Clara Mandrake's Monster

by Ibrahim S. Amin

  Rashida Al-Taquba stared at the mawlana. Scripture blared in the imam's eyes and mangled her thoughts.

  ***

  "Stop!" The woman stood in the middle of the road, and took up a stance that turned her limbs into pink extensions of the green X on her sackcloth tunic. "You can't ride those in there. Not with a match on."

  "A match?" Katrina dismounted. "Sounds more like a riot."

  "The best footie always does."

  Silas jumped down from the saddle. The woman looked from his weapons to Katrina's.

  "And you won't be wearing those. Hoggies are a bunch of cheating wankers, but-"

  "Piss off!"

  "She's right!"

  "What about last time-"

  "…a cow…"

  "…club with nails in…"

  "…dressed in full plate…"

  "…spikes! Don't forget the spikes…"

  "…had a dog fetch the ball and run off with…"

  "…nice dog though…"

  "Shut up!" The road-blocking woman glared at the others. "Like I was saying… Even Hoggies don't allow weapons in the game."

  "We're not here to play football," Katrina said.

  "Doesn't matter. Anyone out on the street obeys the rules. No horses, no weapons. If we let you two gallop around, swinging your swords-"

  "We wouldn't-"

  "…there'd be chaos. Chaos!"

  "Fine." Katrina turned to Silas. "Give me your weapons. I'll watch the horses till it's finished. Get us a room and ask around for any news."

  "Okay." He undid his belt and passed it over.

  "Green or purple?" The woman relinquished her X-shape and went over to the crates.

  Silas glanced at his mentor. Katrina shrugged.

  "Purple," he said.

  "Bastard…" She grinned and handed him the sack. "Hope our lot blackens both your eyes."

  Most of the bystanders jeered at him. A few cheered and pumped their fists in the air. Those ones wore more bruises and bandages.

  "You played football before?"

  "Yeah…"

  His ribs twinged where Cryze once stomped him, on her way to scoring yet another goal.

  "See those purple flags? That's where you Hoggies're scoring. Our goal's off that way."

  Silas donned the tunic.

  "If you get involved," Katrina said, "do well. If the locals take a liking to you…"

  "Right."

  Someone shouted, and everyone else joined in.

  "Grunnies're gonna kill ya! Grunnies're gonna kill ya!"

  "Hogmire, Hogmire, Hogmire! Hog! Hog! Hog!"

  Silas jogged into the town.

  ***

  "Watch out!"

  Clara pulled Rayya aside. The woman barrelled out of the alleyway, clutching the lower half of her face. Blood poured between her fingers. The corners of her tunic still showed Grunshire's colour, but reds and browns smothered the rest.

  "Are you okay?" Rayya said.

  The woman didn't look at her. She fell against a wall, staggered off it, and careened down the street. Something glinted on the ground behind her. Clara squatted and examined it.

  "Hey! You dropped your… tooth?"

  The woman kept going. Clara shrugged, then she and Rayya did the same. They passed homes and shops. Many bore a purple X on their doors, walls, or the shutters that sealed their windows. Various hands had scribbled graffiti in the same hue. Several words and sentences blurred into blotches where stone or wood ended. Exhortations for Hogmire's players, profanities for Grunshire's.

  "Local advantage," Clara said.

  "But Grunshire won't have to clean their whole town up tomorrow."

  "Oh. Yeah…"

  Voices raged in the distance and reached them as wordless echoes. The girls worked their way through streets and alleys, till they met another player in the lane between two houses. This one wore a purple cross and a red forehead.

  "She had a horseshoe nailed to the bottom of her boot. Cheater!"

  They turned side-on and squeezed past.

  "Cheater…"

  After a few minutes, the shouts came clearer but quieter — as though that mass of noise had shattered and sown Hogmire with its fragments.

  "Where is it?" from one direction.

  "There!" from another. "No, wait… It's just a rat!"

  "I think-" Rayya said.

  A woman tore round the corner. Her legs wove this way and that, like the steps of a dance, and muscles thumped along their lengths. A Hogmire tunic flapped around her torso. A brown blob moved at her feet.

  She glanced up, grinned, and came towards them. Clara yelled.

  "Look out!"

  The Grunshire player emerged from an alleyway. He hunched over, panted, but launched himself with a burst of energy. The woman looked at him. Then, an instant before he ploughed into her, she kicked the brown thing. It bounced down the road and bumped against Clara's boot.

  "Huh…"

  She blinked at it. Trails of stitches laced the object, bound leathery pieces together.

  "Clara!"

  Her head snapped back up. The woman was on the ground. The man lumbered towards the girls. His eyes narrowed.

  "Wait!" Rayya said. "We're just-"

  Clara pushed her out of his path. The man snorted, footfalls pounded behind them. His fist swung. And Clara Mandrake's world exploded.

  12

  Silas ran, but he wasn't fast enough. The Grunshire player punched the girl and the impact spun her around. Silas caught her shoulders. Blood spurted from her mouth, slashed across his tunic. Her feet stumbled, shuffled, and snagged the ball. The girl's eyes fluttered, then hardened like jewels.

  "Grunnie bounder!" The woman rose and spat.

  "Clara, are you-"

  "Give it 'ere!" The man swung again.

  Silas shoved the girl into her friend's arms. The Grunnie's fist bounced off him instead, and he'd taken harder punches than that. Silas blasted him in the face with a palm strike. His nose squished and leaked. Silas' other hand slapped his ear and he reeled. The Grunnie threw his arms around Silas, pulled him into a clinch. Silas twisted and threw him down. He hit the ground like a sack of turnips, rolled onto his side, groaned.

  Clara let loose a shriek, the cry of a hawk that swooped for murder. She leapt at the man and kicked him between the legs. He curled up, shielded his crotch. She kicked his head.

  "Clara!" Her friend touched her shoulder. "Don't!"

  "Hey…" The woman grasped her other shoulder, turned her. "No time for that, dear. The rest of the green slime'll be here soon."

  "Get off-"

  She held up her finger. Clara blinked at it. The digit gestured towards the nearest shouts. They couldn't be more than a street or two away.

  "This chap…"

  "Silas. But-"

  "Jessica." She punched his shoulder. "This chap and I will be the muscle. You and…"

  "I'm Rayya. But I don't-"

  "…look small and nippy enough. We'll take the hits, you dribble the ball, what?"

  "Dribble?"

  "Kick along."

  "I'm not here to play," Silas said. "I just-"

  "We're looking for-" Clara said.

  "You're wearing our colour, and Hogmire doesn't tolerate slackers. Hurry up!"

  Jessica somehow managed to push all three of them at the same time, and spurred them into motion. They ran down an alley together. The ball bounced at Clara's feet, got loose, and Silas nudged it back to her with his instep. They came out into a marketplace. Figures moved among the empty stalls.

  "Grunnies!" Jessica said.

  "Hoggies!" a woman said.

  Jessica shoulder barged her and she tumbled over a table. Another player went for Clara, for the pig's bladder. Silas hit her with a flying knee. Her jaw crunched. He winced. The four of them ran on, between the stalls. Voices clamoured on all sides.

  Grunshire players massed in front of them, across the mouth of a street.

  "This way!"

  Jess
ica swerved to the right and swept them along with her, like a sheepdog manoeuvring a flock. The Grunnies advanced. More cries broke out. A band of players in Hogmire purple charged their flank, and a sea of bodies tangled, tumbled, sprawled.

  The quartet raced down another road, past shopfronts where scents of bread and roasted meat lingered. A Grunshire player sprang from an alcove. She slammed into Silas and they embraced, banged into Clara and Rayya. Clara yelped and the ball rolled.

  "I've got it!" Jessica said.

  The woman's forehead bumped Silas' skull, but she didn't get enough weight behind it. He rocked, planted his feet, tossed her away. She rolled, pounced at his legs. Clara kicked her chin and dropped her.

  Two Grunnies wrestled with Jessica. She thrashed in their grasp, but her foot captured the ball and rolled it backwards. Rayya intercepted it, lost it, regained it. Silas elbowed the bigger man. The Grunnie punched him back, but Silas took that on his other elbow. The man wailed. His fingers uncurled. Silas hit him three more times and he fell onto his butt.

  "Done?"

  The man looked up at him, nodded, and held his jaw. His ally had Jessica in a headlock. Silas went for them, but Jessica suplexed the Grunnie. Wood smashed and the Grunshire player disappeared through the window.

  Rayya dribbled the ball, kicked it to Silas. He ran it along one wing of their group while Jessica took the other. The girls' legs pumped and they kept pace in the middle.

  "There it is!"

  Jessica pointed, but they couldn't've missed it. The temple loomed on the opposite side of the square. Purple banners hung across its grey facade, flags fluttered atop its roof. And half a dozen Grunshire players swarmed around its entrance.

  "Kill the Hogs!"

  "Green rage!"

  "Yaaarrrrrrrrrgggggghhhhh!"

  ***

  Rashida picked up the wine jug. When had it become so light? The stopper popped and she upended it over her goblet. Liquid poured, trickled, dripped. She shook the jug a few times. Darkness rained and rippled. A half-empty goblet was a forlorn thing.

  She sipped, but it cloyed and choked her now. The imam stared at the armchair where the mawlana had sat. Fahmaia Hashad's voice was gone, but its echoes still smothered the study and squashed Rashida against her seat.

  It couldn't be right. Couldn't. Allat would never…

  Again the images came. The mawlana's words wove them till the imam almost believed the vision had been her own. The One Goddess' hand descended to annihilate all the peoples of the world.

  Fahmaia was wrong! She'd missed something… She'd…

  Rashida drained her goblet. She reached for the jug, picked it up before she remembered, and put it back down.

  Allat wouldn't command them to slaughter a village. Not unprovoked! The ancient prophetesses wielded blades and waged wars, brought infidel temples crashing down. But those enemies earned their fate. As did their descendants when they dared fight against believers. Traverd had committed no such crime, no persecution.

  And the girl. Clara…

  Rashida's fingers tightened around the goblet. A murder here, in her own city, where the unbelievers already despised them. Madness! It'd bring ruin to their masjid, their community.

  But the mawlana… Again that face, those markings, hovered before her. The One Goddess had blessed Fahmaia Hashad. Inscribed words on her skin and made the woman her champion. How could she be so wrong, bring about something so monstrous?

  The cup dropped from Rashida's hand.

  It was a test! The greatest of all tests. It fell to her, a humble imam, to do Allat's will now the mawlana's vision was clouded. Rashida stood. Her foot knocked the goblet aside, sent it spinning. She paced the study.

  This was her duty to Allat, to the masjid the Goddess gave her. Rashida Al-Taquba would thwart Fahmaia. She'd prevent this atrocity, and then… The imam's fingers traced invisible lines on her cheek. She smiled. How her congregants would marvel, if Allat rewarded her so. If scripture flowed on their imam's visage…

  ***

  Clara's eyes narrowed, her blood pumped. The world compressed into red faces and green crosses. Two of the Grunnies went for Jessica, three for Silas and the ball. The sixth charged at the girls.

  Rayya took half a step back. But when Clara didn't budge, she held her ground. Clara had the best friend in the world. And she wasn't going to let anyone hurt her.

  Clara strode towards him. The Grunnie's mane flopped around and revealed two widening eyes. He was a stick insect of a man, but still twice as heavy as her. Clara's right hand twitched. Her claws tingled inside the glove and bandages.

  He didn't lower his shoulder or pull his arm back to strike. The Grunshire player was just going to mow her down, plough through Rayya, and take them out of the game. But Clara Mandrake had blood on her hands. She didn't mind a little more. When he was almost on her, she fell backwards, braced herself against the ground, and thrust her heel up into his crotch.

  The Grunnie doubled over. His eyes bulged, face deepened to a near-purple. He collapsed onto her but Clara's boots held him off. She grabbed his mane, yanked him, and he slumped on his side. The footballer wheezed.

  "Hoggie…"

  Jessica was down. Both Grunnies booted her. Clara went towards them but the woman called out, pointed even as she shielded herself.

  "Ball!"

  Silas wove between the three players, dragged the bladder this way and that. One of them slid for it but missed. Another grabbed at him, caught his hand. The third dived and tackled his shins. The ball bounced away. The three Grunnies scrambled for it but Silas' arms and legs ensnared them. All four footballers struggled on the ground, a sixteen-limbed beast.

  Clara ran. The two on Jessica peeled away from her. Jessica tripped one, and he landed on his chin. The other raced for the ball. Her eyes met Clara's. Girl and woman pounced. The woman went for the pig's bladder, but Clara Mandrake went for her. She leapt at the Grunnie, kicked and grabbed and gouged. The woman was bigger. Stronger. In a moment she'd batter her off or throw her aside. But Clara only needed one moment.

  "Rayya!"

  Her friend was already moving. The woman lurched that way with Clara clinging to her, but toppled and had to plant her feet to stay up. Rayya kicked. The ball flew at the temple, struck stone, bounced off.

  "Sorry!"

  Rayya sprang at the bladder, recaptured it. She kicked again. It arced up high, dropped, and disappeared through the doorway.

  "Damn…" The woman set Clara down and sighed. "Good game, anyway."

  "Good show, Rayya!" Jessica lifted the girl into a hug.

  "Breed them young in Hogmire, they do." The man Clara kicked came up to them, and she prepared for violence. But he laughed and ruffled her hair. "Good pair of legs on this one."

  Bells rang out above, echoed through the square. A man in purple robes emerged from the building and held the ball over his head.

  "Hogmire wins!" he said.

  Cheers, groans, and hundreds of drumming feet mingled with the bells. Players surged towards the temple from all sides.

  "Hogmire, Hogmire, Hogmire! Hog! Hog! Hog!"

  "Next time, Grunnies."

  "Anyone seen my husband? If you stomped him to death, you're doing his chores…"

  "Who scored it?"

  "We should play with the whole pig next time…"

  "…punched him in the face…"

  "…threw me through a window…"

  Jessica took off her tunic. Everyone else was doing that too. They turned the garments inside out, then put them back on. Clara and Rayya did the same. Soon there was just plain sackcloth on display, albeit with splashes and splodges of crimson.

  "Are you okay?" Silas was beside them now.

  "Yeah," Clara said. "Thanks for…"

  "No problem."

  "Oi! Hoggie!" One of the Grunnies he'd wrestled came up behind him and slapped him on the back. "Pub! I'm buying!"

  "Well, I-"

  "No arguin'!"

  Silas
shrugged, nodded to the girls, and a pack of players swept him off.

  "Are you two coming to The Bleeding Boulder?" Jessica said. "Small beer and pies await."

  "We're supposed to see someone at The Cracked Crown," Clara said. "Is that…?"

  "Across town. Want me to take you there?"

  "If you don't mind…" Rayya said.

  "Dear, after that goal, I'd take you all the way to Kessalonia."

  Players thronged the streets, leaned on walls, lounged in doorways, sat on windowsills. Blood and bruises, grins and laughter, brightened every face.

  "…she kicked me twice!"

  "That means she fancies you, mate! Get in there!"

  They passed jugs back and forth. A woman offered one to Clara, but even the fumes made her eyes water.

  "No, thanks…"

  Boys and girls in aprons walked among them. They handed out crimped oblongs from their trays, and gravy mingled with the bloodstains.

  "One for you, miss?"

  The boy might've been a bit older than Clara, but he gazed at her tunic as though she were a warrior goddess.

  "Sure. Thank you."

  She took one, passed it to Rayya, and looked at Jessica — but the woman had commandeered a jug from somewhere, and glugged that instead. Clara picked up another pie, bit into it. Pastry crumbled. Gravy spilled onto her tongue, along with chunks of steak and kidney. Her face twinged where she'd taken the punch. The cut stung. But it was worth it, and she munched.

  "Hogmire, Hogmire, Hogmire! Hog! Hog! Hog!"

  "…that bloke what punched me was well nice…"

  "…over there, they play with five balls…"

  "…just let us pick it up and carry it."

  "Couldn't call it football then, could we?"

  A mob cavorted outside the pub. Some kicked a pig's bladder about and gave one another the occasional shoulder barge. Piles of sackcloth marked their goal in lieu of a building. Jessica led them around the game, and deflected the ball when it flew at them.

  The inside of The Cracked Crown was just as rowdy. But Jessica muscled her way to the bar, and the girls stuck close behind her.

  "Two small beers and an ale, my good woman."

  Jessica's coins plinked down on the wood. The barmaid scraped them towards herself, dropped the money into her apron pocket, and slid three drinks in the opposite direction. She was already serving the next customer when Clara spoke.