“Where would they go?” said Dewi despairingly.
“It is in my mind that they will still be in Kotabunga,” said Kareen Amar. “The Sultan will not want to leave his capital at such a time. Perhaps, though, he has gone to some other place, safer than his palace, which is in a right old mess. If we knew what that was, then—”
“Wait!” said Dewi. A memory had come back to her, something Ratupohon had said. “There is a place where the Sultan’s family have always derived at least part of their power. The Atrium of Rorokidul in the Water Gardens.”
Both of them stared at her. “But as we know, the afreet has gained access to that place. It is not safe any longer,” said Husam.
Dewi replied, “It wasn’t safe for me, but surely Rorokidul would protect the Sultan. It is a pact that was made centuries ago with his family.”
Husam sighed. “The trouble is, little heart, that spirits can be whimsical, especially if they feel themselves slighted,” he said. “And I have heard that Sunan Tengah has…er…neglected some of his ancient duties. Rorokidul might be…um…slow in responding, if he does call on her help.”
“Yet she would surely not allow the Sorcerer to destroy the royal family of Jayangan just because she might be cranky with him,” said Dewi definitely. “The spirit world is capricious, but it is not stupid. This Sorcerer threatens the spirit world every bit as much as he threatens ours, or we wouldn’t have been helped in the way we have, if they felt no concern. And indeed, Kareen Amar wouldn’t be here either.”
“That is very true,” said the Jinn, beaming. “Kareen Amar is glad you, young one, have learned to understand something.” Then her face fell. “The problem is, the Sorcerer is not stupid either. He was able to breach the protection of the Water Gardens before, with the afreet; he may well do so again, differently.”
“Whatever may happen, we have to try,” said Dewi. “We have to get to them, Kareen Amar. Can you get us there quickly?”
“But of course,” said Kareen Amar in a rather offended tone. “I and my friend Car will get you there quickly, you’ll see!” So saying, she put both hands on the steering wheel. Her eyes were wide open, blazing; she hummed a wordless tune under her breath. The car shot forward, not jerkily or clunkily, as the bike had done, but with a great surge of power that propelled them forward so fast, it was like being in a plunging elevator. In record time, they reached the crowds pouring out of Kotabunga. People scattered right and left as the machine came bearing down on them. Looking behind them, a startled Dewi saw that a trail of fire was streaming out of the exhaust like smoke normally did. She closed her eyes. She hoped Kareen Amar knew what she was doing. She hoped that Anda Mangil’s car would be not reduced to a smoldering heap of twisted metal, like Kembang’s bike. She hoped…
There was a grinding crash, a scream of tires; Dewi and Husam were thrown forward. Then the engine died. Kareen Amar said, with great satisfaction undercut with a trace of worry, “The gardens are just around the corner. We will leave the car here, out of sight.”
Without a word, a grim-faced Ibrahim followed the Sultan and the boys, sword drawn, as the ruler led them through back corridors, dusty antechambers, and a rather shabby, abandoned-looking back kitchen, emerging at last in an even shabbier yard. Everywhere there were signs of hurried departure, and the Sultan’s eyes had a rather sad expression in them. He had pretended everything was okay; he had tried to deal with the growing menace in a way that would not panic his people. But you can’t shut off all rumors and stories. People knew things were happening, but because nobody in authority had even admitted it, it had made things twenty times worse. And now the mass panic could only serve to help the Sorcerer. Oh, the man had been clever, fiendishly clever. The unknown enemy, striking unpredictably from the shadows, will always strike more terror into human hearts than the declared one, facing you on the battlefield. Those ruthless and clever enough, who care nothing for the honor of the world or for the normal concerns of humanity, will always know how to use not only real weapons but also the paralyzing one of sheer terror.
Adi brought his heart pendant out from under his clothes and clasped it tightly, breathing a little prayer. He caught Ibrahim looking narrowly at him as he did so. But he cared nothing for what Ibrahim thought of Nashranees or anyone or anything else anymore.
The Sultan came to a small rusty door, which he kicked at impatiently. It fell open. “I used to get out of the palace this way all the time when I was a boy,” he said, beckoning them through. “Hurry, there is a shortcut to the Water Gardens from here. Perhaps we can get to them before anyone else arrives.”
The others exchanged a look that the Sultan did not see, as he’d already hurried away. It was unlikely they’d arrive before the Sorcerer and his men, who were perhaps already there. They streaked off after the Sultan, who was running down the street as fast as his rather stubby legs would allow.
Ibrahim drew level with Adi. Out of the corner of his mouth, he hissed, “You’re a spy, aren’t you? I thought as much. Scum!”
“What are you talking about?” Adi spat back.
Sadik, who had also caught up, echoed, “Yes, what?”
Ibrahim jabbed a long finger at Adi’s heart symbol.
Sadik said, “He’s a Nashranee.”
Ibrahim glared at him. “You knew?”
“Yes. So?”
“You knew he was not one of us, yet you brought him into our community!”
“I’ve never heard it said that we could not bring friends or guests. Fancy calling him a spy. Why would anyone want to spy on us? We’re an open community—we’re just farmers and seekers. And Adi’s a good man. A truehearted one, Ibrahim!” Sadik’s eyes were shining with anger. “You can see that for yourself.”
“I see,” said Ibrahim very unpleasantly. “I see. I think the Master will want to hear your opinions of Nashranees, Sadik.”
“You can tell him yourself, Ibrahim,” Sadik said, hotly. “Go right ahead. Yes, see what he says, when you trouble him about such idiocies, when the whole land is in danger from the demons!”
Just ahead, the Sultan stopped and turned to look at them, frowning. “Have you forgotten where we are, and what we’re doing?” he said coldly. “What is the meaning of this ridiculous quarrel?”
“Nothing, Sire,” said Adi quietly, when no one else spoke.
“Good. I’m glad. I will not have such nonsense when my son is in danger,” said the Sultan sharply. “And I hope you did not mean what you said, Ibrahim. I do not like fanatics of any kind. Nashranees are just as much a part of Jayangan as Mujisals, or Dharbudsus, or all those who live in our country. And all of us are bound by that, including you and your master. None of you is above the law. Is that understood?”
Ibrahim stared at him, his eyes flashing. Then, very slowly, he bowed. “Of course, Sire.”
“Very well,” said the Sultan crossly. “Now, that’s that. We need to take this street; the gardens are not far.” But Adi’s heart was boiling with rage again. For two cents, he’d have challenged the stupid, arrogant desert man to a fight. Didn’t he understand that it was precisely such talk, such behavior, that gave the Pumujisals a bad name? Perhaps the Shayk didn’t know he thought like that; or perhaps because Ibrahim had been an old and trusted friend, he allowed him too much latitude. It was a pity. Then he caught Sadik’s eye and smiled. Sadik had shown himself to be a true friend, and a real disciple of his extraordinary master. The Shayk would be proud of him.
Dewi unfolded herself from the car. She stared at the stone wall that surrounded the gardens. Above the wall could be seen waving date palms, and frangipani, and other trees. A faint sound of trickling water could be heard. Inside, it would be green, scented, lovely. A pulse of nerves was beating under her skin. She remembered all too well being here.
Beside her, Husam said, “There’s the door.” She jumped. “Are you all right, Dewi?”
“Oh, I’m fine.” Dewi walked to the door. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. The
Sorcerer won’t come here again.”
She was aware of Kareen Amar and Husam exchanging a look but took no notice. She pushed the door, and it opened easily. She walked into the garden.
The dead plants had been removed, holes in the ground the only sign they had once stood there. The broken statues still lay where they had fallen. There was silence, the silence of something badly injured, even dying.
“This is not a good place,” said Kareen Amar anxiously from behind her.
“It is a good place,” Dewi corrected her. “It will try to protect us.”
“I can hear someone coming!” hissed Husam. “Quickly, hide!”
And he dived into the green undergrowth, wriggling on his belly. Dewi followed him, then Kareen Amar. As they did so, the green closed around them, hiding them fully from sight, but not closing their hearing.
“Oh, sweet God.” The Sultan was thunderstruck. He had seen the open door to the gardens and, before anyone could stop him, had rushed in. Now he stopped in the middle of the path and looked around him, stunned. “What has happened here?”
Even someone unused to the splendors of the gardens could see at once something was wrong. Withered leaves and broken stone were not sights you associated with the most famous garden in all of Jayangan.
“Where are the gardeners?” called the Sultan. “Where are my people?” He swallowed. “And where is the man we should be meeting?”
Adi and Sadik exchanged a glance. They ran back to the open door. But just as they reached it, it slammed shut, so fast and hard that the wind from it nearly knocked them over. Adi and Sadik pushed hard at it. But it would not budge. It was stuck.
“There is another door, just over there,” said the Sultan after a moment of paralysis. He was gray-faced again, but strangely, there was no fear in his eyes.
“Let’s check it,” said Sadik, while Ibrahim stayed where he was, a thin smile on his face. He watched them while they ran to the other door. But it, too, would not open.
“We will go at once to the atrium,” said the Sultan. “They cannot have penetrated there; it’s impossible—Rorokidul would never let them.” And he set off at a zigzagging run through the desecrated gardens, puffing and panting as he went, not looking behind him to see if they were following.
Back in the huddle of bushes, Dewi and the others were struggling to get out, but it wasn’t easy; the plants were clinging tightly, unwilling to let them go. Perhaps the plants knew they were in danger and were trying to save them; perhaps the vines had other designs, not so pleasant. Dewi quietly called on Ratupohon, and suddenly, there was the green woman, one finger to her lips. She heard the spirit’s voice in her mind, jerkily, brokenly. “You must be careful. Something bad has got into the garden, down there in the atrium. The Sorcerer! I could not stop him. You are in very great danger. You would be better off staying here. My plants will protect you from the—”
“Ratupohon,” cried Dewi, “it’s too late to stay safe. You must let us go!”
“Very well,” said Ratupohon, a little more clearly now, “but I cannot protect you.”
“She has us,” said the Jinn suddenly. “She has us. I am Fire, green woman; and this is Sword. We have come to accomplish what must be done. Please, let us go.”
The vines promptly fell away. Rubbing at the itches that the bushes had left on their skins, they scrambled back onto the path.
“The atrium is that way,” said Dewi, pointing. “Come on!”
TWENTY-SIX
HEART IN MOUTH, Adi clattered down the dark spiral staircase after the others. He did not like the feel of this place at all. It was like a well, he thought, from which they could not escape. Sadik must have been feeling nervous too, for he was going down very cautiously indeed. But the other two appeared to have no qualms at all. The Sultan raced down and down and down, toward the soft light, and Ibrahim raced after him, sword drawn.
The light grew strangely brighter and brighter the farther they went, but it was not this that made Adi’s skin prickle and feel clammy with a cold sweat. It was not even the idea of the Sorcerer trapping them in the gardens that made him feel scared. A smell of dead sea things permeated the staircase, reminding Adi irresistibly of the dangerous and unpredictable nature of the ocean. How did any of them really know how the Queen of the Southern Sea felt? The spirits did not always protect those they were supposed to. Whim and anger at perceived insult could easily, and unpredictably, turn them into frightening enemies. And the Sultan had admitted that he had neglected the formidable Rorokidul of late.
Adi held tightly not only to his kris but also to his heart symbol. As a Nashranee, he should not be as fearful of the nature spirits, who were, after all, bound by God’s law. But surely no one from Jayangan, whether Nashranee, Mujisal, or Dharbudsu, could really, truthfully, say they never feared them.
In front of him, Sadik stopped and whispered, “This is a bad place, Adi. This is a place of evil spirits.”
“No, no,” Adi whispered back, much more confidently than he felt. “It is just the place where the Queen of the Southern Sea, Rorokidul, comes to meet her human bridegroom, the Sultan of Jayangan.”
“Exactly,” said Sadik.
“I thought you didn’t believe in her existence anyway,” hissed Adi, more in an attempt to give himself heart than out of a real desire to taunt Sadik.
“I don’t,” said Sadik, but his voice trembled and Adi knew at once he was not telling the truth, and that the other boy was in a real agony of apprehension. He said gently, “Sadik, do not be afraid of the spirits. They are of Jayangan and they love this country. Trust to God and you will be fine.”
Sadik began, “But I—” Then he broke off abruptly. “What’s that?”
Adi stiffened. He, too, had heard it—a soft sliding on stone, which sounded remarkably like stealthy footsteps above. Someone was following them. His heart raced. After motioning to Sadik to keep in the shadows, he climbed quietly back up a few steps, gripping the kris tightly, listening. The sound had stopped, though. He climbed back up a little way, expecting at any moment to be grabbed, but there was nothing and no one. Yet there was a feeling here, a sense of an alien presence suddenly, a whiff of…of burned flesh.
Horrific images leaped into his mind: blood, fire, death. Terror gripped him momentarily; then he shook his head angrily. He wasn’t going to start imagining things now! Trying to master his fear, he climbed a little higher, and higher, till he could see the light of the gardens up above. No one grabbed him; nothing moved. The only sound was that of his own footsteps. Running as fast as he could, he went back down to Sadik. “Must have been a rat,” he said.
Sadik nodded, wanting to be convinced.
“Adi, I think this was all a trick. They haven’t got the Prince at all—they just wanted to bring the Sultan here, and—”
“But that can’t be right. You heard the Sultan trying to contact the helicopters,” said Adi.
“Yes, but…” Sadik gulped. “The Sorcerer is obviously very powerful. Perhaps he was able to jam the helicopters’ communications.”
“And perhaps he can do anything he likes,” said Adi, turning down the stairs. “But perhaps that is his greatest weapon of all—that we think he can do anything.”
I wish I really believed that, he thought as he moved resolutely downward, his ears singing with the expectation of being ambushed at any moment. He wished he could be sure that what he’d said wasn’t just the biggest load of nonsense that anyone ever spouted. Perhaps the Sorcerer was capable of doing anything he chose to. Perhaps he wasn’t human at all, but the Devil himself, come to finally take over the world.
Being in this place again made Dewi remember all too vividly what it had been like last time. She still did not feel safe here; the gardens had the air of a place that had been fatally wounded. She could sense the spirits of the green world all around her as she and her companions moved swiftly toward the atrium, and she sensed about them an air of expectancy, of apprehensive waiting. Hu
sam and Kareen Amar, too, did not seem altogether comfortable. Kareen Amar kept glancing around her, as if she thought she’d surprise someone or something in the act of following her; Husam’s face was drawn with something that could not be called fear, not on him, but rather an uncertainty that was more unsettling than mere fear. They were almost at the atrium when Dewi stopped. Ratupohon was standing on the path before them. One finger was to her lips, another beckoning them urgently into a grove of trees and bushes to one side of the path. They didn’t argue—and barely had time to run and hide behind the bushes before the hantumu came down the path.
They were not on their motorbikes this time, but on foot, swift and silent as black shadows, heading straight for the atrium. There were more of them than before, a dozen or so, and they were armed with black swords. There was no sign of the afreet. As Dewi and the others watched in breathless silence, the leader of the hantumu peered down the well of the staircase. Then, as if satisfied by something, with a wave of his hand he positioned them at the entrance to the well, where they stayed on guard. It was obvious the protection of the gardens had now been fully breached.
Adi and Sadik had reached the bottom of the staircase, and stopped so suddenly that they bumped heads. But neither of them noticed the pain.
For the Sultan was kneeling in the shallows at the edge of a large, shining pool. It was Rorokidul’s pool, and reputedly bottomless, with treacherous cold waters that would claim any intruders who attempted to wade into its sacred depths. The Sultan was not an intruder, though. He had taken off his shoes, his jacket, and his trousers, and was clad only in his long shirt, which reached almost to his knees. He had taken off his glasses, too. He knelt in a posture of utter humility. By the edge of the pool stood Ibrahim, a sneer on his face but eyes alert, sword drawn, watching every corner of the atrium.
Snow, Fire, Sword Page 20