Snow, Fire, Sword

by Sophie Masson

  “Do not thank me till I have properly helped you.” He went over to a chest in the corner of the tent. “I think it is as well we should be armed.” So saying, he lifted out a large, curved sword sheathed in a metal scabbard. He attached it to his belt. “This may not do much to the afreet, but it is sharp, as men’s flesh is soft. Many’s the wicked head it sent rolling in its day. If I catch up with those hantumu…” He grinned and drew the sword slowly from its sheath. Its blade, obviously still well oiled and polished, gleamed. Dewi shivered. Then a sudden, dazzling thought made her gasp. Senopati had said Snow, Fire, and Sword were not mere instruments of power, but companions. Here in Siluman she had found a man who lived by the sword, who, in a sense, was the essence of Sword. Yes. She was sure of it. She had found the first companion—she had found Sword!

  “What is it?” said Kematian, concerned, quickly sheathing the sword. “You look as though you’ve just seen a ghost, little heart. Don’t worry. My sword obeys me. It will not jump out of its own accord.”

  “Oh, Tuan Kematian, there is something I must tell you!” And without pausing for breath, she told him all about her quest for Snow, Fire, Sword. When she had finished, there was a long silence as the old executioner rocked on his heels for a moment, deep in thought. Then he looked at Dewi, his eyes shining with tears. “I want to tell you something few people know. And that is my true name, the name I was known by in my homeland of Al Aksara. That name is Husam al-Din. It means ‘Sword of the Faith’ in the tongue of my people.”

  Dewi’s heart thumped. “Oh,” she whispered, “may I call you that, instead of…the other name?”

  He looked at her for a long moment, and nodded. “I would be honored, little heart. I do not know if it is truly my sword and my service that you seek, but I hope it is. What a great and noble task has been entrusted to you—and how privileged I am to be able to help you. Let me pledge the sword and the heart of Husam al-Din to this most glorious quest!” And so saying, he knelt down before her, drew his sword, and laid it at her feet. “With this sword, I promise to protect and to preserve. I promise that I will not rest until the wrongdoers are found and punished.”

  Dewi could hardly find the words to speak at first, so moved was she. At last, she whispered, “Rise, O Husam al-Din, for you, who have much skill and wisdom, do me too much honor. I am nothing special, but I must fulfill the task I was given, or my father and my friends can never return home, and our beautiful land of Jayangan will never be freed from the threat of the Demon King.”

  “Ah, little heart,” said Husam al-Din, getting to his feet again, “it is not for nothing you were chosen. You are not only a dukun’s daughter but truly one of God’s true and kind children, and I am only glad I can be your companion in this task.” He rummaged around in the chest and pulled out a leather bottle and a smaller glass bottle. Carefully, he decanted a tiny stream of bright water from the leather one into the glass one, stowed it carefully in his clothes, and put the leather bottle back in the chest. “This little bit of zummiyah water will protect us against the afreet, and the rest I have left here to stop it and the hantumu from entering and knowing you’ve been sheltered here. Now, let us go first to Tuan Gelombang’s cave and see if we can find a trace of your friends.”

  TEN

  ADI AND ANDA Mangil were almost at the mouth of the cave when they heard the car horn blasting, turned, and saw the motorbikes roaring over the sand toward them. Adi just had time to see Dewi snatched by a tall man in black—a hantumu?—when Anda Mangil grabbed him by the arm and edged back with him toward the cave. “We’ve got to get in there!” he shouted. “You have Rorokidul’s ring of protection.”

  Adi tried to say something, but he fell into the mouth of the cave and instinctively put out a hand to break his fall. His beringed finger touched the rocky wall. There was a blinding flash, and Adi was flung far into the cave, sliding along its sandy floor. Ears ringing, seeing sparks before his eyes, he scrambled to his feet and ran back to the cave entrance.

  Anda Mangil was still out there. The hantumu had almost reached him. Adi shouted, “Anda Mangil! Come in! Come in!”

  Anda Mangil looked over his shoulder at Adi. He shook his head. He tried to smile. “I cannot,” he said.

  “Why not? Come in.” Adi made to go through the cave’s mouth, to grab Anda Mangil and bring him inside. But he bounced back, as if he’d just hit an invisible wall. He tried again, flinging himself at the entrance. Still he fell back. He screamed, “Let me through! Let me through!” and threw himself desperately at the entrance again. In vain. Panting, gasping, his head in a whirl, his stomach in knots, he could only stand and watch as the hantumu gained inexorably on Anda Mangil. He understood now. Try as he might, struggle and scream and pound at the invisible force field with all his strength, he could not push past it. He was trapped in safety in the cave, as trapped as he’d been in the paddy field when his master was kidnapped, as helpless to prevent or change what happened next.

  Anda Mangil turned and ran. Not toward the hantumu, but toward the water. The hantumu redoubled their pace and, as Adi watched in helpless fury and sorrow, three of them jumped off their bikes and ran straight at him, crash-tackling him to the ground and dragging him back up the beach. The other rider sat on his bike, some distance away from the sea. Was he the leader? Now Adi could see the thing that crouched on his bike, a thing that filled him with a creeping horror: a twisted little monkey with blazing, unearthly eyes that were fixed on the driver.

  The hantumu brought out some ropes, but as they bent over Anda Mangil to tie him up, he managed to free himself and dived for his fallen kris. Taken by surprise, the hantumu fell back momentarily, giving Anda Mangil enough time to jump to his feet, kris whirling like lightning in his hand. One of the hantumu gave a howl and reeled away as the kris drove right into his arm. Still the leader of the hantumu sat on his bike, but the monkey thing had jumped onto his shoulder and was dancing and chittering there, as if in unbearable excitement. Anda Mangil fought the other two hantumu, twisting and turning desperately, going toward the water, regaining the ground he’d lost. Still the leader of the hantumu did nothing but watch, the monkey jumping with glee. For a moment Adi’s spirits rose, as it seemed to him that Anda Mangil might at least escape into the sea. Oh, if only, if only he could be there with him. Two of them might succeed in beating the hantumu back. “Let me out! Let me out!” he yelled to the invisible force field that barred him from getting out, but to no avail.

  The three hantumu were all around Anda Mangil now, including the wounded one, whose mouth was twisted in rage and pain. Yet still Anda Mangil fought on, backing away down the beach. He was tiring; the hantumu’s whirling swords had caught him more than once, on the shoulder, on the leg, across the chest. Adi, tears of rage pouring down his cheeks, could see that the driver’s face was beaded with sweat and getting paler by the second; blood stained his beautiful clothes. If he could only reach the waves, surely Rorokidul would help him. Surely…

  The leader of the hantumu got off his bike. Adi saw him touch the monkey on his shoulder. And then Adi saw something he would never forget, as long as he lived. The monkey flew through the air—not like an animal, but like a leaping ghost, like a nightmare come to life—straight for Anda Mangil’s throat. But it did not bare its teeth or try to bite him; it gripped with horrible little hands the driver’s chest and stared him full in the face, its eyes shining like twin furnaces.

  Anda Mangil gave a great cry. He staggered, dropped his kris, and put his hand up to free himself, but the monkey clung tightly, squealing in mad ecstasy, staring into his eyes as if it would consume his soul. And in that moment, the hantumu moved swiftly. Raising their swords high, they fell on Anda Mangil with savage cries of triumph, striking again and again. The monkey leaped from his chest, capering and gibbering on the loose sand beside Anda Mangil’s head. In a few seconds, it was all over.

  Now the leader of the hantumu made a gesture toward his friends and they fell back, rev
ealing the broken, bloody corpse of Anda Mangil. “Leave it there for the scavengers,” the leader said, and the hantumu walked back to their bikes, the monkey chittering at their feet. They headed back up the beach, engines roaring, sand spinning under their wheels. They reached the cliff road and vanished from sight.

  For an instant, Adi could not move, think, or feel. He heard the melancholy sound of the car horn, which sounded once or twice more, faintly, before fading away.

  He put up a hand toward the entrance. The force field was still there. “Let me out, please,” he whispered brokenly. “Let me out, I must go to my—”

  Then he gasped and fell silent, for as he spoke, a massive wave reared up out of the sea and came rolling swiftly toward the beach. The instant it reached Anda Mangil’s body, it tossed him up into its massive arms and Adi, gripped by terror, horror, and awe, saw that the driver’s body had been washed clean of wounds. Then he saw creatures emerging from the water, surrounding Anda Mangil’s body—beautiful creatures of dream, white as sea foam, with translucent hair the color of waves. Each creature held in its arms a basket full of flowers that glowed with an unearthly radiance. The wave, with Anda Mangil resting on top of it as if on a great princely bed, stayed poised there for a second as the sea creatures spread flowers all over his body, and around it. And then someone else emerged from the water: a tall, queenly woman with silver hair and dark eyes, dressed in sea blue, green, and silver. In her hand, she carried a wreath of the most beautiful flowers ever seen, entwined with what looked like the most lovely jewels imaginable. Gently, she bent over Anda Mangil’s body, placed the wreath on his brow, and softly touched a finger to his lips. Then she turned and looked straight at Adi. For an instant, their eyes met, and Adi found himself incapable of speech. Then the woman turned back to the sea and raised her arms, and in an instant, wave, sea creatures, queen, and the body of Anda Mangil vanished completely from sight. All that was left was the sea, restlessly prowling up and down the beach, and Adi, alone in the cave.

  Burning tears rolled down Adi’s cheeks, unchecked, unheeded. He supposed that the woman had been Rorokidul, and that she had taken Anda Mangil to her palace in the Southern Sea. He knew that she had shown him this so he would be reconciled to what had happened. But awesome as it had been, Adi could not be reconciled. Anda Mangil might be honored in death, but he was dead. Rorokidul had done nothing for him while he was alive. And by forcing Adi to stay behind the force field of her protection, she had turned him into little better than a coward. Once again, he had been of no use in the fight against the hantumu. Once again, he had had to stand by helplessly while friends were kidnapped or butchered.

  The rebellion in him welled up and exploded. “Rorokidul!” he ground out. “I don’t need your protection. Let me be!”

  Silence. But as his hands tightened around each other in his distress, the ring bit into his flesh. His skin burned from the contact. His hair stood up on end. Still he shouted, “Queen Rorokidul! Queen Rorokidul, let me be!”

  Silence and darkness. But now there was a tremor under his feet, a vibration that made his teeth chatter and cold sweat pour down his neck. An uncontrolled panic gripped him then, and hardly knowing what he was doing, he pulled the ring from his finger. “Leave me alone, let me go, let me go!”

  As soon as the ring left his finger, he felt the force field diminish, so quickly that he staggered and fell to the ground, tumbling out of the cave. He gasped. The sea was wild, agitated. Huge waves crashed onto the sand, washing in at the mouth of the cave. Adi clung to the rough wall, pushing against the force of the water. As it receded, he leaped out of the cave, not looking back, running with all his might up the sand.

  Neither Dewi nor Husam heard Adi’s light footsteps as he ran past the back of Husam’s tent. As he ran, Adi took a solemn vow: He would allow no one to make his decisions ever again. He would fight. He would discover things for himself. He would not rely on the talismans or protection of spirits. He would find the strength within himself and either save or avenge his friends. Clutching his heart symbol, he offered up a prayer to God, solemnizing his vow and asking for the repose of the soul of poor Anda Mangil.

  His breath whistling in his throat, he reached Anda Mangil’s car. He tried the driver’s door. It was locked. He tried the other doors. All locked too. He touched the gleaming dark-red hood—and sprang back, as a strange, hot vibration whooshed out under his hand. He felt a sharp sting at the ends of his fingers, like a burn. He looked at the car. He put out a cautious finger toward it, and as soon as he touched it, heat flared out again, making him jump back. He stood there, sucking at his fingers and staring at the car, heart pounding. Had the hantumu bewitched it?

  A sudden movement caught his eye. There was someone by that black tent. A man all in black! Adi ducked down behind the car, his palms clammy. He must get away. He must get back to Kotabunga and go and see the Sultan. It was the only thing to do. How could you rely on spirits who either didn’t have the full knowledge of what was needed or got murderously angry just because you questioned them? He would walk back up the road. He might get a lift back to Kotabunga with someone if he was lucky. He was certainly not going to stay here, in this horrible place. And so Adi turned his back on the car and raced as fast as he could up the cliff road, stumbling a little over rocks and loose gravel. He reached the top quickly and turned back onto the road which they had traveled on only a short time before.

  Of course, distances traveled in a car—even one as sedately steady as Anda Mangil’s—appear much shorter than those traveled on foot. And to Adi, the road seemed endless, going on and on and on into the distance.

  When they had driven down to the beach, he had noticed, from the comfort of the car’s soft seats, just how deserted this road was. Unusually for Jayangan, there were no settlements for quite some kilometers around Siluman. The soil was too poor, the conditions too harsh for farming. Adi felt the full force of first the sun and then pouring rain as black clouds gathered and burst. For an hour, and then two, he walked in growing discomfort. His fear and horror and sorrow receded somewhat, but he was beginning to feel hungry and thirsty. He opened his mouth to the raindrops pelting down and so obtained some relief, but so much of it was falling, it threatened to drown him before his thirst was properly quenched. Not one car passed, not one bike, not one cart.

  Then, just as the rain was easing, when he had almost despaired of ever meeting another traveler, he heard a rattle and thump in the distance. A short while later, on the road behind Adi emerged a battered, elderly, small car, wheezing and gasping its way along. It drew up beside Adi and stopped. Adi stopped too.

  The driver leaned an elbow out of the car and called, “My friend, you look very tired. Where are you going? Can I offer you a lift?” He was about Adi’s age or a little older, and had a round, bright face, sparkling eyes, and a head of unruly wavy hair. And his accent was pure Jatimur! Adi felt his heart lighten a little. “Oh, yes, please. I am going to Kotabunga.”

  “Well, I’m not going as far as that, only to Gunungbatu, halfway there. But even just a little way along might help you, no? Perhaps you might be able to rest at my master’s. I will ask him, anyway. Jump in.”

  Adi gratefully did as he was told. He tried to smile at his rescuer. “It is very kind of you to stop for a stranger.”

  “Think nothing of it,” said the young man breezily. “It’s just normal to help a fellow traveler.” After a little pause, he asked curiously, “You are from my part of the world too, are you not?”

  Adi named his village.

  “Why, Desagua is only a short distance from the village I came from! My father—God rest his soul—was a well-known fisherman. He used to own two boats.” A sadness came into his bright face. “But that was long ago, and now I—” He broke off what he was going to say, and went on, instead, “I am glad to have met you. My name is Sadik.”

  Adi made an effort at politeness, though his mind kept filling with what he’d seen on the beach. “
Hello, Sadik. My name is Adi.”

  “What has happened to you, Adi? Why are you on this road, alone?”

  “I…” Adi looked quickly at Sadik. Should he trust this young man? He decided to play it safe. “I…I intended to meet some other companions,” he said, stumbling a little over the words. “But they were…were late, and then I obtained word that they had gone back to Kotabunga.”

  “You are dressed very finely,” said Sadik, looking with frank interest at Adi’s clothes, “yet you say you are a villager like me. Are you employed at the Court?”

  “Oh no,” said Adi quickly. “I was…er…given these clothes by my master, who wished me to be in fine shape for a ceremony that was to be held soon.” I’m gabbling, he thought. What will Sadik think? But he seemed to accept Adi’s explanation without demur.

  “I cannot take you to Kotabunga myself, you understand,” said Sadik. “But there will be someone else to take you on. You will come with me to Gunungbatu, to the community where I live. It is a good place, of learning and quietness and kindness. You will stay and rest. I will introduce you to my master. He will like you, I know. You can—”

  “I have to get to Kotabunga,” said Adi, rather alarmed by all this. He couldn’t afford to wait. “I am really in a very great hurry. I cannot stay for long. Though it is indeed kind of you to propose it,” he added hastily, not wanting to offend his new friend in any way.

  “Of course. That is understood. We will get you to Kotabunga quickly; many go there all the time,” said Sadik cheerfully, leaning forward to grind at the gears. As he did so, something swung around his neck, catching the light. It was a little silver medallion with words engraved on it, words Adi recognized at once, as no one who lived in Jayangan could fail to do: “The Light Shines.” They were written in the ancient script of Al Aksara, the Great Desert, where the Mujisal religion had originally come from. They were sacred to all Mujisals but even more so to the Pumujisal, the strict ones, for whom they were almost considered a powerful talisman.