drew back the whip for another volley, but Karaang was swifter: it reached out with its foot and kicked the mace along the ground, and it rolled and bounced, a projectile aimed for Dust's feet. He yelped as he made way to step over it, but it caught the tip of his boot and he spun; he reached out to catch his fall, refusing to release the whip, but it was far too awkward a landing. Something in his elbow gave way from the angle, and he cried out, falling onto his shoulder instead. Then the whip went taut; instinct kept his grip tight, and he found himsel
f pulled into the air towards Karaang, who had grasped the end of the length and was dragging him towards it like a cowboy with a steer. He dug his heels into the street, but Karaang jerked the whip hard and Dust rushed headlong into Karaang's embrace.

  Bones popped and joints protested as the beast made to crush him with its arms. He tried – vainly – to press his strength outward against the demon's grip, but it was too damn strong to resist. He grit his teeth as the beast roared in triumph, pausing for a bare moment to lessen the pressure, and then resume with double the effort. Dust felt his shoulder give out and he screamed.

  From the side, a golden blur whipped around and smashed into Karaang's skull. It howled in pain and dropped Dust. His body crumpled and he bounced his head off the pavement, stars and ringing in his eyes and ears. A muffled voice shouted something, and Karaang shouted back. Dust shook his head free of the dizziness, and turned to catch a glimpse of magic: there stood Jack, the mace in one hand, pistol in the other, standing over the beast as it clutched its head in pain. She'd come up and smacked it while it had been distracted, and now she seemed to have victory within her reach. But the beast was too fast, and if she stood there for too long, it would be over.

  Sensing this, Karaang feinted, then moved forward, but Jack was ready. As she dropped the mace on the ground, she pressed the barrel of the gun to the beast's head and cocked the hammer back into position.

  Karaang froze – it understood what this weapon could do.

  Another hush descended, but this was mixed with a susurrus of whispered admiration. At least, Dust hoped that it was admiration working between those syllables, because this next moment could find themselves the focus of a wild melee. Honor was the key, honor was the word of the day. It appeared as though these beasts thrived on it, and Jack perhaps had overstepped that honor by intervening. Dust remained still, the whip on the ground freed from his grasp, and he had no recourse. It was all on Jack.

  Karaang, for its part, painfully worked itself into a defiant kneeling position and held its head against the gun, almost daring Jack to pull the trigger. Should she hesitate too clearly, Karaang was fast enough that it could knock the pistol away and resume the duel.

  Jack pointed the barrel just to the left of Karaang's skull and fired.

  Karaang flinched – the entire crowed flinched.

  Then she placed the gun back against the beast's forehead.

  Karaang hissed as hot metal sizzled against its fur, and now it made an attempt to back away from the offense. Jack pressed harder, ensuring that the gun did not sway or leave her foe. The demon very clearly understood what was going to happen next.

  Karaang stopped moving, breathing heavily. It winced, but that was all.

  Satisfied, Jack stepped back and lowered the gun.

  Renewed whispering erupted around the arena, heavy with tension, but Karaang did not look up. Rather, it kept its head bowed. Dust raised an eyebrow; he wondered what the devil she'd done to the creature's mindset by not pulling that trigger. After all, they'd already had violent interactions with Ryder's men, so surely these new invaders would have been as quick to do the same. And yet now there was mercy.

  Dust cautiously got to his feet and picked up the whip, all the while glancing up and around at his audience. No one made a move upon either of them. Fair play in the arena, he supposed. Karaang slowly began to raise itself upright, but it did not make a move towards attack. It slowly reached down and lifted its fallen mace, and turned to glare at Jack. In a smooth motion, it flipped the mace around in its hand so that the handle was stretched out towards her, and it said, “Merah, af quel.”

  A symbolic gesture? Perhaps. Respect had been earned. Jack nodded her head once, then placed the pistol into her satchel. After this, she turned back to Karaang, and accepted the mace from its outstretched hands.

  “Hanuman?” she asked, appreciating the mace.

  At this, Karaang and the others whirled around to stare at her. Jack flinched slightly, but otherwise held her ground of awestruck wonder. Karaang's brow furrowed, and it leaned closer to Jack. “Ha-nu-maan?” This word it spoke slowly, with a reverence that was unmistakable, but also delicately so as though it were speaking the word to a child who may or may not understand it.

  Jack giggled. She was beginning to cry. “Yes. Hanuman.”

  “Tel en moreh es Hanumaan?” Karaang rose to its full height, eclipsing Jack's stature. Two oversized eyes, full of potential fury, narrowed and looked down at her face, daring her to say something wrong after they had just renewed her lease on life.

  “Please be careful,” Dust chanted softly. “Please be careful, please be careful, please be careful.”

  Jack wiped her eyes clean and held out a gentle hand asking for patience. Then, slowly, she reached into her satchel and retrieved the parchment which held the illustration of Rama gifting Hanuman the keystone.

  A wonder: Karaang took the parchment delicately, instantly understanding the importance of the document. Softness and awe filled its eyes, a slow smile spread across once side of its face. It chuckled – marvelous to behold – and it whispered something inaudible. Surrounding it, the other guardians drew close, their breaths sharp as they understood what was on the parchment, subsequently turning and rapidly speaking in hushed tones. Jack had delivered something quite precious to them, but she was yet not finished: she drew Karaang's attention once more with a wave of her finger, and then retrieved the keystone itself from the satchel and held it aloft for it to take.

  “We might need that when we leave,” Dust warned.

  “I believe that this action might be necessary to proceed,” Jack replied, “and it belongs to them anyway.”

  Karaang made no sound, no movement of understanding or wonder. Instead, it sank slowly to its knees in reverence, and the others did the same, their gaze fixated on the keystone. All of them held the same blank look of bewilderment, as though they were attempting to process the fact that this relic was being held before them, and yet they could not. Karaang reached out to touch the stone, but recoiled; it seemed to feel unworthy. Jack, understanding this, got on her knees as well and held the keystone closer to Karaang's grasp. With a reverence that Dust would have previously thought impossible, Karaang carefully slipped its fingers around the jewel in the same way that it would grasp a tremendously delicate egg. Now, with both hands confident around the keystone, Karaang brought it close, examined it, and then raised it to the sky, gazing through the cloudy interior, a smile finally breaking across the width of its face.

  “HANUMAAN!” it bellowed, and its fellow guardians echoed the cry. Over and over they chanted thrice more, their voices caroming up and down the lanes of the dead city, and for a brief moment Dust imagined how much life there must have been here once, how incredible the city had been as a hub for the gods and their guardians. Now, after all of this running around, he felt the deepest desire to investigate the ruins of the lost world, to understand better its ways, to see the home of these guardians, to fill himself with knowledge. But there was yet more to accomplish, and Cairn was still in the hands of the villains. He gently touched Jack's shoulder, and she nodded; two steps ahead of him in understanding. She traced the edges of her eyes with her fingers, wiping away tears, having fulfilled some obligation that neither of them had known would come to pass. Then she stood and backed away, still focused on the group as they gave thanks for the return of this wondrous relic.

  Karaang watched her, and took notice. “Kerah,” it spoke, and stood in time, beckoning her close.

  Jack shook her head, touched her chest, and pointed towards the spire of the inner city, indicating hopefully that she still had a journey to make and give her destination.

  In response, Karaang nodded, and beckoned once more, with a gentle gesture that Dust would not have expected the beast to be capable of. Clearly, his first impressions of the guardians were not as healthy as Jack's, because this time she decided to step forward without caution or hesitation. Whatever Karaang
's intent was, it was apparently important. Perhaps something in exchange for the return of the keystone.

  Karaang touched its chest. “Karaang.” It pointed to Jack.

  Jack repeated the movement. “Jack.”

  “Jaack,” it repeated, working its way around the word for size. It turned its gaze to Dust.

  Dust touched his chest and said his name.

  “Duh – Du-ust?” Karaang face twisted as though it had tasted something sour, and it shook its head in mild disgust. Critics exist in all species.

  And then, a most curious act: Karaang gestured for Jack to come even closer, holding out its hands on either side to indicate no foul play. Jack obliged, and as she did so, Karaang very deliberately and delicately brought its palms together, weaving fingers between fingers rapidly, in a staccato dance of strange momentum that was at once dizzying and entrancing. Once this act was complete, Karaang reached out – slowly – and placed both palms on either side of Jack's head. Its hands were so big that the guardian was able to lace its fingers together over the top of her skull, while placing both thumbs on her forehead just above her eyes. Instinctively, Dust dropped his hand down to the handle of his whip, but Jack's response belayed his action: she breathed in, a long, measured intake of breath that was as much of a whisper as one could make, and her eyes widened with what appeared to be recognition.

  Karaang removed its hands. “En sallah meh sef?”

  “Oh my god.” Jack's hands flew to her face to cover her shock, and tears welled up in her eyes.

  “What is it?” Dust asked.

  “I – ” She shook her head and placed her hand over her heart. “This is incredible.”

  Karaang bowed slightly. “Merah, deh es preq unnes.”

  “Yes,” she replied. “Yes, that – that would be splendid.”

  Dust realized what was going on. “You can understand it?”

  Karaang then turned to Dust, and began the same ritual.

  “Uh – ” he began in protest, but Jack reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder in reassurance. It would be well.