The Angkhora Warriors

Part 29: Wuruk

"Arjana!" A voice woke him up. Arjana opened his eyes. His mind still groggy, he heard voices speaking outside his room. He dragged himself out of bed and put on his freshly washed pants before throwing his door open to the voices outside. "Arjana!" a man said loudly, pulling him from his doorway and into the small circle of people. "Hannu wants to see you!" the guard said urgently. "What's going on?" Arjana asked, his steps hastened as they walked toward Hannu, who was waiting near the exit with the giant door.

"Another village," Hannu said. "Like the one you told us about when you came back."

Arjana was confused but he followed his master, sensing the dread in his tone. Hannu, the half-man, half-ape warrior of great nobility was somebody who couldn't be easily stirred. A slayer of many demons and monsters, Hannu's a seasoned warrior, skilled in the way of the ancient Bronze Staff, master Guru of the Royal Academy and the Commander to the Light King.

After riding for the whole morning, they reached a village that bordered the edge of the forest. A stodgy man stood at the small wooden pillar that marked the village's entrance, wearing a strange headgear on his head with colored feathers from a variety of exotic birds. To most it meant a strange dancer but to Arjana it meant leadership.

The chief offered them a small nod before turning to lead them into the village's center. Cautiously, the group followed him in, their tension lingering in the air as they waited to see the horrors that had whispered the whole morning. The chief shifted to the side, parting to a blood-soaked earth at the side of an old stone well. There, an older man stood, looking over the body whilst a small group of people sat crying and consoling one another.

Arjana's eyes widened in horror as he looked down at the woman before them. Her night garment had been torn open, soaked with blood, and her organs sprawled out over them. Her legs were spread apart with force while her arms draped heavy at her side. Her face was pale and twisted, with death having long since left its mark on her. Her eyes rolled back, and her long, brown hair was strewn over her face. Not far from her feet lay the water pail she'd likely left home with. Arjana struggled to maintain his composure when he saw the opened womb that once held a baby.

"She was likely still alive when it happened," the old man said.

The long, messy, white-haired old man made no offering of his hand for introduction. His eyes were fogged, likely from previous battles, and the right eye staring beyond time. Filthy, little bugs crawled inside his white beard, his black garb made his appearance distasteful, while the dangling black jade-beads from his bronze walking stick brought only further mystery to his existence.

Hannu recognized the ornaments; items for prayers and magic rituals. But he held back his suspicion, preferring to hear the old man's explanation.

"I am Wuruk," the old man said "I can tell you what happened."

"I am Hannu, and this is Arjana," Hannu introduced themselves, motioning to Arjana as his eyes tried to pull themselves away from the butchered body.

"Are you from the north?" Hannu asked.

"Yes, Snow Mountain originally. But that was a lifetime ago," the old man chuckled.

Snow Mountain. It confirmed Hannu's suspicion. This must be a monk that knew old magic but had lost his way.

"We must hurry. We have much to discuss," Wuruk said, looking toward the chief, hoping for a place for discussion. Hannu nodded to the chief, agreeing to the request. The chief offered his home, where the group entered and sat around a large circle on the floor.

"This isn't an unusual occurrence," Wuruk began, "at least not from my years of experience. This is the work of a Mananggal."

"A Mananggal?" The chief asked curiously.