The Skyfall Era Trilogy: Books 1-3

by Matt Larkin

  Naresh trudged up the stairs and plopped down beside her. The rain had washed away much of the sweat, but his chest still heaved.

  “How do you see me, Naresh?”

  Naresh turned to look into her eyes. He cupped her chin in one hand. “The moon and stars, held forever in the instant before dawn.”

  She took a deep breath; it trembled in her chest. She kissed him, drank in his warmth. But even with his arms around her, even in the heat, she felt chilled.

  “Do you know how the others see me? I’m ‘the Lunar’ to them. Still, after all this time.”

  Naresh cradled her against his shoulder. “That’s not true. Everyone’s accepted you, they’re just on edge. What happens if your father comes for us? It’s the question on everyone’s mind.”

  So did it mean this home could never last? Cenrana gave them shelter. Peace, even. Why would her father even care about such a small fishing village? She nuzzled against his side. “Is that why you spend every night training?”

  The way he’d taken to Lunar Silat was like nothing she’d ever seen. Was it because he’d already mastered Solar Silat? No. Something else was driving him. Was it Malin? The tiger had maimed Naresh. Or was it more, the loss of his world?

  “The Sun Brand makes the Arun Guard war gods,” she’d said, when they began the training. “What are you when you run out of sunlight?”

  Naresh shrugged. “Demigods?”

  “We all know what Malin and his kind can do to a human.”

  Naresh had tried to hide the glance at his leg, but Chandi caught it. She always saw it. Not a day went by that Naresh didn’t lament the grace he had lost that day. Not that he ever said it.

  So she’d taught him every move, every step Malin had taught her. He couldn’t master all the footwork, but his progress with his hands astounded her.

  Chandi took his hand and looked up into his face, brushed his hair away from his eyes. Those eyes had always held things she couldn’t quite see, hadn’t they? But then, they held her, too. When he looked at her like that, everything else in the world faded away. For a moment.

  “Can’t you let it be? Let them have the Lunar Empire? Just stay here and live our lives?”

  Naresh shut his eyes, and the spell was broken. “I don’t know.”

  “I can’t lose you.”

  He opened his eyes, and it was all back for her. “You won’t. Of that, at least, I’m certain.” Something unknotted in her chest.

  “I need to start supper,” she said, at last.

  “Not yet.” He led her by the hand, down the stairs, and over to her tree.

  Their rope still hung there in a loop, where he’d strung it a year ago. Thicker around than her wrist, it more than supported Naresh’s weight as he sat on the swing. Chandi settled into his lap and rested her head on his shoulder.

  The rain fell around them, streaming down their faces. Its constant patter was like the drum of a dance—the dance of the whole world, as though they rested in the arms of Djambo Baros, the Tree of Life.

  The rest of the village might not want her, but this tree always awaited her. As did her husband. And slowly, she’d win these people, just as she’d won Naresh.

  Because this was her home now.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT

  Naresh had already left when Chandi woke. Most days he did. He took the jukung out into the Bone Gulf, looking for fish even before dawn. She sighed, then stretched, and pulled on her kemban.

  A mango sat on their low tea table. Well, at least he always left her breakfast. She massaged the mango until she could squeeze the pulp from one end. Sweet and so ripe, grown right in the nearby hills.

  “Oh my lady, come to your window. I must see you!”

  Chandi started at the voice shouting from below her house. Bendurana. She smiled, sucked a bit more from the mango, then rose and stepped out onto her porch.

  The Serendibian stood below with his arms outstretched to her, a satchel slung over one shoulder. “Ah, Ibu Chandi, at last. I’ve been wanting to ask you something of the utmost importance.” He gave her a stern look.

  “Sorry, Ben, I can’t marry you. Naresh wouldn’t approve.”

  Ben slapped his hands together and struck a pose of defeat. “In that case, maybe you’d speak to Lambe Susu.”

  Chandi leaned against the porch rail. “Landorundun’s mother? Why?”

  Ben scratched his head and paced around a bit. “Her parents never wanted us together. We thought, after so much time had passed, they would have accepted it. They still won’t give us their blessing to marry. I just …”

  Of course. Bendurana had lost his parents at a young age. His in-laws would be the only ones he’d have. No wonder their approval meant so much to him.

  “Her mother, especially, doesn’t like me. I’ve been wanting to give her something,” he said. “Come down here.”

  Chandi did, and Ben pulled an emerald-colored bottle from his satchel. Several small holes covered one side, almost invisible, though she could feel them when she took it.

  Chandi looked at Ben.

  “Fill it with water,” he said. “You can hang it above a garden to give the plants a rain shower. I bet she likes gardening. They have a huge garden.”

  “It’s Hainuwele’s garden.” Chandi soured at the reminder of Landorundun’s sister. “I don’t think Lambe Susu spends much time there.”

  “Ah.”

  “Don’t worry, Ben, it’s a fine gift. But why ask me? They don’t think much of me, either.” They’d barely spoken to her in the year since she’d come to Cenrana. ‘The Lunar’ was probably even worse than ‘the pirate’ in their eyes.

  “Well, who better to prove love wins out against all odds?”

  Chandi snorted and threw up her hands. “All right, all right, Ben.” What could she say? She owed him more than she could ever repay. Bendurana had taken her to save Naresh from her father, at great personal risk, all in the name of her love.

  Chandi smiled as she walked. If she could convince them Ben was good for Landi, it’d go a long way to elevating her in their eyes, too.

  She drifted through town, taking her time, but still had no idea what to say when she reached Solokang’s house. Beyond the house, Hainuwele knelt in the large garden, planting orchids.

  Chandi stood below their porch, fiddling with the bottle, when a woman called out to her.

  “Are you going to come up, or just stand there?”

  Chandi blew out a breath and climbed the steps. Like all Suladvipan houses, it featured a front region for guests. When she’d first come here, Chandi had made the mistake of trying to sit on the raised region in the back, with her hosts. Landi’s cold stare had been almost as bad as Hainuwele’s mocking laughter. Like they’d expected her to know not only Solar customs from Kasusthali, but Solar customs from a whole other island.

  Lambe Susu was making tea. Chandi bowed, then accepted the cup Landorundun’s mother offered her. She knelt in the guest area and folded her legs beneath her. The woman eyed the green bottle.

  “A gift from Bendurana,” Chandi said. “For watering the garden.”

  “In the rainy season?” Lambe Susu took the bottle without smiling. “A gift from the pirate. Isn’t that nice? I hope he doesn’t think he can win my daughter with stolen plunder.”

  “I hear he won her with a mango.” At least, that’s how Bendurana told it. Chandi suspected he might have exaggerated. “He’s not a pirate. He hunted them for the Solar navy, before. Now he’s just another merchant, trying to get by.”

  “I appreciate that you support your … friend, Lunar.”

  Chandi tried to hide her glower. Well, maybe she didn’t try that hard.

  “But,” Lambe Susu continued, “just because you won Naresh from my daughter, don’t think she’s free to be with that Serendibian.”

  Chandi bit her lip, watching the Solar. The old woman’s voice was firm, but her eyes seemed uncertain. Won Naresh from her daughter? Was that what this was? So she wasn
’t just the Lunar, she was the Lunar that had stolen Naresh from Landorundun?

  “Naresh and Landorundun were finished long before I met either of them. Bendurana didn’t much like Naresh. But when I asked him to, he risked everything to save him from my people. They held Naresh captive, would have killed him. And Bendurana faced the Lunar navy, pirates, and the loss of his home to bring me to Bukit.”

  Chandi sipped her tea. “The man you call pirate risked his life to save others. Even others that had treated him poorly. The only thing he’s ever asked in return is that I speak to your husband about the woman he loves. And make no mistake, she does love him. You could try to arrange another marriage for her. But I doubt you’d find anyone that will make her happier.”

  “I can see he made an impression,” Solokang said from the porch.

  Chandi started. When had he returned? The man wasn’t the village chief, but he seemed to hold everyone’s ear here. This place was as tight-knit as a beehive, and twice as prickly if stirred. But if she could win this man over, maybe he would convince Lambe Susu for her.

  Solokang entered and sat beside his wife. “And he’s not the only one that makes an impression.”

  Chandi stood and bowed. “I hope I have, Pak Solokang.” Chandra, did she really just use that stupid Solar title?

  The man nodded. “But that man has nothing to offer her,” Landi’s father said. “He made his living hunting Lunar pirates? Not much of a profession now, is it?”

  “He’s trying to get by. We all are.” Time to get out, while she was ahead? She bowed to both of them, then left.

  Hainuwele stared at her as she climbed down the steps. The woman spoke when Chandi tried to walk away. “You think the foreigner is good enough for Landorundun? Who could ever measure up to her? She always gets the best.”

  Chandi took a deep breath before facing the Solar. “Landorundun can decide for herself who the right man for her is.”

  The way Hainuwele brushed her hair from her eyes—just like Landorundun. “That’s what we have family for. So our elders can help keep us from making mistakes.”

  “Landorundun’s twenty-seven. I think she can make her own choices. You, on the other hand, might need some guidance.” Chandi took a step closer to the Solar. “I owe your sister, which is the only reason I haven’t broken your face for making those eyes at my husband.”

  The older woman took a step back.

  Chandi spun and left before Hainuwele could see her smirk. She probably shouldn’t have confronted the woman. It wasn’t like Naresh showed the slightest interest in the widow.

  And she’d probably just undone all that hard work with Solokang and Lambe Susu. She sighed. Not that the look on Hainuwele’s face wasn’t worth it.

  The rain began as she walked back to her house. Naresh would return soon, for the lingsir kulon meal. She’d gotten him to develop a taste for Lunar rendang, and she’d need time to prepare it.

  Ben and Landi sat on the bamboo mat under her house, holding hands, waiting for her. Whatever he said made her shake her head, trying to keep that cool exterior.

  “Ah, Chandi, how’d it go?”

  “Can I talk to Landi alone, a moment, Ben?”

  They exchanged looks, then Bendurana rose with an elaborate shrug. “Well, I can’t blame you. Who wouldn’t want a little alone time with the most beautiful bird in the sky?”

  Landi scoffed, and shook her head again.

  When Ben had moved out of earshot, Chandi knelt beside the Solar. “Your parents worry he can’t provide for you. It’s not just the damn Solar honor, Landi, they really fear he’s not going to look after you.”

  Landi scowled and said nothing for a minute, just stared off at the rain. “Only my friends call me Landi,” she said at last. “And what do you mean damn Solar honor? I knew it was a mistake to send you, but Ben insisted.” Landi—Landorundun—looked away, at the rain over the hills.

  She could be so difficult sometimes, but Chandi owed the Solar. And since when were they not friends? But then, Landorundun was never quite the same after they’d found Kasusthali drowned.

  “They didn’t forbid it,” Chandi said. “Give it time.” With a sigh, she rose and left the woman beneath her house.

  When she came back down, arms laden with beef and coconut milk, Landorundun had gone. Poor girl. Chandi knew too well the frustration of being denied the person she loved in the eyes of her family.

  Or maybe it was more than that. The First of the Arun Guard now commanded only one person. And Chandra knew, no one really commanded Naresh to do anything. Which was fine. Chandi liked a man with spirit.

  She sang to herself as she lit the fire pit, adding a sprinkle of turmeric and tamarind, then a generous handful of chilies. Turned out, Naresh liked things spicy, too. It just took him a while to realize it. A hint of galangal when the coconut milk was boiling, and it’d be just about perfect.

  If nothing else, Chandi was proud of her growing culinary skills. When they’d first built this home, she’d hesitated over everything. There was no one to ask if she’d made the Lunar dishes correctly. Back in Bukit, slaves did most of the cooking for House Soma. Anusapati had cooked, too.

  It’d been a long time since she’d thought about him. Funny that, at last, she could look back without a sting of pain in her heart. She couldn’t forget what might have been, but if things had been different, she wouldn’t have found Naresh. And after four years, she almost couldn’t picture Anusapati’s face anymore.

  Heavy footfalls behind her told her Naresh had returned. “Smells good, handmaid.”

  Chandi spun and leapt into his arms, threw her legs around his back. “Handmaid? You may be bigger and stronger, but I bet I could still pin you if it came to it.”

  Naresh nibbled on her ear. “We’ll put that to the test later.” He set her down, then bent over the pot and took a deep breath. “Seems about ready.”

  Chandi folded her arms and leaned over him. “Oh, you’re an expert now?”

  He shrugged. “Guess I’d better go wait up in the house, then.”

  She ladled the rendang into two bowls, then followed him upstairs. He sat in the central region, by the tea table. Neutral ground, for guests or residents. Silly Solar rules.

  Chandi plopped the bowls on the table, then folded her legs beneath her. “Catch anything today?”

  Naresh grunted. “Usual.”

  “Maybe we should take the boat out tonight, under the moon. If the rains stop.”

  He shook his head. “I’m supposed to be sparring with Landi tonight.”

  Again? Chandi bit her lip, then sighed. “Can’t that wait? Do you really need to train every night? I know it takes hard work to master these skills, Naresh, but it’s not everything.”

  “I have to be ready. I have to protect us, have to save whatever we have left.”

  Chandi folded her arms. “You can lose your life in battle, but you can lose it by not living it, too.”

  Naresh grunted, but didn’t say anything more as he ate.

  Rangda damn it all. Why did she have to always spoil these moments? Naresh was who he was, and he loved her. And that should be enough. It was all she’d ever wanted, and she had it.

  Wasn’t it enough? But was he still the same Naresh? Chandi pushed the rendang around in her bowl. Of course he was the same man. The man who had hung that rope in the tree outside. The man who had called birds to the rooftop garden in Kasusthali Palace. He was that man. Because he had also been willing to betray his honor for her.

  Naresh rose, kissed her on top of the head, and took his bowl away to wash it.

  And yet. Sometimes, he didn’t see her anymore. Why did the man have to close himself off? Hadn’t they all lost so much? Or maybe that was exactly the point.

  Naresh and Landorundun must have felt responsible for all that had gone. They were Arun Guard. They were the guardians of Kakudmi, protectors of Kasusthali, champions of the fallen Solar Empire.

  But they weren’t the ones to
blame for the city’s fall.

  Did it matter that the Solars judged her? Chandi had played a role in the fall of Kasusthali, and if they knew how great a role, many probably would try to murder her.

  But how could this become her home if they couldn’t look beyond the past?

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE

  Landorundun came that evening, as Naresh had said. He asked Chandi to watch them. Maybe he wanted to let her spend some time with him, but this wasn’t what she had in mind.

  “I’ll be back soon,” she’d said. “I just need to get some exercise myself.”

  Was she making the same mistakes as before, avoiding him? But she couldn’t think what to say. She should be happy, now that they were together. It was just that he couldn’t see the way this was changing him. Making him harder. Not just his body—that had always been tight, but now it was rock hard—but his nature.

  In a way, it almost made him like Malin. Jaded, and far too quick to turn to violence. For all the two men hated each other, they had more in common than either would have admitted. She smiled, but it didn’t last.

  The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but still she couldn’t see Chandra’s face as she walked through Cenrana village. Moonless nights meant trouble.

  She hadn’t intended to head toward the harbor, hadn’t really had any plan at all. But here she was, watching Bendurana’s sailors load the ship.

  She bounded up the gangway to join the captain on the deck of the Queen of the South Sea. “Taking the lady out for the night?”

  Ben shrugged so deeply his twisted locks jingled. “Ah, Ibu Chandi. Turns out, hero has to go on a quest before he wins the girl.” He winked. “So I’m off to Daha. We’ll see how Solokang feels when I come back with trade agreements. From the king. Then we’ll see who can provide for whom, eh?”

  “King Kertajaya’s got a shrewd reputation, Ben.” Actually, Naresh had called the king of Suladvipa a conniving traitor when they’d first come here. “And a day at sea doesn’t qualify as a quest.”

  “Huh.” Ben shrugged again. “Well, my lady, what does it take for a quest?”