Homecoming: Keepers of the Stone Book Three: Keepers of the Stone, #3

By Andrew Anzur Clement

A head-strong adventurer. A childhood vendetta. A gateway that could unravel history's future.
Stas, Malka and their gang of unlikely adventurers are finally nearing the Fragment's destination – with the Urumi's demonic Order hot on their heels. Stas has always dreamed of returning to the homeland he has never been to. But nothing is going at all like he planned. Does he have what it takes to save his best friend and see the Fragment to safety?

Meanwhile, a series of startling revelations causes Malka to make a terrible mistake that changes everything. Preventing the magical Fragment's power from being released now could require her to make the ultimate sacrifice. Will she be able to do what it takes in a looming final battle to control the world's fate?

As the final goal of their quest becomes clear, Stas and Malka must redefine their inner courage to fight for a world that will give them no quarter. All it's salvation will cost is the highest price either of them can think of….

The Keepers of the Stone fantasy trilogy is a metaphysical, action-packed adventure that will keep you guessing from its middle-of-the-action opening, right up until the end. If you enjoy epic fantasy adventures, don't miss this trilogy of expansive proportions that tests the limits of our potential.

Tags for Keepers of the Stone Book Three: Homecoming
-Young adult historical fantasy quest
-Period adventure trilogy 
-Poland & Eastern Europe
-19th Century
-Magic prophecy
-Mystery
-Demons and Shapeshifters

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andrew Anzur Clement
• Release date: Feb 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386957553

Book preview

KEEPERS

of the

STONE

Book Three:

Homecoming

Andrew Anzur Clement

Copyright © 2017, Andrew Anzur Clement.

All rights reserved.

One

Guys, I think we got lucky.

It was Henry who offered the suggestion. With one of his waterlogged hands, he pointed to the marshy part of the shoreline that the four of them had passed.

We’re about to get arrested. And you call this lucky? Liza whispered with her usual annoyance. Even in her human form, she hated being in the water.

See where that marshland ends? It forms a cove. If we land there and then schlep through the bog, the police won’t be expecting it. If they really were tipped off by someone the same age as any of us, how seriously do you really think they’re taking this?

I am not sure if it will work. But, it sounds like a plan, the Thag whispered from the other side of the raft. She held on as Henry, Liza, and Stas kicked.

That was all she could say and all she could do, really. Since Malka’s quest had begun, she’d been in control. The decision to leave her deserted camp for Calcutta? Hers. The voyage to America? Also undertaken under her own volition. From there, the tan-skinned girl had taken more of her own actions. She’d rescued Henry, the American boy. Twice. First, from a deadly attack by highwaymen. Then from the Urumi, who had given her name as Bozhena; the bruised, blond-haired form had returned the bizarre note she’d claimed to have taken from Stas’s dorm room, back in Madras.

The plot to rob a bank with a wagonload full of rabbits had been Henry’s idea – one of his better ones. But, Malka had come up with the original premise. She’d made the decision to move forward with the plan. The blue-eyed girl had taken an active part in the deliberations regarding their departure from New York for Fribourg, especially after they had learned about the Prophecy from Liza. There they’d met with Stas, the half-Slavic youth who now kicked beside Malka in an effort to move them all to vindication.

All the Thag could do was wait.

True, she had felt disconcerted when Liza had first manifested herself as whatever – whoever – she was, back in San Francisco. Other than that, Malka had always been in control. As she lay suspended, holding onto the edge of a wooden board in Lake Constance, she became conscious of a certain uncomfortable awareness: the knowledge that she was truly helpless for the first time since leaving her camp. She flicked her eyes back to the Hapsburg border police that awaited their illicit arrival. Then down at the water.

Stas’s Swiss roommate, Jurgen Fischer, had given them this raft for a hefty price. Now, it seemed certain he’d betrayed them as well. Being the only one not able to swim, Malka’s fate was dependent on the other three around her. By this point, she knew that she could trust them. But, what was the cost of failure?

If Henry’s latest plan didn’t work; if the border police noticed them; or if guards were also stationed on the other side of the bog, Malka would be captured. They would attempt to confiscate the Fragment – the object she carried. The girl did not know exactly why. However, she knew that most around her were incapable of controlling its power. It was something she seemed able to do with about as much ease as breathing. The tan-skinned girl did not want to think about what would happen if those uniformed guards attempted to take it from her: her mission’s failure. One she knew would have dire consequences for the world around her.

Why not just let it burn? The thought assaulted her head unexpectedly. After how the world had treated her – and all who traveled with her – why not? The idea sparked a certain tempting note in the back of her mind. But what would that do to those same individuals around her, those who kicked, plotted, and schemed to bring her quest to fruition?

No. She could not allow that to be an option.

Malka knew: she’d do whatever was needed to see the Fragment restored to its place of veneration with her Black Goddess. It was the last piece she had of the Sect she’d destroyed. She owed this quest to her Master, who had trained her in the lethal arts of their Sect of thieves. To him, and to the future of the three around her.

The guards had the upper hand in this scenario. Their presence did not change her course. Malka would enter this land, she decided. Or she would die trying. The girl had nothing else to lose. If that meant facing the risk of drowning; that she had to crawl through mud-filled bogs with nothing but her own possessions on her back; or fight whomever she had to in order to reach whatever destination her quest had become intent upon? So be it. If these people on the shore thought they could stop her, they were mistaken.

Malka’s resolve was founded. Now, if she could only do something but wait to reach land. As it was, the Thag merely hung there, these thoughts running through her mind. Together, those who could swim kicked, moving slowly back towards the bog.

Malka, Stas, Henry and Liza landed, apparently unseen by the border force, which stood waiting for them farther down the shore. Their feet and already-soaked clothes quickly became muddy. They carried most of their other possessions on their backs, to keep them dry as they moved through the trees, undergrowth, and standing water. Stas briefly wondered if there were any dangerous animals present in the marsh.

Just then, Malka’s knife flew past his head. It was only then that he’d noticed the camouflaged snake. It had been rearing its head to strike. He did not know how she had seen it in the darkness – from farther back than he was. Those unusual blue eyes of hers must be extraordinarily sharp, he mused.

Eventually, they made it to the end of the marsh. It turned, rather abruptly, into a landscape of gently waving fields and grassland. What was not evident, however, were any border guards. It looked as if they had not expected that the quartet would defy the Swiss boy’s orders and land in a less likely location.

Henry had been about to exit the tree line when a hand flew across his chest. He started, thinking that maybe a law enforcement official had attempted to conceal himself, in order to entice the fugitives to come out of the trees.

As it turned out, it was only Liza.

You nut job. Were you really going to be the first one to stick your neck out? I’m probably the best choice for that….

Yeah, yeah….

In a flash, a pitch-black cat, soaked to the bone, stood where Liza had been. The felinoid leapt out into the field, looking about.

Stas shook his head in amazement. Part of him couldn’t believe it. But, the other part couldn’t explain it, either. How does she do that? he thought again.

Is it clear? Malka whispered.

The felinoid meowed once, turning back at them, before prancing on into the field.

I’m taking that as a ‘yes,’ Henry interpreted.

At once, the rest of the group emerged and began walking briskly through the fields, bound on the next leg of their journey.

Two

The grotto of the Urumi sat in its normal state of shadow. Ziya al-Din stood before its empty altar. A man was in the Chosen’s presence. He was older, blindfolded. At times the Order used this procedure with targets who might prove especially high-risk.

This man sported gray hair. He was dressed in a once-crisp suit, its appearance roughed by the dark-skinned figure who stood to this man’s right. His lieutenant – the Chosen noticed – had her hands clasped behind her back. It was a gesture of fitting complacency, yet it also promised a fealty that could not be mimicked.

The brown-eyed girl knows her place, Ziya mused as he took in the scene.

Zaima made the first move.

Tell us what you know.

The blindfolded man’s head directed itself towards the floor, demoralized.

A group of my son’s friends. They visited our home for a few days. When they departed, the four of them told us that they were headed into the Hapsburg Empire. The man’s voice was sad. Almost as if this act were an admission of guilt.

These friends. Describe them.

One was a boy. He spoke French with an odd accent, as if he came from the French colonies in Africa, yet not quite the same. The other two? Girls. One dark-skinned. The other had black hair. My son said that they were friends of this other boy. I do not see how it is possible. They didn’t even speak French. In my position, I felt I didn’t have a right to question them.

Ziya nodded slightly. He knew that the man could not see him. His lieutenant smiled deliciously.

Where did they say they were headed?

Krakau. But that was a few weeks ago, the man whispered, clearly afraid. I came here. Agreed to give you this information, for a reason.

I know. Your freight-shipping business. You wish us to save it, Ziya reflected. The Chosen’s voice remained oddly high.

Ziya had been about to continue, when he heard his lieutenant take voice.

Yet, that is not enough, the dark-skinned girl purred.

We had an agreement! the man yelled, straightening suddenly.

We did. I am modifying it. Ziya admired the joy his new second seemed to take in meting out an unnecessary punishment, one that even he would not have thought to impose.

But, you said….

Said that if I brought you to this place that we would strike an agreement? Her voice carried an almost singsong cadence. "That is what we are doing. If you wish to leave this place alive, you will agree to our terms. Zaima laughed in an oddly high register. You will agree to give your son into our service, in return for salvation from your own ills. If not, I will kill you."

The suit-dressed man appeared to hesitate. Finally: I agree.

Then, Ziya replied, realizing that he did not yet know this man’s name; his signature was needed to enact the bargain they had just struck. Tell us what you are called.

Fischer, the older man rasped.

Very well, Ziya said, allowing himself to smile.

The course of the Order was set.

Three

Stas moved down Ulica Szczepańska with one goal in mind. After departing from the train station in Krakow, the quartet had immediately moved, following the half-Slav. He’d refused to ask directions, but that was not a problem. They had quickly sighted the walls of the medieval city. The group had moved along them until they’d come to a small square.

They had moved through it. Malka, dressed in a garish green and blue dress, trailed behind Stas. Then Henry. Finally, Liza brought up the rear.

Following their unorthodox entry into the Hapsburg Empire, the group had gone by foot, at first. Instead of heading for Bregenz – the closest town to their location near Lake Constance – they had instead decided to head for Dornbirn, although it was a few days by walking. If Jurgen had decided to inform the border police near the lake, it was likely that the law enforcement in the nearby towns had also been notified. It had been tough going: walking, carrying their possessions with them. Yet, Stas had enjoyed it. It reminded him partly of the time he’d spent in Africa with Nell, the girl he now sought against impossible odds.

I am Polish, he’d told himself. I will be able to find her.

Upon their arrival in Dornbirn, they’d been understandably filthy. Liza had first told Malka to stop at a place where they could change money. Then they had moved on, to one of the nicer hotels in town. Initially, the receptionist had looked ready to throw them out; all in the quartet looked like vagrants. But, upon the Thag’s production of a suitably large banknote, the group had been quickly shown to the establishment’s largest room.

There, thankfully, they had been able to shower and change. Afterwards, they headed for the local train station. Although the group had use of the hotel room for the rest of that day and the following night, it had been easily agreed that they could sleep on the train; their purpose was too urgent to allow for any delay.

The train had taken the unlikely voyagers as far as Vienna, the imperial capital. The four had needed to change train stations in that city. A carriage had taken them from the Westbahnhof to the station from which trains departed for the east. The carriage had moved quickly down the fashionable Lindengasse, and then along the Ringstrasse, past the emperor’s palace and the university, before crossing the Danube. Stas watched his surroundings. His eyes were wide. The Egypt-born young man had never seen anything quite like this place. Nor, really, had either of the camp-raised human youths. Monumentally ornate buildings towered around them as they moved. The imperial park was ornately manicured, closed off by intricate iron fence work.

Stas had heard his father speak of this city his entire life. He knew well the story of Jan Trzecia Sobieski, the Polish king who had masterminded the defense of Vienna against the Ottomans. The Slav looked astutely for any commemoration – any sign of Poland’s role in that siege. There was nothing. The Poles had saved Europe from conquest, yet those who had been rescued most immediately by Sobieski’s valor gave him no credit. In thanks, they’d moved to carve up the nation from which Stas’s father came.

Eventually, they had arrived at the train station. Malka purchased a first class compartment. Of course, they could have easily afforded a private car. However, being on the run from the Urumi, the group did not wish to attract any undue attention. In these parts, it seemed, Malka’s skin tone did more than enough in that regard. The route of the train they had boarded was promised to take them via Brünn and Ostrau before arriving in Krakow the following morning. At least, that was what Henry interpreted the ticket official as saying. Yet, none of the signs on the stations matched. It was confusing to say the least; for a time they had wondered if they were on the right train.

Worried, Malka had told Henry to ask the conductor. The brown-haired youth had returned, a dumbfounded expression on his face.

Again, everything here seems to have two names, depending on what language you speak. Apparently, Brünn is called Brno by the locals, but that’s not the official German name.

Stas had taken umbrage. He’d stated that this meant the city’s ‘real’ name was not German.

Judging by the maps we had in Port Said, they do this in Poland as well. But we resist their attempts to wipe out our culture. I imagine, so do the Czechs. What Stas did not communicate was that his use of the first person plural was meant more to convince himself of his own self-image. In fact, he had slept little that night on the train. It was not because of the vehicle’s bumpy movement. Or, the fact that their private compartment’s window kept shutting itself, no matter how many times they had tried to pull it down. Or, even that Liza had insisted on swearing profusely each time that it did so.

Instead, Stanislaw Tarkowski had reclined in the sleeping compartment, worried about what he would find once he reached the train’s intended destination, Krakow.

All of that was now behind them. Malka, Henry, and Liza followed Stas – a guide who had never been to the city – through what appeared to be its main square. In its center sat a large ornate structure. It appeared to be a market focused on selling various sorts of fine fabric. Again, all except Liza were truly awed by the imposing row houses that defined the borders of the immense space. The twin spires of a church rose on one of its corners. The building’s red brick facade seemed to tower over the square’s stone-paved ground. Seeing another spire farther in the distance, Stas kept moving with purpose, diagonally though the space, onto a relatively wide road. It was sided by equally ornate stone houses and churches. They followed it until it dead-ended. A large stone knoll rose above them. Atop it, an awesome complex sat, comprising another church, battlements, and what could only be a palace.

Stas looked at the message in his left hand. It was the one he’d been given by Malka that night in his Fribourg dorm room. He read its contents again:

The Mała Bint lives still at the Entrance.

To the new sphere of stone.

Walk along the noble path.

The patron sets forth from the empty soul.

Of a people self-betrayed.

This is it, Stas surmised more than stated. This is Wawel Castle. The empty soul. The royal road leads here. How many times had he heard of this storied place, growing up? As intent as he was on his purpose, the Slav could not help but feel slightly awed.

So? Which road is it? the felinoid snapped. They were still very much in the city’s center. Many cobblestone pathways jutted out in all directions.

I...um…, Stas began, unsure.

It would be the widest road in the vicinity, Henry interrupted. Judging by the ones around us? I’d say the one we were just on.

Very well. Let us retrace our steps. The Thag determined their course of action. Again, Stas led the way. He attempted to look decisive. Inside, Henry’s intervention had sent his mind into turmoil. Logically, there was no way he could have known the royal road’s location off the top of his head. Yet, the question nagged at him acutely: if he had been raised here – in what once had been Poland – would he have known? Stas had fantasized about this city for most of his childhood. Now he was here. He’d needed someone from an American mining camp to find its royal road. Even though that person was someone he’d come to know and deeply respect in a short time, it gnawed at him.

All right. Stay sharp, everyone. Something here might tell us how to protect the Fragment, Liza barked at those under her auspices.

Or find Nell, Stas challenged her.

Whatever.

They retraced their steps along the road, back to the main market square. As they passed in front of the large-spired, brick church, the Thag asked, Stanley, is there anything that reminds you of the messages we received?

I-I don’t know, he was forced to admit.

We did not come all this way for you not to know! Liza yelled

at him.

You think I don’t know that? the