by Matt Larkin
Poor Mahesa. Probably the greatest victim of all.
Bendurana stopped outside Hainuwele’s house. There, above a burgeoning garden, hung an emerald bottle. Water rained down from the small holes in it, showering the garden. Chandi couldn’t imagine what miracle it’d taken for the bottle to survive the cyclone.
She pointed to it, and Ben smiled, though not his usual grin. “You want me to go on alone?” she asked, at last.
The Serendibian drew her into a sudden embrace, his chest trembling. “No. I’ll face this myself. Alone. Ah, Chandi, thank you for coming this far with me. She was the best of us, wasn’t she?”
Chandi nodded. Bendurana took several deep breaths, hands on his knees, before climbing the ladder. Hainuwele and her parents needed to know about Landorundun. The First of the Arun Guard had died a hero. She’d sacrificed herself to the cause. Chandi didn’t know if she’d have had the courage to do that.
If the Wheel of Life was kind, Landorundun and Bendurana would have another chance. At least, she hoped they would.
She stood there, biting her lip, a long time.
“You’re not responsible for all that happened.”
She turned at the voice. Somehow, seeing Semar here didn’t surprise her.
“Are you with Rangguwani?”
“We have an understanding. He was the best alternative of the three choices, for the moment.”
“You wanted a different choice?”
“Always.”
She knew she should still want to beat the man senseless. Maybe more so now than ever. But a profound exhaustion of spirit had settled over her. When she realized she clutched the vial again, she sighed.
“What do you want, priest?”
Semar laughed, his blue eyes seeing something beyond her. “The perfect future. But right now, I want only words with you.”
She shrugged, started back down toward the harbor. “Then speak.”
Semar followed after her. “You accomplished something amazing, bringing Naresh and Malin and the others together.”
“Naresh is the great leader, not me.”
“He could be, if he accepted it. But you have the heart that guides him. Without you, I fear he’d be lost in darkness.”
Perhaps. Was it her fault he’d grown so dark? If she had stayed closer, could she have spared him that? Whatever the answer to that, she loved him still. “He is what he needs to be.”
“I hope you remember those words in the days to come.”
Chandi glanced back at the priest. “Why the interest in my husband?”
Semar fixed her with that gaze of his. “The Astral Temple remains. Whether or not its current holder can use its power doesn’t remove the threat. For twelve hundred years the dynasties fought for control of it, not knowing its power. What will happen now, do you think, given the whole world has learned what it can do? Stories of it will reach even Tianxia before the year is out.”
Did he mean wherever she ran, she’d not escape this? It didn’t matter, since she wasn’t going anywhere.
In the harbor, she heard the murmurs as people looked up at Naresh. Some had fallen to their knees, to welcome him home. They showered adoration at the son of the Radiant Queen. The new First of the Arun Guard.
“Will you bow before Rangguwani, now?” She asked him, later as they sat alone beneath the moon.
He nodded. “We have to make a home with what’s left to us. I’ll not let Tohjaya destroy it.”
Nor would he take up the mantle to hold them together, not willingly. And maybe Semar was right again. Maybe he would have no choice.
Chandi had heard the names the Solars had called Naresh by the harbor. They called him the Whale Lord.
They called him the Radiant Prince.
PART ONE
1197 After Pact, The Dry Season
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-NINE
Some historians believe that once, before the breaking of the Pact, a single king had ruled all the Isles. A Just King, a Ratu Adil, who had united the people against a nameless great threat. Naresh had spent his years in the Academy disdaining such folklore. And yet, now he found himself in service to a man claiming that very title.
Naresh leaned against a shanty in the outskirts of Daha, the shadows of its eaves offering respite from the late afternoon sun. The Igni shifted from foot to foot under his gaze, glancing over his shoulder every few moments, as if afraid to be seen with Naresh. Ironic. This slim, scruffy man was undoubtedly a criminal—a smuggler, perhaps—and he feared to be seen with Naresh, rather than the other way around. Naresh was Arun Guard. Protectors of the royal family of the Solar Empire.
Not that the Solar Empire existed any longer. It had fallen into ruin when the Ignis revolted. After so much struggle, even the Lunar Empire had collapsed, leaving only warring Houses in the wake of Malin’s civil war. So maybe Rangguwani was right. Maybe now they did need a Ratu Adil to unite the three dynasties. Alone, civilizations that had endured for twelve hundred years had floundered. Perhaps together they could survive.
The alternative was unthinkable.
And Rangguwani, the Lunar prince, now ruler of the so-called Skyfall Empire, had ordered Naresh to find Kertajaya. Reports still lingered of Suladvipa’s fallen king moving about the island, trying to stir up resistance. He wouldn’t remain here in the slums—he was both too proud and too intelligent for that—but men like the Igni smuggler heard things.
Naresh tossed a pouch of heavy pearls to the shifting man. The Igni caught it, glanced around the corner, and slid it open with one finger. His eyes widened, and he snapped the pouch shut again. “I’m not the first person you’ve … hired … on this task.”
Well. Naresh clenched his fists. He should have known word would get around. It wouldn’t matter, as long as it didn’t get back to Kertajaya. He pushed off the wall and edged nearer the Igni. “No.” He stopped inches away from the man and stared down into his eyes. “But if Kertajaya hears of it, I’ll make sure all of you regret it.” Naresh continued when the man gave a slight nod. “We have an understanding.”
The Igni’s eyes darted down to the pouch, then back to Naresh’s, before he offered a firmer nod.
Naresh Sun Strode atop the building across the way. Overly dramatic, perhaps, but it didn’t hurt to remind these people who they were dealing with. The Sun Stride allowed him to travel instantly to any location he could see—to the common man, an Arun Guard would seem to have the power to be anywhere, anytime. The sharp intake of breath and scurrying feet in the alley below told him all he needed to hear.
Naresh walked along the roof, his footing a little unsure on its steep incline. His bad leg didn’t hurt as much these days, but it was less steady than he’d like. It remained a present from Malin he still needed to repay. Perhaps he’d never do so now, though, with the weretiger missing for so long. Half a year had passed since Malin had killed Rahu—again—and disappeared. The rains had passed and the dry season had returned, and, if anyone had seen the weretiger, no word of it reached Daha. And maybe that was for the best. Circumstance had forced Naresh to fight alongside the Macan Gadungan, and if he’d let go of his rage for this moment, maybe he should let it go for good. Provided he didn’t have to see Malin again.
From the peak of the saddle roof he could see another alley, just off Market Street. He Strode down to it, then mingled into the crowd. Vendors hawked their wares here, dripping sweat but either not caring or, more likely, not fortunate enough to have any other option. And despite the midday heat, hundreds shoved their way through the marketplace, claiming chickens, mangos, rugs, and so many other goods. Market Street ran all the way to the heart of the city, near the Iron Palace. The wealthy lived there, so that’s where one went to find the sweetest fruits, the finest imports, or the latest fashions. Chandi spent a lot of time wandering that market—the Palace Market, locals called it, though it was several blocks from the Iron Palace itself. His wife didn’t buy much, but she loved to bargain hunt. The retainer Ranggu
wani paid him meant she didn’t need a bargain, but she seemed to like one anyway.
Naresh slipped through the crowd, pushing through only when it became too tightly packed. The whispers started then. “The Radiant Prince …” At first, he only saw a few people stepping out of his way, staring as he drifted past. But their reactions drew even more attention. “The Whale Lord …”
Surya’s glare. Naresh had taken to wearing plain black bajus, like the locals of Daha. He even wore full sleeves to cover the Sun Brand tattoo on his back and upper arms. And now these people seemed to recognize his face, too.
“They say he commands the seas …”
He knew where it went from here, and it was past time he left. Naresh hurried his step, almost stumbling when an old woman dropped to her knees in front of him. Dammit. He tried to help her up, but others soon joined her. “My prince,” the woman murmured at his touch.
Naresh released her and stepped back. “I’m not …” He grimaced, hoping this wouldn’t get back to Rangguwani. Though he never said it, Rangguwani didn’t appreciate how his supposed subjects fawned over Naresh. How could he? But then, Naresh probably liked it even less.
By now, dozens of citizens knelt in the street, asking his blessings. And for what? Naresh was a soldier, not a priest or a king. He had no special rapport with Surya, even though his mother had been the last Radiant Queen.
He didn’t have time for this. Chandi was waiting. He Sun Strode past the crowd, atop the roof of another building. In the distance, a cheer erupted. Naresh swore again, spotted the first empty alley he could, then Strode once more. He’d probably used up more than half the sunlight he had stored in the Sun Brand on this little errand. And wearing a sleeved baju, he couldn’t soak up any to recharge it.
The choice to make Daha his home had seemed logical at the time. But it had begun to feel like he was a fugitive, hiding his every step.
He scratched his head then flipped his hair out of his eyes. It was too late to think such things now. He’d thrown his lot in here, and, indeed, the refugees from Cenrana had made this their home, too. He’d asked Chandi if she wanted to move closer to the Iron Palace, but she preferred to remain in the home they had first taken together in Daha. Not as nice as the one they’d built for themselves in Cenrana, but it had memories to it.
As soon as he reached the palace square he turned about, searching for his wife. Probably wandered off to browse the market again, despite how short time was. But since he was the one who’d come late, he couldn’t blame her.
He jerked when arms slipped around his ribs from behind, a sudden instinct to snap his elbows behind him barely suppressed. It had to be her, of course. And yet, his fists had clenched so hard they hurt. It wasn’t real. That violence wasn’t the real Naresh.
Chandi laid her head on his shoulder and blew in his ear. “I was starting to think you forgot about me.”
Naresh turned to face her, careful not to break the circle of her arms. “Not if the Wheel of Life brought me through a hundred lifetimes.” He kissed her soft, warm lips, and drank in the scent of her hair. She’d grown it out a little over the last half year. Now she’d tucked white jasmine behind her ear, obviously aware of how it set off her stark black hair. And of the effect it had on him. Naresh ran his finger along her jaw. “We have to go. Rangguwani expects me there as honor guard.”
Chandi leaned against him, embracing him tighter. She almost seemed to tremble.
“Are you well?” he asked.
She grunted, then released him.
Naresh studied her eyes a moment. A shadow lurked under them, but maybe she was just tired. As soon as this was done, he’d bring her home and they’d get something to eat. A good meal and a good night’s sleep and she’d be herself again.
He hurried toward the Iron Palace. The gate guards waved him and Chandi through the moment they saw him, though they forced the long stream of others entering the palace grounds to wait in line.
Those massive iron-wrought gates stood open, allowing the wealthy and important citizens in for Rangguwani’s play. He’d ordered a stage constructed in the courtyard, beyond the fishpond. That pond stretched for nearly a quarter mile and teemed with fish and frogs.
Kertajaya’s palace had stood as a testament to his power, a majestic fortress closed to his people. The king and his retinue could come to the pond to seek Kebatinan, but most of Daha couldn’t even see the pond over the palace’s fifteen foot wall. Since the Lunar had taken it as his own seat of government, things had changed. Somewhat. Rangguwani left the palace gates open most days, though Naresh doubted the guards would let the underclasses through. Still, new benches now sat under the palm trees, and people lounged about the pond, awaiting the show.
Chandi’s hand was definitely shaking in his own. Well, she hadn’t been here often. Perhaps it was just nerves. He slipped an arm around her shoulders and guided her to a seat in front of the stage. The seats had been arranged under the palm trees, with a tarp providing shade. Servants created a warm breeze by waving giant palm leaves, though Naresh doubted it did much good. Chandi wore a pink kemban that accentuated her curves and left her arms bare, but she was sweating almost as much as he was in his full sleeve baju.
Naresh motioned to a servant who brought him a goblet of water. “Drink this,” he said to Chandi. After she’d done so, she smiled, though it seemed forced.
“Any leads?” she asked, handing him back the goblet.
Naresh took a sip himself. “Not yet. If Kertajaya lives, he’ll have to show himself sooner or later. His chance to act against Rangguwani—if he still plans to—is fading fast.” As was Tohjaya’s. The so-called Spice King still held the Astral Temple, and still commanded the support of the Spice Islands. But Rangguwani had almost total claim over the great Isles, so if Tohjaya didn’t act soon, he’d find his power swept out from under him. Which worked for Naresh. Tohjaya was a fool, a bully, and a terrible king.
Soon, the seats had filled. Perhaps Rangguwani had chosen the Solar art form as a means of unification. If so, it was clever. The man embraced the traditions of the land he lived in, showing the people he was not just a Lunar king, he was their king.
Silence fell as the sun set and the Wayang began. The large wooden stage stood perhaps eight feet off the ground, so anyone in the seats below had a good view. The puppeteers had hung a white screen across the stage, overshadowed by plush curtains. A moment later, the artists lit the torches behind the screen, casting it in a faint yellow glow.
A shadow puppet rose from the base of the stage. In his Academy days, Naresh had seen students making these leather puppets. They would spend phases, sometimes days, getting every feature just right. He had painted one with Landi. “Why paint it? You can only see it in silhouette,” he’d said. “We’ll see it,” she said. “We’ll know the love and care and dreams we poured into it. If what we create is not worth our time, why do it at all?”
And he had been in love with her, back then. It had taken a long time before he could look back at those memories without pain. Maybe Chandi had been the balm to heal that wound … But Landorundun’s death … Naresh hadn’t seen it coming. She was so strong. Sometimes, in the distance, he’d hear a flute, and just for a moment, forget it wasn’t her. If she had remained at the Academy, become the musician she was destined to be, she wouldn’t have died fighting Rangda Demon Queen.
Naresh wasn’t still in love with Landi. He hadn’t been for a long time. But maybe he loved her as a person, after a fashion. Something had been ripped away from him that day, and he hadn’t even been there to see it. Landi had died saving Chandi and Ben. Naresh could never repay her for saving his wife.
Bendurana hadn’t been the same, of course. Naresh had tried to talk to the man before he left, but the truth was, if he lost Chandi, he’d have been even worse off. So any platitudes he could offer would sound hollow in his own throat.
Chandi leaned in. “What is it?”
Naresh shook his head and turned bac
k to the puppet. The elaborate headdress meant this was a king.
The drums started, lightly at first, then deeper. For a time, the shadow king pranced around the stage, mimicking Silat punches with his stick-like arms. A puppet sun passed overhead, and still this king trained in his Silat.
At last the drums fell to a gentle rumble in the background, and the narrator spoke. “Long ago, before recorded history, peace reigned among the dynasties. Surya, Chandra, and Agni entrusted the Astral Temple to the people of these Isles, their chosen heirs. And the Pact held our three dynasties together.”
Other puppets entered the stage and seemed to clasp arms with each other and the shadow king. “These were the days of Aji Saka, a humble man, destined to become a great king. None remember the place of his birth. Some say Puradvipa, others claim right here on Suladvipa. On one thing, stories agree. He was a man of respect, but not a descendant of kings in any dynasty.”
Naresh folded his arms. Had Rangguwani uncovered some more detailed story of the Ratu Adil? Probably, he’d just ordered the artists to make up the details. Chandi leaned forward, arms on her knees, staring intently at the puppets.
“And at this time, all were divided,” the narrator said. “For though there was peace, there was not unity of leadership.”
The puppets danced about the stage, congregating in three different groups. Aji Saka pranced from one group to the next, as if unsure of his place.
“And in this disunity King Dewata, lord of the werecrocodiles, arose, intent to claim the Isles as his own. For alone, no dynasty could stand against his power, or that of his people.”
From the corners, near the base of the screen, half human, half crocodile shadows crept up. They slunk towards all three groups in silence, while the dynasties continued their pointless dances. And then the werecrocodiles struck, dragging people down one by one. Some tried to fight, mimicking Silat, but most fell quickly.