Stories of the Shaifs

Story 1:

Rock of Zambolia

By: Rithu Gurazada

Chapter 1: Just like the C.I.A.

Why did it have to be me? I ask myself that question every second of every minute of every hour of every day of every-I think you've got the idea. As I was saying, I ask myself that question all the time since that fateful day of July 19th. Let's take you back to that morning.

One year ago on July 19th, I was heading home from a long, leisurely stroll. It may sound odd that a twelve year old girl would be roaming the streets of Los Angeles at 6:30 in the morning, but it helped clear my head. As I was turning the corner onto my street, I tripped. While picking myself up and dusting myself off, I made sure I wasn't bleeding and I wasn't. Yes, I know, I'm quite the multi-tasker. Looking down at what had caused my fall, I was embarrassed. It was a rock. It's not that I'm clumsy; I was focusing on the rosy pinks and light violets in the warm sunrise of L.A., not the comparatively ugly sidewalk ahead of me.

The size of the rock was relatively small, a lot like a mandarin, and the weight was about the same as a cloud. It was a deep hue of indigo, almost black. It was smooth and sleek and shiny, except for an uneven sort of (how do I put this?) bump, I guess. There was some sort of symbol on it. I'd never seen any rock like this before. The symbol was a silvery-black, slipping and sliding and hiding in the indigo of the stone. The symbol was emitting a warm glow. It felt like there was something in the rock. Thump, thump, thump. Louder, harder … harder, louder. Unable to resist, I pressed my thumb down on the sign. And that's when the world started spinning.

What was going on? The world rocketed around me as I lay paralyzed, kneeling with my head on my thighs, throbbing. Then it all stopped. I slowly lifted my head and opened my eyes. I was in a large room, quite like a college classroom, with rows of seating, each row a little higher than the last. There were bench like seats and in each space was a white laptop. It kind of looked like what I thought the C.I.A. would. Or the Apple store. All of the walls, seats, rows, everything was white. It was after that I noticed the people.

Screaming, I stumbled backwards and hit a large television screen that took up basically the whole wall. There was a person in every seat, all rapidly typing on their laptops, all whispering almost inaudibly into earpieces and headsets. The minute I screamed they all ceased whispering and stood up. Each was wearing a uniform of a white suit that blended into the room. Every woman wore her hair in a bun with a headband on and every man wore a white hat. They all wore comfortable looking leather shoes. Then they all burst into chatter, pointing at me and the rock which magically was still in my hand. Then the talking stopped. One girl who was apparently still sitting stood up. She sat in the center, but nobody sat next to her, the seating just continued around her, forming a wide circle. She raised her hand and everyone fell silent and sat down.

Everyone there obviously was older than her (she looking only around 14 or 15 years), but she seemed superior, seemed to be above them. Walking down a row of steps, she took her time, letting her stilettos tip tap on the wood floors.

Once she downed all of the steps, her heels came to a stop in front of me, and with a warm smile she said,

"Welcome Claire Parker. We've been expecting you. Please follow me."

I did as I was told, me being submissive at times, the alpha at others. Right now I felt I should probably be submissive. We walked to the end of the room. I wondered how we would get out, because there was no door.

The girl put her hand up a few inches away from the wall. It looked like she was touching an invisible barrier. At first I thought she was miming, and then scolded myself for being so foolish. No CI.A. agent I knew mimed on the job. Actually, I didn't know any C.I.A. agents. For all I knew, miming could be the newest trend of the C.I.A. After my miming obsession, I wondered how she knew my name. A C.I.A. operative would know my name.

The portion of air she touched rippled, and a door-sized hole appeared in the wall. She stepped through and beckoned me to follow. Again, submissive. We walked into a hallway that had one door to the right and one at the very end. The girl led me to the one at the end. From the inside of her suit, she took out a laser pointer and aimed at the door. You see there were no knobs on the doors; just small black circles in the center of the very white (surprise!) doors.

Suddenly I was angry with the people of the C.I.A., or whoever these people were. The white looked sad, lifeless; it looked like a once beautiful, dazzling shade that was stripped naked of its clothes, and had turned into this. A mixture of emotions led to a churning red sea boiling up inside me, holding fish filled of fury and sharks made of animosity. Then the sea dried up, the fish dead because of a lack of water. I nearly slapped myself for getting so angry over a color. It wasn't like me. Not at all.

The girl pointed the laser pointer at the small black circle. Startling me, the door slid up into the wall. The room inside was light blue, one of my favorite colors, something that made the sea dry up completely. The setting of the room was that of a normal office. The girl walked to a desk and sat down, pointing at what looked like two bean bags on the other side of the desk. Sitting down, I realized it felt like a beanbag but didn't sag under your weight, so you were at the same height as the person on the other side. Somehow it liberated me, made me feel like I was equal to the person on the other side, in this case the girl. I hated how I couldn't call her anything but the girl. I hated not knowing anything. Wait, I told myself, this is too much anger in the same hour. I was usually never this angry in a whole day. This place was doing something to me.

I just then took in the girl. She was beautiful, with dark curls and sharp green eyes. She wore the uniform of everyone else, yet she was their boss?

Then, breaking the silence, she spoke, "So I'm sure you have plenty of questions for me and I'm here to answer all of them. But first I'd like to introduce myself. I'm Aria Mason. Now ask away," she said. Now I didn't have to call her 'she'. I could call her Aria.

"How did I get here? And where is here?" I interrogated.

"Here is London," Aria replied. "And Estania brought you here because she felt you are worthy." Then seeing my confused face, she said, "Let me tell you a story. There is an island called Zambolia, high above the heavens. About four or five centuries ago, a new king took over Zambolia. His name was Imai. He was known worldwide for being magically special. He married the woman he loved, a woman named Estania. They had three great children. All of their subjects loved them. Their life was a dream. Imai's brother, Yafan, was ruler of Harteca, the underworld. He was jealous of Imai, wanted Imai's throne. So he kidnapped Estania and said he would only return her if he could talk to Imai. It was a planned attack. Right before Yafan was about to stab Imai, Estania took the knife. She was weak and was about to die. So Imai used his powers to turn her into the only thing he could find. A rock. She is that rock you hold, Claire. That symbol is Zambolia's sign. We all wear it." She pointed to a pin hanging from the upper right hand pocket of her suit. It was the symbol on the rock.

"So this rock is a person? It can obviously transport people right?" I asked. She nodded, and I went on. "And even though I don't believe in magic, this is interesting so I might as well. First of all, what is this place, what am I worthy of, and how did you make a hole in the wall with your hand?" I questioned.

"Oh yes, welcome to SOZ Headquarters and -" she began.

"What is SOZ?" I interrupted.

"SOZ- Shaifs of Zambolia. In Zambolian, shaif means helper or protector. We are shaifs,"Aria explained. She continued. "We all have special powers. Shaifs are grouped based on their powers. They are grouped into three categories called Families; the Speakers, the Shifters, and the Minds. Speakers can talk to anything; plants, animals, inanimate objects. Shifters shape-shift into whatever they want to. Minds do things with their brains, like sending mental thoughts, or reading people's minds. There is one other Family. They are called the Mallanas. They have the powers of the Speakers, Shifters and Minds, plus some additional Mallana powers such as super speed, super strength, and invisibility, just to name a few. You are worthy of being a shaif. But Estania's heart was beating. I have never seen her as excited as she is today. And that means you might be a Mallana."

It took me a little while to understand what she was saying. It didn't make sense. How could I be magical? The most magic I had done was when I was 6 and my mom got me a Be a Magician! kit.

"What do you mean? I'm not magical or special. And if I don't even know how does she?" I asked, holding up the rock.

"You may not be able to feel it, but she can. We're going to train you and teach you how to control your powers," Aria answered.

"Are you the director of SOZ? And when you said 'We're going to train your powers' does that mean I'm going to stay here forever? Are you a Mallana? If shaifs protect Zambolia what do you protect it from?" I bombarded, not leaving anything out.

"I am the director, quite an achievement at 15, you will only stay here if you want to, and I am a Mallana. We protect Zambolia from any kind of evil. And can you call me Aria, please?" she said.

"Sure. Aria, if I don't want to do this I don't have to?" I asked her doubtfully.

"No, Claire. If you don't want to do this you don't have to. I want you to know that while this is interesting, it is very serious. If you say yes you will have to sacrifice seeing your friends or family ever again, for their safety as well as yours.

But don't rush the decision. That will only be worse,"she added at the end, realizing how dramatic that sounded.

I was uneasy. This was crazy. I just met this person, got transported hundreds of miles away from my home by a rock, and stepped into (actually more like fell into) a whole new world. And I wouldn't be able to see my parents ever again. Or my sister. On second thought, I could live without seeing my sister. I had a nagging feeling in my heart, like I did before I pressed the rock. Like I couldn't resist. And that feeling got the best of me.

I took a deep breath and said, "Yes. I will become a shaif." Aria beamed with joy. "I am so glad! Now are you hungry? I am positively starving."