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Short Fat Stubby Finger Stories PRESENTS:

What are heroes, if not human folk who display incredible courage under duress?

Tony Stewart – 2002   

Prologue

As the dawn broke on the first day of the twentieth century – a scorpion scurried across the hot sand doing its best to try to remain hidden in the dark shadows that were quickly shifting with the rising sun: the brilliant glean of the carnivorous red and black creature shimmered in the rising heat as it moved sideways, its head down, it’s tail and claws up – as if in some hideous succumbing welcome to the approaching cavalcade of men and camels.

   A cobra, in the process of burrowing in the sand to escape the oncoming heat of the day, froze in its movements: black, beady eyes stared menacingly at the oncoming strangely shaped animals. The approaching camels momentarily shied, their fear nearly dislodging the riders before they settled their beasts and coaxed them to move forward.

From somewhere in the distance behind them another roar of thunder flowed jarringly through the still morning air.

In the minds of these weary travellers, the events that had just now taken place were simply further ominous warnings of the possible futility of their dangerous journey.

Hostile, unforgiving conditions had made their progress slow … and lethal.   Already three camels, and two men, were dead: the men buried in some quickly forgotten sand dune a day and a half’s ride away … the camels, their precious cargo destroyed as they fell, were left to rot.

Now, as the travellers reached the border that connected the hot, desolate sands that covered the vast, wind blown nothingness of the desert to the rugged, stony terrain of the mountain base, they knew normal men would have long ago heeded the signs of inevitable defeat and returned home to a safer environment.

But these were no ordinary men … and their reason for their journey was beyond reproach. They were on a quest for the safety and survival of their tribe: their sect: The Punjani … and, most importantly, the survival of their way of life.

For too long they had been forced to live in fear of discovery of who they were and what they represented in this, their own country.   Too many of their fellow countrymen were both suspicious, and jealous, of their continuous good fortune while others around them suffered through the miseries of bad land … and bad times.

The time had now come for them to move to a country more hospitable to their ways and needs. To move somewhere where they would be both welcomed, and accepted, with their eternal wealth – and no questions asked.

But once they had left the country of their birth they knew the possibility of recovering the one thing needed to ensure their survival, their wealth, their future … the one thing they and their families needed more than life itself … the statue of Rangor, the Punjaniti, would become an impossible task to fulfil.   They knew their chances of locating the statue of Rangor, the god that provided them with their way of life, would most likely not exist once they had moved to a new country, because any return to their homeland would arouse suspicion. They knew, to search for the statue and then return to their new home with it would never be allowed to happen.

Ten of the sect’s most reliable and resourceful members had been chosen for this gruelling, last chance journey, informally led by Nardoon Kashmi, an outsider who had claimed to have seen the location of the statue that their forefathers had sought for eons, in a vision but ten days earlier.

How Nardoon had found the Punjani, or how he had known about the Punjani in the first place, had never been satisfactorily explained.   The Punjani’s constant survival depended on their anonymity; on their unknown existence, but nevertheless, regardless of the unknown truth, the sect’s elders had found Nardoon’s description of the statue believable, his story viable, and had financed the search.

For three days the small group had travelled deep into the unwelcoming desert, fought bravely against the invisible hostilities that had threatened to destroy them, had somehow managed to survive against the odds, and now they were possibly but minutes from their destiny.   Mere minutes of their lives to be used, and in return they would be guaranteed to be continually rewarded with enough wealth and power to last for them and their families for a thousand lifetimes.

But as they began the task of adapting their mount’s movements from the relevant safety and speed of the hot desert sand to the slow, cautious manoeuvring around the hundreds of rocks that lined the base of the mountain their hopes of an early end to their travels waned.

To add to their chagrin, the dust began to roll in. The breeze that had sprung up earlier was slowly gaining strength, and though still gentle enough to ensure they could still see their destiny with some degree of safety, never-the-less the floating dust itself was making their task that much more uncomfortable … and again it forced them to wonder about outside forces controlling their destiny.

Their search would take place, not high up in the towering mountain they now faced, but somewhere nearer its base Nardoon had told them, saying he would know the instant that he saw the cave that housed the treasure they sought.   But when the men got closer to the mountains, they had wondered how this would be possible … for caves littered the mountain base, their presence as thick as the swarm of flies the men and camels constantly flicked aside from their sweat beaded bodies.

Never-the-less, individual hearts beat wildly in excitement as the riders cautiously steered the camels between the huge rocks until it very quickly became too awkward to continue; the men dismounted, tethered the remaining camels and began to unload the varied equipment they had brought with them in order to move it all by hand.

Among the diversity of items spread upon the ground was a length of heavy duty canvas, some strong rope and some timber which they assembled into a stretcher they hoped would be strong enough to carry their statue across the mountain’s rough terrain and then through the desert on their return journey.

The task was a simple one, a fruitless task possibly considering their fortuitous luck to date, but a simple task it was … until the camel that had carried most of the items laid out for assembly suddenly reared, the head on its long neck shaking violently, its front legs striking out in all directions before finding a target as it broke the arm of the nearest man.   The man fell to the ground in agonising pain, almost the target again as the huge hooves thrashing out in a wild frenzy crashed down into the ground all around him.

Then before anybody could do anything, foam began spewing from the camel’s mouth, it made a gurgling sound then for a second it stopped moving and remained balancing on its’ rear legs … then with a loud, squelchy, plopping sound it dropped to the ground … stone dead.    Narrowly missing the injured man as it fell to earth the weight of the huge animal destroyed the remainder of the water, food and other necessities it had been carrying.

Ranji, the man with the broken arm, had noticed Nardoon appearing to pat the rear of the now dead camel just prior to the animal’s strange behaviour.   He hadn’t put much thought into the matter until he saw the glint of reflected sunlight that had bounced off something in Nardoon’s hand, but before he had a chance to keep a longer eye on Nardoon the camel had reared and the entire episode was wiped out of his mind – along with the use of his arm.

The stretcher assembled, the men assumed a position along its length, including the man with the broken arm, and began the arduous task of moving it as they made their way on foot, under the directions of their guide.

Initially they moved with vigour, certain that their quarry was so near that they could smell it … in their minds they could almost reach out and touch it … but they were still to be disappointed.   For what seemed like a lifetime they traversed the mountain base.  Their ill prepared footwear constantly slipping on the loose stones; making little headway as the increasing winds blew huge chunks of abrasive sand at them, half blinding them, and creating numerous cuts and abrasions on their exposed skin … and the hot, baking sun was now almost completely overhead.

Every step, in every direction, of their long, strenuous trek to this inhospitable site had been fraught with danger.   By now, they were certain that their task was being monitored and disrupted by forces that they had not reckoned with.    Forces that were hell bent on preventing them from reaching their goal and fulfilling their destiny.

Now, as close to their final destination as they could get, they still felt there were ominous signs warning them not to go on.  The dust storm that was slowing them down could soon be followed by the violent desert storm which had been threatening them since the rising of the morning sun … and judging by the odd rumbles that could clearly be heard … it was not far away.

Heavy rain in this area would cause flash flooding, and that would almost destroy their chances of achieving success. There would be no way possible to transfer their treasure through water … certainly not by hand, and even with the camels it would be way too heavy to drag behind them if the sand below was muddy.   As it was, they had been uncertain that they would be able to move it on dry land without causing damage to it.   Their master had warned them of that danger and he had constantly reiterated the need to have no damage done to it whatsoever.   Their lives were at risk should they not heed his warnings, he had told them.

But for the moment their problems were put behind them as their guide excitedly announced they had reached the cavern where his dream had prophesied they would successfully find the object of their quest. “Here! This is the one.” Nardoon cried out jubilantly.

The men put down the stretcher, and, with great excitement, followed Nardoon as he made his way towards the entrance to the cave, but their excitement quickly dispersed when they entered the dark, unwelcoming, musty hole in the mountain.   Their minds were in confusion as they stared into the eternal darkness, for as hard as they looked they couldn’t see an end to the darkness.   The narrow corridor seemed to lead to the very bowels of the mountain and they were mistrusting of the guide, feeling he was leading them into a trap.   But, as if reading their collective thoughts, Nardook stopped and smiled at the men, his eyes glinting in the rare shaft of light that was following them down the corridor.   “It is safe,’ he said happily, ‘it is deceptive in its appearance.   The corridor veers to the right just a few steps further along.  There you will find your statue.’

“How will we see anything?” the leader snapped.  “It will be as dark as a tomb in there.”

“Fear not, Master.  There are holes in the wall that allow the outside light to filter in to the part of the cave where the statue awaits you.   You will be able to fulfill your quest once you have entered the main cave.”

Dubious, the men said no more and followed the guide who suddenly seemed to disappear, but it only took the leader three more steps to relocate him, and he realised the corridor did turn as the guide had said it would.   It had simply been a trick of the limited light that had made it appear to continue on inwards in a straight line.   The light in the burial tomb, however, was a different thing.   At first their eyes absorbed nothing but the soft darkness within, but slowly, as their eyes adjusted to the room, the light from outside began providing them enough brightness to look around the apparently bare cavern.

A series of oddly shaped holes situated on the upper level of one wall, almost within the ceiling itself, allowed scattered shafts of light to splatter across the floor – a light that appeared inconsistent as, presumably, a cloud moved out of the way of the sun’s rays and the light in the room increased by almost fifty percent.

“It is empty. There is nothing here!” the leader fumed as his eyes adjusted to the extended light. “You have wasted our time and money. Where is our god? Where is our statue?”

“Do not fret so, master” Nardoon replied in a calming voice; half a dozen crooked teeth glistening on the saliva that dripped out of his mouth as he attempted a calming smile to match his voice, “it is here. You just have to dig for it.”

“Dig?   Dig where?”   The leader demanded, his voice rising with every syllable his tongue spat out at the harassed guide.  His demeanour frayed almost to the point of hostility as the constant frustration of the journey began to take its inevitable toll.

“I will show you, Master.” Nardoon walked forward about ten paces, careful not to trip in the shadows, then he stopped and pointed to a spot on the ground. “Here, Master.”

The leader stepped forward, going down on his knees, and began to dig with his knife. “It had better be here – or you are a dead man.”

“It will be, Master.” Nardoon replied, bowing as he slowly moved back from the site.

The leader began to dig harder. “Come here, you fools,” he rasped at the others as, presumably, a cloud moved in front of the sun’s rays and the light in the room diminished rapidly, “somebody light a lamp … it is as dark as night again in this foul smelling tomb.”

Six of the men stepped forward and they too began to dig with their knives while several lanterns were quickly located from their meagre stores by the man with the broken arm and shortly the cavern was illuminated adequately for their needs.

“Look!” one of the men suddenly cried out excitedly, “I have found something.”

The others stopped their own actions and looked to where the man was still digging, his fingers moving furiously around something buried just below the surface.   A lamp was brought closer, its flickering light casting an eerie glow across the semi-lit cave.

“It is a head! It is a grave-site!” somebody cried in fright, as some of the others also jumped back in fear.

“No,” the leader exclaimed excitedly. “It is the statue … it is the head of the Punjaniti.  It is Rangor.   See!   There are rubies and diamonds.   This is it … we have found our god!”

As if in approval of their discovery, a clap of thunder roared through the cave, shaking loose some of the dirt from its walls.

“Faster,” the leader instructed, “we must hurry and remove it before the rain arrives.”

The leader’s words were understood and acted upon immediately, and as the crew dug feverishly, outside, in the heat of the day, the build up to the storm intensified.   Lightning that ripped through the dusty air cast unnatural green-tinged flashes of light throughout the cave: thunder rocked the foundations – dirt and stones continued to drift down from the walls, gently cloaking the men with streaky layers of greyish soot; their steadily darkening features adding to the strange eeriness that hovered throughout the cave.

The men of the Punjani dug as fast, as hard, as deep as their limited equipment, and the non co-operating soil, allowed them to, finally reaching the neck, then the shoulders, then the torso.   The greater depth they made, the more they were encouraged to continue, and the more they continued, the more they became confident of achieving a result in the quest they had undertaken for their future, for their family’s future – and the arrival of Rangor – the master of the Punjani.

And while the men sweated and toiled in their task, their thoughts single-minded in their duty to recover the statue and return it to the Punjani elders, a strange, unnerving colouring began entering the cave.   A unique, filtered, invasion created by the rising dust that a breeze was still swirling around, both outside and inside the cave, and the constant light changes that were taking place between the sunny skies that still reigned supreme over the mountain, and the wild, erratic streaks of lightning contained in the fast approaching dark clouds to the north.

Inside the small, time weathered, rocky room, a kaleidoscope of colours bounced off the exposed rubies and diamonds and splattered like bullets from a machine gun around the walls of the cave – a beautiful, exhilarating display that would have been proudly exhibited at any art museum in the world.   But so engrossed in their work had the small group become they failed to notice the changes within their environment, never mind the fact that their guide had disappeared … and had they realised his disappearance – fear may have entered their hearts… for he, and he alone knew the fullness of his dream … and how it ended.  It had not been something he had shared.

Suddenly the entire cave room lit up, making it as bright inside as it would have been had the roof of the mountain been lifted and the cave exposed to the fullness of the outside sun.   The men stopped their digging and raised their bodies to full height and their hands to their eyes to protect them from the harshness of the light that glared down on them, as a voice boomed from out of the heavens.

“This is not the time,”   The voice that rang out was soft, without display of rage or emotion, yet so clear, so vibrant that it commanded attention and obedience, “the future awaits the fulfilment of promises: the end of night-mares,” it said, “The future has already been written.  It has already been implemented.   This is not your destiny, men of the Punjani.   Do not attempt to change it.  Go now – go, while you still can.”

For a moment there was nothing but silence in the cave; the men looked at each other, but said nothing.

The silence seemed to grow louder, but not a word was uttered.

The men grew restless: frightened, but still nobody spoke.

Then suddenly, the ground below their feet began to vibrate.

At first the movement of the ground was soft: gentle … almost massaging in its effect on their aching feet and legs.   A gentle calmness began to cloak over the men, subduing them into a feeling of complete mesmerisation.   So quiet their minds became; so tranquil and peaceful they felt, and in this subdued state the more they were content to simply stand still and let the pleasure from the earth flow through their tired and weary bodies until it completely engulfed them.

But the vibration began to increase.   Soon the men found themselves rocking on their feet, finding it increasingly difficult to remain upright, their arms waving every which way in the air, their knees bending and straightening in quick rotation as they tried to retain their balance – and then, without further warning the men were violently shaken beyond stability.   Flung in different directions across the rough sand and stone floor as they tried frantically to right themselves, one falling forward so quickly and with such force that he smashed his head into the sharp edged statue, hitting the idol so hard blood flowed freely from the cuts to his face and skull.

His vision blurred by the fast flowing blood that ran down his face, and his head in confusion from the concussion he was suffering from hitting the rock, the man forced himself back into an upright, but unstable stance.   But as he stood, awkwardly, slightly unbalanced, the man’s mind quickly became a volatile mixture of sheer pain and absolute terror.  His right arm begun swinging uncontrollably in all directions as his damaged mind fought off imagined demons that had begun to appear before him – and attack him.

It took only a second before the sharp knife he had been using to dig out the statue but a minute earlier to do the damage it had originally been designed for.  The man closest to him felt the full force of the knife as it dug deep into his stomach, and continued its path of destruction as it went upwards towards his heart where it finally came out of the man’s chest so quickly and cleanly that the knife holder once again lost balance.

As the knife wielder fell forward, his travels to the earth below were only halted by the simultaneous movement of his victim whose death fall was halted mid-movement as the two men became so entangled in each other’s arms that they both remained upright as if in scene from a Greek tragedy or an opera.

The man who had done the damage had no idea of what he had done, but his mind began to explode inwardly as he felt the warmness of the blood from both of them gushing all over his face and body- and his mouth exploded in a scream as he saw the dead eyes of his friend only inches from his.

The man’s loud, anguished outburst as he collapsed sideways to the floor in a dead faint, taking the dead man with him, would have normally attracted the attention of every man within the confined space, but from the bowels of hell came a sound so horrendous, so intimidating, that they dared not move, or lend their ears to any other sound.

“This is my destiny,” a deep, penetrating, anger filled voice demanded, “Keep digging and release the statue so that I can enter and take my rightful place.”

“Your destiny awaits you in one hundred plus years,” the first voice retorted, then, its tone and volume unchanged, it turned its attention to the men of the Punjani, “You must resist his demands.   To follow his advice will result in your deaths, but not his release.   Resist him.  Leave now and you will survive.”

“My destiny is now,” the walls shook violently as the second voice roared back defiantly, “loosen the statue, and prepare for my arrival.  Now, or I will kill you all and use your splintered bones to lever the statue out myself!”

The men realised that the more dominant voice belonged to their god, Rangor, and immediately resumed their digging as fast as their bleeding hands would allow them.  The man who had knifed his friend awoke from his faint and said nothing.   The body lay where it had fallen, but he ignored it, instead, his bloodied knife still firmly held in his hand, moved back to the statue and joined in the excavation.   Once again the men, bar one, were reunited in their task.  The men were desperate to appease Rangor and they dug even faster – their fingers were torn and bleeding: the skin on their hands almost bare to the bone, but still they dug as hard and fast as they could.

“You leave us no choice,” the voice in the roof of the cave had become softer, resigned, “you have assumed your own destiny – so be it.”

The extreme brightness left the room, replaced once again by the eerie glow caused by the amalgamation of sunlight and the flashes from the storm that filtered through the gaps in the ceiling of the cave.

Without a word of protest, or acknowledgement of pain, the men threw themselves into the urgency of their task … while outside the desert sky grew darker and darker.

Then the storm arrived.

Lightning crackled in the humid air.

Clouds crashed together and the explosive sound of thunder ran amok throughout the thousands of caves and tunnels etched into the mountain.

Then the rain came; softly at first, then louder and louder it became, until it reached a crescendo and remained at that level for hours.

The consistent, explosive vibration of the combined wind blown rain and thunder that rebounded throughout the mountain rattled loose every piece of dust attached to the walls of the caves and tunnels.

The minuscule particles quickly joined forces and soon a thick, choking layer of dust floated in the air, moving at a slightly slower pace than the path of the tsunami that was now beginning to flood through the interior of the mountain.

The noise of the flooding water alone, so loud, so vibrating, as it rushed through the dark brown and grey walls that lined the cavities that snaked through the mountain was enough to send a sane man deaf in a matter of minutes, yet inside the cave it was ignored.   The men continued to dig, their minds far too busy on appeasing Rangor to even notice the sound that threatened them.

They heard not the water that rushed down the mountain slopes and along the time-worn channels that littered the structure of the mountain.  They saw not the barrage of a thousand lightning strikes that threatened to blast away the mountain itself.  They knew not of the thick layer of dust that followed the torrent; the dust that threatened to envelope them, to choke them, to deny them the air they required to breathe: to live, once it arrived in the cave.   And they heeded not the warning of caution that ran amok through their brain.

A warning, had it been listened to, had it been heeded, had it made them search for him – would have made them aware them that the space the camels had once occupied at the base of the mountain was now occupied by nothing but the body of the one that had died – and rising water.   The camels were now miles away, on dry land, on their way home – their only passenger, Nardoon Kashmi.

However, inside the cave, the digger’s minds were far removed from their errant guide, for they were almost finished in their task.  They could worry about their new problem soon enough, but for the moment they had a task to be brought to a satisfactory conclusion.  They had all but uncovered the entire statue.   Another five to ten minutes seemed all the length of time they required to complete the job when the leader ordered them to stop and listen.

At first it was hard to make it out, the strange, relentless sound coming through channels and tunnels hidden within the interior of the mountain.   At first it seemed soft, almost gentle, but with each second that passed the sound grew louder; angrier; closer – then the fast flowing water exploded into the room like a blast from the bowels of hell.

In the limited light, still kneeling, the men turned and looked towards the rear of the cave as a torrent of water entered the room from out of the darkness, from holes in the walls, from the ceiling, and the floor itself: invisible outlets for the collection of unseen tunnels and gutters that ran the length, width, height and depth of the mountain.  The fast forming pool of brown liquid quickly dispersed itself across the span of the cave’s narrow floor – then began its inevitable trek to the ceiling.   Within the time it took the men to react and stand up the brown mass had reached their stomachs.

They tried to run for the entrance and the assumed safety that lay at the end of the bizarre curvature of the wall that had guided them to the statue, but the swirling water flooded in too fast for most of them.   The men stumbled, tripping into and over each other, screaming curses and obscenities as they tried unsuccessfully to push and shove each other out of the way in their frantic effort to move in the swirling, unstable conditions.   Slipping, falling into the muddy quagmire in their panic, some were pushed down even deeper into the water by those who were climbing over them in their attempts to escape, but there was nowhere to run, nowhere to go – nowhere.

The two men who made it to the wall, to the short stretch of passage that would lead them to safety, to their escape, were moving as fast as humanly possible in the fast flowing water that was already reaching their necks and rising with every step they took forward.   But they only did so for a short distance when a large part of the roof of the tunnel, as it lay before them, collapsed.  The dirt and rocks falling down so quickly, and with so much force that it caused a massive wave to rise, knocking the men down and dragging them back into the cave proper, forcing them to also succumb to the inevitable.

The rain ceased within a second of the last man drowning – as did the fast flowing water that had been pouring into the cave.   An almighty roar exploded throughout the mountain.   A crack, nearly seven hundred and seventy metre’s in length, twenty metres in depth, fifteen metres in width at the entrance to the cave, speared outward from below the fallen rocks in the tunnel towards the waiting desert.   The fallen rocks immediately disappeared into the newly formed crevice; the water from the cave quickly joined it, then the wind intensified for miles around, picking up dry sand that had not been exposed to the intense rain that had fallen, blowing it towards the mountain and dumping it in the crevice.   The crevice disappeared; the ground was level and once again bright sunlight covered the mountain and the sand at its feet.

Within the mountain, inside the cave where the Punjani had succumbed to nature’s fury, the last of the water settled on the floor of the cave, its escape now completely blocked by the closing of the fissure and the sand the winds had blown at the mountains.   From high above the cave floor, the dust that had been following the surge of water arrived – entering the cave through the chamber entrances located near the ceiling, and began drifting down towards the floor.

Several minutes later the cave, albeit a lot wetter, appeared in exactly the same condition as it had that morning … with the exception of the corpses that littered the room – but they were well and truly buried under the sea of mud, and the statue was once again hidden from prying eyes.

********

Three days later the guide arrived home, his mind on the verge of madness.   But before he succumbed to it, he told his son the truthful ending to his dream, the information he had failed to tell the Punjani.

He then made his son swear to tell no one what he had witnessed … save his own son, when the time came.   His son’s son, in turn, was to be told the same thing, and swear to the same secret, until the time came to take advantage of the dream’s promise.   The guide had believed in the after-life.   He knew that he would come back.   A new body, a new name, but he would come back.   And then he would receive his reward.

But, not before the time was right.   And that would be one hundred plus years from now.   A hundred plus years was not a long time to wait for what he had been promised in his dreams.   Power and wealth beyond his wildest dreams … and supplied by the most powerful force the world would ever see … Rangor the Punjaniti.

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