by Matt Larkin
A warm breeze blew through the window to the landing. Soon the palace staff would close it with crystal panes, but during the dry season the Arun Guard spent a lot of time here. Landorundun sat on the landing with her long black hair pulled back in a ponytail, basking in the sun, playing the song she had been perfecting since her days at the Academy. A song that should have made her career. She would have made a finer musician than a soldier.
She glanced at him, then increased the tempo of her song. And then it ended. She laid the flute down beside her and watched him, as if waiting to hear how impressed he was.
“Well done.”
With a light snort she settled back on her arms. “Come to hear me play? I have others if Empu Baradah’s protégé isn’t too busy this morning.”
Naresh shrugged and stepped out of the window to stand by the sea. In the morning sunlight he could see the edge of the Civic District’s crystal dome beneath the water. It always seemed odd to see it from above. “He thinks just as much of you,” he said at last.
“I’m sure he does.”
“Why do you have to make it so hard?” he asked with a glance over his shoulder.
“I’m used to hard.” She rose and stood looking up at him. “I’ve worked for what I have. I wasn’t given it by my parents.”
Naresh pushed past her to step back inside. “Neither was I.”
“Are you certain?”
Damn her smug smile. His mother may have planned his future, but he had worked as hard as anyone. Harder. Since the day he was wedded to the keris he had fought to become the best. He was damn near the best already, and she knew it. “Have you seen Chandi?”
She laughed. “Oh, Naresh, it’s so sweet you have a new friend. And a handmaid! She must be so much better conversation than that macaque you used to keep.”
He had loved that monkey. Actually, he’d had some deep conversations with it, if one-sided ones. Back in his days at the Academy, he had talked for phases with Little Bany, not the least about his frustrations over Landi.
“You shouldn’t have allowed her to dine with us.”
Ignis were forbidden from dining with Solars, as if their religion would somehow contaminate the food. If there were any such prohibitions against Lunars, Naresh hadn’t heard them yet. Perhaps it was only a matter of time, now that Lunars had given over the ways of isolationism.
Naresh turned his back on her. “The prejudices of the Children of the Sun are beneath us. We cannot expect peace if we see the other dynasties as too inferior to warrant respect.”
“Ironic, coming from the son of the Radiant Queen. Or blasphemy. What would she say?”
Naresh didn’t want to know what his mother would say. But he could guarantee Landi wouldn’t go anywhere near enough to ask her. “I see you’re eager for some sparring. Perhaps another day.”
“I look forward to putting you in your place. You just missed your playmate. She went up into the garden with the empress’s Lunar bodyguard.”
Naresh grimaced at her tone. He didn’t want things to be like this with her. They’d studied together, trained together, had loved one another, once. Another lifetime.
He offered her a nod, and she returned to her flute. Fine. Maybe some things could never be fixed. He took the stairs to the garden two at a time. The palace let in enough sunlight for small plants, but only the roof had the room for palm trees and a full garden. Kakudmi himself had designed the gardens, before he took the throne. Before Ken Arok’s murder.
A flock of birds of paradise had alighted in the trees near the stairs. Many Solars kept them, but the Arun Guard had no time for pets, birds or monkeys. It had broken his heart to give away Little Bany, though Landi’s old roommate had certainly given the macaque a good home.
Chandi sat on the edge of the roof, under a palm tree, staring at the sea. Malin sat close to her, almost like he intended to put his arm around her, but hadn’t gotten there yet.
Naresh moved closer, trying to keep his footfalls quiet. The Lunar man jerked his head into the air, then turned to face Naresh. Chandi twisted to watch as Malin rose and stalked toward him. The man sniffed, pulled his lips back in a not-quite smile.
“I wasn’t informed you were visiting the palace, Pak Malin.”
“Maybe you weren’t important enough to inform, Guardsman.” The Lunar moved closer and stood over him. Though Malin was only a little taller, he was much heavier than Naresh.
“I guess we should be honored.” He didn’t back away from the large Lunar.
“I didn’t think you were smart enough to realize the honor.” Malin leaned in too close, his eyes gleaming like black wells.
Naresh jerked his keris free of its sheath. “Would you like to see my education?”
Malin moved fast, faster than Naresh could react without using the Sun Brand, and shoved him, sending him sprawling to the ground. In a heartbeat Chandi had leapt to her feet and stood between the two men.
The Lunar glared at Naresh over her head. “You want me, sun-worshipper?”
Naresh Sun Strode and appeared behind Malin. Before the man could turn, Naresh grabbed him and flung him over his shoulder, slamming him into the ground. While Malin gasped with the wind knocked out of him, Naresh Strode back to his fallen sword and sheathed it. Malin wasn’t worth it.
Malin had recovered in an instant, and regained his feet. The debate, the choice to press the issue or let it pass warred on his face, before he stalked away.
A loud sigh escaped Chandi, and she slid back down to the ground. She wouldn’t look at him.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she said after a moment.
“True.”
Her eyes were colder than last night. He hadn’t intended to alienate the girl, though perhaps agreeing to meet at all was a mistake. The chance to learn about his new charges was too tempting, though. The more he understood, the better he could do his job.
“Won’t you sit?”
“Of course.” He slunk down beside her. Malin could find his own way out. “I thought you wanted to meet this morning.”
“Malin is dangerous,” she said, still watching the sea.
“If he starts something I must respond in kind.”
She turned to him with her lips pursed, but didn’t speak for a moment. “Why?”
“What do you mean why? My honor as a warrior. My family’s honor.” Her crooked, half smile seemed to ask for more. “I just have to. If someone provokes you and you do nothing, you invite more of the same on everyone around you. Action allows us to control a situation.”
She laughed. “You’re worse than the Macan Gadungan.”
Naresh had regained his feet in a heartbeat. “Malin is a weretiger?” He should never have let the creature roam the palace. The rest of the Guard needed to know about the monster.
Chandi grabbed his wrist and pulled him back down with surprising strength. “Malin won’t risk starting a war. Rahu would skin him for it.”
The Lunar War King did have a reputation for a temper. And for extreme measures. Naresh watched the girl, but she gave little away of her thoughts. “Don’t you believe in honor? In loyalty to your family?”
“Two different questions. You do whatever it takes to survive. And you put family first. They take care of you, so you take care of them.”
“Tell me about your family. You’ve said so little about yourself. You have someone waiting for you back in Bukit?”
She hesitated, mouth set in a hard line. “Ratna is all I have now. My mother died thirteen years ago.”
“That’s when my father died, too. The Battle of Bangdvipa?”
Chandi nodded.
“No family, but you seem to understand duty. But not honor?”
“Duty? I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Loyalty, anyway. People earn loyalty by providing it to you. Duty is too abstract. It’s like you’re saying you’d do whatever your family wanted, even if they didn’t earn it from you.”
“Of course I would.”
He pushed himself off the grass. He should leave. Instead he found himself pacing. He shouldn’t care whether a Lunar understood, but somehow he needed to explain. But what if she was right? Had he made all his choices because of his mother’s plan?
“You’re on edge because Empu Baradah is leaving?”
Her sudden change of topic stopped him. “I guess I am.” The intense way she watched him left him warm, but slow of thought. “I’ve barely seen him for two years, and as soon as I return, he leaves.”
“He’s some kind of surrogate father for you?”
“You’ve changed the subject,” he said with a shake of his head. “Why can’t you understand that these things, honor, duty, they matter? They’re what make us who we are.”
“Well, that’s one way to define yourself.” She rose and began to walk the low stone ledge that surrounded garden, arms out for balance.
“It’s our traditions that tell us where we come from, Chandi. And where we come from is the only way by which we can measure where we’re going. Without honor and duty, without the knowledge of our own identities they give us, any other pursuit diminishes in value. We’d be no better than animals, moving through our lives without greater purpose.”
“Purpose,” Chandi said, “might be overrated.” She continued to pace the ledge, speaking without looking at him. “Landorundun’s bitter he left you in charge?”
Naresh ignored the change in subject. If the Lunars would accept that their actions reflected on their entire family, their entire people, maybe they’d have had peace long ago. Maybe that was why it had always been hard for Naresh to believe history lessons that claimed the three dynasties had once lived together.
“Well?”
“Landi thinks she should have been left in charge, yes. She was a potential almost a year longer than me.” Landi wasn’t the only member of the Arun Guard who resented him. Recruited younger than normal, given responsibility faster, favored of the First, son of the Radiant Queen. Small wonder he had few friends.
Chandi spun on her heels and began to walk the ledge back toward him, her balance perfect, her form lithe. “So where’s he going?”
“That’s not public information.”
She leapt down and drifted toward him. “Oh, a secret. Exciting. But I’m not the public, am I?”
At least her mood seemed to have improved.
Naresh sighed and sat on the ledge, his legs hanging over the side, toward the water a dozen feet below. During his Academy years he had often swam in the sea. Even at the Astral Temple he sometimes found time. Now, here, he rarely did.
“Malin thought I shouldn’t trust you.” She sat down beside him. “I remember when you were here before, always so formal. And now, I’m not sure who you are. I was surprised you remembered my name.”
“You make an impression.”
She laughed, her crooked half smile returning as she watched him. “Were you at the Astral Temple all this time?”
He couldn’t think of any reason not to tell her. “Most of it. I was in charge of security. Pak Empu Baradah went to oversee the investment of a new Guardian.” Landi thought—feared—that Empu Baradah had recalled him to begin training him as a Second. The First didn’t always choose a Second, hadn’t had one since Astral Shore.
“That’s what it’s all been about. All the wars over that damn building.” Her voice had gone so quiet. “Four wars, so many lives. I’ve never even seen it.”
Maybe they had wasted countless generations fighting over an old ruin. Honor demanded they reclaim the holy site. And the Arun Guard depended on the Temple to perform their function. But the wars were over. They had peace, if they could just keep it.
“It’s hard for either side to give up something sacred to them.”
“Why is it sacred to you?”
Naresh sighed. “The Children of the Sun, our faith, they say Surya always intended it for our people. That’s why he left the secret of the Sun Brand there for us. They say,” he paused and watched her a moment, “we couldn’t decipher it until after we had cast out the Lunars and Ignis.”
Confusion, or fear, filled her eyes and Naresh worried he had said too much. Her people might believe the temple was meant for them, as well. But Chandi just nodded.
“What’s it like?”
All his life he had heard the Lunars demonized, heard of their lack of honor, their crimes, their deceit. Sitting here with this simple handmaid, her face open, daring to trust him, he could not imagine truth in what he’d heard.
“Beautiful in its way.” After years living there, it had lost some of its splendor. No place retained its magic when it served mundane needs long enough. “A large complex with many temples within. Many temples. Many gods.” Many secrets.
“I wish I could see it.”
“Maybe things will go back to how they were before the Fourth War. Maybe both peoples will be allowed inside again.” Legend said, before the Pact was broken, all three dynasties kept the temple together in trust of the gods. Maybe that could happen again.
She didn’t say anything for a long time. Naresh considered and discarded a dozen things to say to keep the conversation going; all seemed foolish. A bird of paradise alighted on a nearby tree and Chandi grinned, pointing at it. She didn’t say anything, just seemed to want to share its beauty with a friend.
Her face fell again. He couldn’t bring himself to ask what cut so deep into her this morning. Instead, he reached his arm toward the bird, burning the sunlight stored in his Brand, touching the animal’s mind with his own. It fluttered out of the tree and landed on his wrist. Up close, its plumage seemed more brilliant.
Chandi’s laugh streamed like water. “How?”
“The Sun Brand. Animals can feel it.”
She reached toward the bird, then looked back at him. He nodded, so she brushed her fingers against the bird’s neck. It watched her without fear. She laughed again, and Naresh willed the bird to move onto her arm. Watching the bird as though mesmerized, she stroked it with the back of her hand.
Her simple wonder almost moved him to tears. He had lost something and didn’t know it was gone until now. In his Academy days, he had laughed and taken joy in the small things—dances and macaques and friendly jokes. And somehow, since then, he had become nothing but his sword. Was that Landi’s fault? Maybe it was his own. As he rose he extended his arms, burning the Sun Brand, touching animal minds all around them. Using this much energy, his eyes would glow like the sun. Other birds flocked to his outstretched arms even as fish leapt from the sea into midair dances, drops of water flying from them in all directions. He foolishly, brilliantly burned through the energy stored in his tattoo.
Chandi gasped, her hands going to her mouth, whispering something he couldn’t hear. Her laugh sputtered, as though she couldn’t quite find it, but she turned from the fish to approach him, only hesitating a moment at the sight of his eyes.
More.
At his mental command, dolphins leapt into the air, turning full flips. The monkeys in the trees jumped from branch to branch.
And then, as Chandi reached to touch the birds, his stored sunlight gave out. The birds took flight, and the fish returned to the sea.
Onlookers had gathered. Even if no Arun Guard were among them, they would hear about this, and he’d be chided for such reckless use of his power. But the look on her face was worth it.
“What else does it let you do?”
Many Lunar warriors probably knew the answer to that, but he still shouldn’t say. Looking into her wide eyes, it didn’t matter. “The Sun Stride, of course. And enhanced speed when needed.”
She didn’t ask more, and he didn’t offer. For a long time she said nothing. When she finally spoke, her voice was almost a whisper. “If your family asked you to do something you didn’t like, would you do it?”
“Of course I would.”
She nodded. “Of course you would.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Malin sat against the inside of the wall surrounding the Academy, turning his keris knife over in his fingers. He should have killed Empu Baradah a long time ago. Should do so now. He had sworn vengeance and failing in this—in half his purpose as Macan Gadungan—ate at him like a leech.
As always, music drifted through the Academy grounds. Malin didn’t hear it. Rahu had given much. He’d asked much, too. But Malin had promised to protect the man’s family. Maybe it would have made up for failing his own, for so many mistakes. And now, Chandi and Ratna were all he had left. Them and the Jadian, who looked to him like some kind of savior. More fool, them. Once, a lifetime ago, they had tried to call him their Hidden Knight, the one who would liberate them. But Malin was a ship foundering in a storm. He could save no one.
Calon had been a fool, of course. No one understood her foul sorcery. They all thought her a dark goddess. A servant of Rangda, perhaps. Calon thought she could turn her sorceries against the Solars without them learning. But they did.
Malin had failed to protect her. And innocent Simhika, sweet Chandi’s mother. Dead at his feet. Her killer gone. One day there would be blood for it. One day soon.
Chandi’s scent filled him. Not just memory. He looked up to see her biting her lip.
Malin leapt to his feet. “Chandi! Listen. You could almost dance to this one. Dance beneath the moon.” He grinned.
“I used to, Malin. It’s been a long time.” Malin had seen her dance so many times. Seen her as a baby in Simhika’s arms. Seen her grow from the ten-year-old child weeping over her dead mother into a beautiful, adventurous girl. Seen her fall for Anusapati. Seen her lose him.
With bared teeth, Malin tugged on his long black hair. “Then we’ll dance in the flames when we burn this place to the ground. Dance to the music of the murdering Solars’ screams.”
“Sweet Chandra, what’s wrong with you?” She reached out a hand to touch his shoulder.