by Matt Larkin
The figure at the center of the dais stood. “The prisoner asks our mercy. He shall have it.” Ketu tossed a Solar keris sword down into the arena. It landed some distance behind the nearest advancing Lunar.
Naresh turned, keeping each Lunar in sight as best he could. They’d know he would go for the sword. One of the others started to move in. Naresh ran at that man. The Lunar fell back, his eyes wide. Naresh dove into a roll on the sand, grabbing a handful of it as he rose on the other side of the slave, then took off in a dash for the sword.
The man guarding it stepped to block his path. Naresh flung the sand in the Lunar’s eyes, then sidestepped the blinded man’s wild swings. He kicked the sword up into his hand and cut down the screaming Lunar.
The crowd roared, but in praise or condemnation Naresh couldn’t say. The other two men hesitated. He might as well get this over with. They had sealed their fates when they decided to challenge Ketu, and Naresh had no choice now.
One swung at him when he got close. Naresh dodged to the side, putting the man between himself and the second Lunar. He parried another swing and caught the man on the temple with his fist. The Lunar dropped to the sand. When the second Lunar hesitated, Naresh ran his sword through the downed man. He couldn’t allow him to continue the fight.
The final Lunar still hesitated, so Naresh feinted right, then swung left. The Lunar fell, a gouge in his chest.
Naresh turned and stared up at Ketu. Sword in hand, he raised his arms in mock salute. Ketu would continue to throw his enemies at Naresh until one killed him. Or until the crowd grew tired of the diversion. And then Ketu would have him killed.
A murmur ran through the crowd. Ketu nodded at Naresh, then whispered something to a Lunar beside him. After a moment, Naresh heard the grate door reopen. This time Malin tromped through it, pulling a pair of toyaks from the back of his sarong as he walked.
Dual toyaks. Again. Surya’s blazing backside.
“So, Solar, now you must fight your own battle. No Sun Brand. No Sun Striding. Just you and me. What you wanted, isn’t it?”
They both walked toward the center of the coliseum.
“You killed Empu Baradah.”
“Yes, I did.” Malin circled him, snarling. “And Empu Baradah killed dozens of my people. Some were my mates.”
“And now I’m going to kill you, beast.” He feinted to the right and swung low.
Malin ignored the feint and parried the attack with one toyak. His fist caught Naresh across the jaw and sent him sprawling. Naresh’s mouth felt heavy and his neck strained. After spitting blood, he forced himself to his feet. Malin had the strength and speed of the tiger, even in human form.
“I’ll enjoy ripping your throat out,” Malin said.
“And you think Chandi will love you after?”
As Malin swung, Naresh dove into a roll and came up behind the weretiger. But Malin spun, parried Naresh’s counterattack. “You’ll never know the answer to that.”
Naresh launched several probing strikes. “I already know.” Malin gave ground before the assault, his face impassive.
The weretiger twisted his next parry and shoved Naresh back. In an instant Malin was on him, his fist pummeling Naresh’s right shoulder. Naresh screamed and the sword fell from his hand as he stumbled backward. The agony told him Malin had dislocated his shoulder.
But Malin didn’t move in to finish him. The weretiger was enjoying this too much. Instead he dropped the toyaks and then tore open his baju. He fell to all fours as his muscles rippled and fur began to sprout all over his body.
Naresh scrambled over to the keris and retrieved it with his left hand. He stepped away from Malin. Now only a tiger stood before him. But the eyes, they remained the same.
Malin kicked off his sarong with his hind legs, then began to circle Naresh. If he hadn’t been able to kill Malin in human form, what chance did he have now? Naresh turned, keeping the tiger in front, keeping the sword between them.
Malin faked a lunge toward him. Naresh slashed, but the tiger easily twisted to the side. Malin lunged back in. His teeth sank into Naresh’s left leg. Naresh fell screaming to the blood-soaked sand. Malin released his leg. For a moment their eyes locked. Malin was acknowledging him as a worthy adversary. A final salute before the kill.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
“I’m afraid the entertainment has already begun,” the usher told Chandi. He stood outside the coliseum doors, arms folded over his chest, unaware of the unconscious weretigers she had left in her wake.
Chandi didn’t relish using her Moon Blessings again, much less on this pompous fool. Oh, she wanted to, so much it scared her. But she could feel herself slipping. Had any lunatic ever recovered? “I’m going in to see my father. You know who my father is?”
“No. But I’ve orders not to open the coliseum until after the show. Orders from War King Ketu.”
“Ketu is my father.”
The usher looked over her torn and bloodstained clothes. “I’m sure he is. And he’ll be happy to see you once the show is over.”
“Wrong on both counts.” Chandi punched him in the gut. “He’ll not be happy to see me.” She shoved the doubled-over man out of her way. “And it won’t be after the show.”
She opened the doors a crack and slipped through. The crowd roared at the spectacle below. No one paid her any mind as she descended the steps to the rail around the lowest tier of seats.
Her merciful father had thrown Naresh against Malin. The weretiger had disrobed and shifted before she reached the rail.
One of Ketu’s guards saw her and moved to intercept her. “Chandi,” the guard called. “Your father asks you to join him on the dais.”
She pulled her toyaks and continued down the stairs.
“Stop.” The man reached for his keris.
Her left stick took him in the shoulder, her right followed, smashing his jaw. Now people stood, gaping at her. She ignored them.
Naresh screamed.
Chandi ran to the rail and leapt over the side.
Malin and Naresh glared at each other, eyes locked. Then they both looked in her direction as she rose from her crouch. Malin bared his teeth. The look on Naresh’s face would have been worth the trip alone—his mouth hung open, but his eyes pleaded with her.
“Chandi!” her father shouted. “Do not interfere.”
“Father.” She glanced at him as she strode toward Malin. “I challenge Malin.” The crowd murmured. Some laughed. “The impudent Macan Gadungan forgot himself and thought to make me his mate.”
Malin snarled. He had made his choices, and she had made hers. She had never beaten him. But she would now.
She ran at him and leapt in the air, flipped over him as he swiped a claw at her. He spun so fast she had to break off her attack. She vaulted into a handspring to escape, then rolled to the left and launched a wide swing with her right stick.
Malin leapt out of the way, then immediately pounced back toward her. Chandi ducked and rolled under his attack. He was holding back, wasn’t he? The tiger could have raked her with his claws, but he didn’t. His indecision would cost him.
Chandi feinted left, then jumped over his counter. She drew her Potency Blessing as hard as she could, wiping her toyaks in wide, rapidly changing arcs. And then the tiger was on the defensive, snapping when he could, but always falling back from her lightning-fast strikes. She did an aerial cartwheel over his next attack and jabbed him in the ribs. A yelp escaped him and he tried to back away. She advanced on the fleeing tiger. As Malin snapped at her again, her stick smashed across his maw.
The tiger fell with a gurgle. Chandi hesitated, then walked away, walked back to Naresh. She stowed her toyaks and pulled the man to his feet. She braced him against her hip and jerked his dislocated shoulder back into place. Naresh groaned and she had to support his full weight as his legs buckled.
“You have taken all that belonged to Malin, daughter,” her father called from above. “Including his prey.”
&
nbsp; “Yes.” She looked at Naresh, who swayed as he tried to support his weight on his one good leg. He watched her, as though unaware of everything else around. She came all this way for him, risked lunacy, and here he was.
“Finish it,” her father said.
Yes. She would finish it, one way or another. She’d made so many mistakes, mistakes that had brought them to this place. And now she’d made her choice, consequences be damned. “I love you, Naresh.”
Her father leapt to his feet and leaned on the rail. “Daughter! Stop!”
“Say it,” she whispered to Naresh. Doubt, fear, and perhaps relief warred on his face. Men were opening the gates on either side. “Say it.”
“I love you, Chandi.” His voice almost broke.
She pulled him close and kissed him hard.
He held onto her hand, even when she released the embrace. “What?” he started to ask.
She squeezed his hand but looked to her father. “Father, as these Lunars have witnessed, we are now married.”
“What?” Naresh asked again, his grip tightening on her hand. She squeezed back, but kept her gaze on her father. Everything fell to him now. He was bound by the customs he venerated. Unless she had pushed him too far, even for that.
Ketu gripped the rail, his face trembling. “Chandi.” With a shake of his head he motioned the approaching guards away. “What have you done, my child?” Then he stared at Chandi for a long, long time. He could not have Naresh killed—not as his son-in-law. Unless he would disavow her and kill them both. Could he do so? Had she miscalculated?
Naresh opened his mouth, but she squeezed his hand. Nothing either of them could say mattered now.
When Ketu spoke, his voice had gone raspy. “I will not see you die, my child. But neither can I welcome this blasphemous union. You disappoint me. But perhaps there has been enough slaughter. You are both banished from the Lunar Empire.” He leaned over the rail, his voice dropping. His eyes, cold a moment ago, now lit. “My protection of you expires with the next moonrise.”
Chandi slipped Naresh’s arm around her shoulders to support his bad leg. “Come, husband.”
The guards in the hall stepped aside to let them pass.
“Will they come after us?” he asked once they stepped into the moonlight.
“No. Not right away. They won’t break my father’s decree. Landorundun told me you called off your wedding.”
He stumbled and leaned against a building. Dawn was moments away. Landorundun would see the signal best at night. “It seems I got a wedding after all.”
“Much nicer.”
“I miss the singing. I wanted the singing.”
With his arm over her shoulder again, she forced him to continue. “You can sing to me later.”
They didn’t speak as they walked the long trail down from the city to the harbor. Could she tell him about Empu Baradah? He had felt enough pain because of his mentor’s death without knowing the man was his father. And he had once blamed her for that death. Better if he never knew.
When they arrived, she helped Naresh to sit, leaning against a fisherman’s shack. Then she grabbed some kindling and lit a signal fire.
When she returned, she sat by Naresh. “She’s with Bendurana, now, you know.”
“So all three of us have failed our parents.”
A moment later, Landorundun stood beside them, favoring her wounded leg. She gawked at the mauled mess of Naresh’s leg. “In Surya’s name …” She turned her gaze to Chandi. “The ship’s too far. I can’t take you both, and I don’t have enough sunlight for two trips.”
“Take him,” Chandi said.
Naresh snatched her hand. “Not leaving my wife.”
Landorundun chuckled. “Excuse me?”
“Take him. I’ll steal a jukung.” She didn’t have much experience with the outriggers, but she could sail it far enough to reach the Queen of the South Sea at least. She hoped.
Landorundun nodded. “Let go, Naresh,” she said, pulling his hand away from Chandi. Landorundun turned toward the sea and stared. Perhaps she had to pick out the Queen of the South Sea. She couldn’t afford to Stride onto the wrong ship. And then they were gone.
Chandi knocked out a man on his boat. She had nothing but Solar pearls to offer, but she left him the bag when she dumped him on the dock.
As she rose, someone shambled down the pier toward her. In the moonlight, she couldn’t make him out until he had drawn close. Malin. He stumbled closer, clutching his ribs, until he stood right before her. His face bore the marks of her toyak, but his injuries had already begun to heal. The fortitude his nature provided amazed her.
“I wish you hadn’t done this, Chandi.”
She stepped back into the jukung and began to untie it. “You made your choices, I made mine. Don’t make me regret sparing your life, Malin.”
Malin leaned against a post. “We could have been fine mates.”
“I don’t think so.”
“At least give me the Amrita, Chandi. What use is it to you? You have what you wanted, you saved him. Let me help my people.”
Chandi jerked her head up to stare at Malin. “You just tried to kill the man I love—my husband. Why should I help you with anything?”
“Because I kept my promise. I helped your father consolidate his power. I have continued to serve him, to save him. Now keep your promise and help my people—help them the only way you can.”
Chandi had betrayed everyone she had ever cared about so many times over. Why should she pause over one more betrayal, one broken promise? If Malin’s eyes had held malice or rage, she might have turned away then, might have left him in his place. But they held only conviction, and his people did deserve better. So she drew the vial from her kemban. She had once thought to give it to Naresh.
She tossed the vial to the weretiger, then pushed the boat away from the pier. For three years she’d dreamed of her homecoming. It had not lived up to her expectations. Kasusthali had become her home, but it too might be gone.
“Goodbye,” she said, as much to Bukit as to Malin.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
The Queen of the South Sea threaded through the wreckage of the once mighty Solar navy. In the distance, a crocodile pulled a dying sailor under. Chandi shuddered.
The ships smoldered, but it was nothing compared to the blaze in Kasusthali’s Harbor District. If the city burned beneath the domes, the smoke would suffocate everyone.
“We have to get to the palace,” Naresh said. “I have to find the emperor.”
Chandi looked over the crew. Landorundun huddled against Bendurana’s chest and refused to meet her gaze. The captain offered no words of encouragement. Only Naresh seemed ready to act. The sun would set soon, and they needed to be gone from this place as soon as possible.
“I’ll go,” Chandi said.
“You’ll need my help,” he said. Red still seeped through the bandages on his leg. He would always have a limp, but he would live.
“No, stay here, my love. I’ll search for him.” And Ratna.
Naresh might have argued, but she kissed him and forced him by the shoulders to sit on a barrel. The glance she shared with Landorundun told her the Guardswoman would make sure Naresh didn’t try to leave.
Refugees milled about the burning harbor. But the tube to the city proper had flooded. If any part of the city still had air, it wouldn’t last. Lunars and Ignis looted the harbor, but many stood stunned at the destruction.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” someone asked from the shadows behind her. She knew Semar’s voice.
“It’s not what I wanted.”
Semar spread his hands in acknowledgement. A silent admonition. What had she expected?
She had no time for the priest to point out her foolishness. “Where is Kakudmi?”
“Your people wrought vengeance on the one man who truly wanted to make peace with them.”
Chandi shivered, despite the fires nearby. “Peace? Didn’t he send
Kala to murder Rahu?”
“Kala followed his own path. Kakudmi saw the man as a valuable advisor, and he may have understood what was going to happen, but he would not order such a thing.”
“And you?” she asked. “Did you arrange all this, Semar? You seem to have all the answers, so tell me now. Did you bring Kala here?”
Semar nodded, once. “I am responsible for his being here.”
“From where? What lost civilization?”
“Ever wonder who built the Astral Temple? The Pact that bound the three dynasties claimed the gods wrote on the pillars, claimed it was their temple. But do gods build temples, or do people build temples for them?”
If Rahu’s civilization had built the Astral Temple, he would know its secrets. But Semar had brought Kala here. The fire priest had ignited the Fifth War. “You betrayed all our peoples.” She stepped close, stared up into the tall man’s eyes. “Should I kill you? You planned all of this, didn’t you? But no, I’ve seen too many deaths. I won’t kill you. Answer me this, though. How does it feel to be responsible for the destruction of a world?”
“You tell me.”
Chandi stumbled backwards, her jaw trembling. Yes, she had betrayed as much as he had, as often as he had, as thoroughly as he had. Had she never come here, perhaps all of this might have been avoided. When she could speak again her voice shook. “What will happen now?”
Semar spread his hands. “What must happen. Each dynasty will try to hold what it can.”
The great Solar Empire that had once barred the way had fallen. The rise of the Lunar Empire had only begun. And if her father or Malin came after her and Naresh, they’d have nowhere left to turn. “The Solar Empire was large,” Semar said, as though he had read her thoughts. “The Lunars will need time before they can claim it all. The Solars will try to mount a defense.”
Chandi shook her head and watched the strange priest. If all that had happened had shaken him, he didn’t show it. He didn’t even seem surprised. “You never answered my question about how you knew the Stranger. Maybe it was you I should have asked about.”