by Matt Larkin
Beside the ruins, soldiers gathered under a man she didn’t know. Perhaps a Lord of some northern House. “We could join them,” Chandi said. “If they fight against Tanjung’s forces.”
Hard to believe that woman was the Witch-Queen, but Pohaci assured her it was true. Chandi remembered almost nothing of Tanjung, except that she’d been a friend of her mother’s. The woman had left Bukit after Calon and Simhika died. Apparently she’d been quite busy abroad, too. If she was responsible, even in part, for her mother’s death, Chandi would happily see Tanjung dead.
“I want to know what Rahu wanted with me,” Pohaci said. “Please, let’s find that first.” The look on her face said that even after they did, she was more interested in finding Malin than fighting Tanjung.
Chandi had no desire to face Rahu again, especially not in Malin’s body. Still, she couldn’t just run from it. And Pohaci had helped save her from Rangguwani.
Chandi scanned the crowd. On the fringe of town, watching the soldiers, she spotted a bent old man. Sabdapalon, wasn’t it? He’d been a servant of House Soma, until a few years ago when Rahu had dismissed him for being too old. The War King had arranged a comfortable little home in the Loghouses for the man to retire in, and Chandi had never seen him again.
She pointed him out to Pohaci, and they started for him. On spotting them, the old man glanced over his shoulder and shuffled off a bit. Chandi didn’t need to hurry to catch him. He wasn’t exactly quick on his feet.
“Sabdapalon. Please, don’t you know me?”
The man stopped, and turned around with some difficulty, leaning on a walking stick. “Oh, yes, yes. I can’t forget Ketu’s daughter, can I? No, I can’t. Put vinegar in my tea once or twice, didn’t she? Yes, yes she did.”
Chandi cringed. She’d almost forgotten about that. “Forgive childish pranks and let me buy you some fresh tea now. And perhaps a bit of rendang?” Actually, she’d love a bit of the traditional Lunar food herself. Nobody else ever got it quite right, the way they did here.
She nodded at Pohaci, who scampered off to a street vendor and bought a pot of tea and several plates of rendang.
“Yes, yes child. I suppose I ought to invite you up to my home? I ought to. But I don’t plan to. Too far to walk, isn’t it?”
Chandi smiled a little, and led the old man to the community feast hall. Moon Scions rarely ate here, but there was no rule against it. There had probably been a rule against Buaya Jadian eating here, from the way Pohaci kept looking around. The feast hall was really just an open building with a wide roof and multiple thick support poles. Eight long, low tables stretched across the hall’s width. The back of the hall was taken up by a large cooking pit, though no one worked there right now.
It was late for breakfast, and too early for the lingsir kulon meal. But neither Chandi nor her two guests seemed inclined to complain. Pohaci tore into her duck rendang with abandon, ripping bits off without thought of decorum.
“You served my family for a long time, Sabdapalon.”
“Oh, yes, yes. Since before they came to Bukit. You used to call me Sab Uncle. Naughty little Chandi, always stirring trouble for her Sab Uncle, yes?”
Sab Uncle? Chandi smiled. She did remember that. Like most of the slaves, the man was there when she’d needed him, and almost invisible the rest of the time. Which probably made Chandi a rather ungrateful child. Never had she asked him where he came from, what life he had before he was enslaved. Probably, he had opposed her uncle or her father in something. Or more likely, the man’s former lord had.
“Who is Anjasmara?” Pohaci said, a bit of sauce running down her chin.
“Eh, I don’t know that, now do I?” the old man said. He sipped his tea. “Sounds familiar, maybe. But who can say?”
“Sab Uncle,” Chandi said, “I’m sorry for things I did. Please forgive youthful foolishness.” Funny how many things she’d done in her life that bore apologizing for. Mostly, she’d thought of herself as a pretty good person. But maybe even good people had things to apologize for. “You said before my family came to Bukit? Where were they before?”
“Oh yes, yes. Old House Soma, in the north, on the shores of Lake Toba. They came here and wiped out House Shravana, yes? Took Queen Kenya’s palace as their own. So you could have a nice place to grow up, naughty little girl.”
Lake Toba was a volcanic lake in the north. Some said the fire god Agni himself slumbered in the depths of that volcano, though she’d never heard Ignis claim that. The lake would take almost a week to reach on foot, given they’d have to pass through mountains.
“Do you know me?” Pohaci said.
“Oh, now how should I know that, child? Look a bit familiar, though, don’t you?” The man finished his tea and picked at the rendang.
Pohaci rose. “Let’s go then.”
Chandi looked down at her untouched meal. “Do you mind?”
Pohaci shrugged. “A little, but I assume you don’t care.”
Damn right. Chandi savored every spicy, thick bite. They knew how to cook here. If there was one thing she missed about this place, it was that.
“Oh, little Chandi,” Sab said. “Not a good time to go to the north, no? They say Rahu has returned up there. His army marshals, preparing to assault Bukit again. The others won’t bow to him anymore. Not again. No, no. But no one beats Rahu, do they, dear?”
A rumble built in Pohaci’s chest, a sound almost like a growl. “Malin.”
Chandi bit her lip and stared down at her plate. She’d promised to help Pohaci, but Rahu was beyond dangerous. Beyond a lunatic even.
No one beats Rahu?
Kala had. Malin had.
And Chandi planned to do so.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SEVENTY-SIX
“Set aside your pride,” Naresh said to Tua Pek Kong. “You are going to need my help. The Witch-Queen is not an enemy like you have faced before, and she’s bringing an armada much larger than this.”
A light rain fell, but Naresh took little notice. They stood aboard the admiral’s ship, just off Astral Shore. No sign had come of the Witch-Queen’s fleet, as yet. Once, Ben had spoken of fighting the woman. Naresh had taken it as just another of his ridiculous stories. Strange that a few of them turned out to be true. The Serendibian claimed she’d used black magic in battle to destroy an entire fleet from his homeland.
Tua Pek Kong may have Fire-Lances, but Semar was right. They didn’t know what they were up against.
“Very well, Naresh. You remain on this ship and see our battle. We defend this place in honor of the Son of Heaven. We will not fail him.”
The Tianxian had a long, thin-bladed sword with a straight edge. A tassel hung from the pommel, and a dragon was etched on the side of the sheath. Not so unlike the dragon that had been etched into Ken Arok’s keris. Surya allow that this blade would find a better fate.
The day wore on, but Naresh wouldn’t leave the Tianxian junk. They offered him food, fried rice with a hint of spiced fish. It was a slightly odd combination of flavors, but Naresh had eaten much worse. He supposed he could get used to it. Maybe one day, when this was over, he’d even visit Tianxia.
“I’ve heard your homeland has wondrous green mountains that touch the sky,” he said.
“Mountains of mist and deserts as vast as the breath of a god.”
Naresh had never really longed to travel, not before. His place had been at the side of the Solar Emperor. His future had been decided by his mother. But now, all that he’d known had fallen. And the chance to see the majestic lands of Mait or Tianxia or Au Lac began to sound a welcome respite. He could take Chandi and maybe buy a ship of his own, and sail away. Ben had visited many of those lands, so maybe they should take him.
Or maybe not. Not if they were seeking peace and quiet. Bendurana was many things. Quiet was not one of them.
And Chandi. While Naresh waited here for the Witch-Queen’s wrath, his wife walked into danger alone. Often as he swore not to let that happen, fate seemed to always
cast them apart. Perhaps the gods toyed with them. Or perhaps they had made this world themselves, all the children of the Skyfall Isles. In their arrogance and pride, they had warred and fought and allowed something terrible to awaken here.
Had the dynasties been united a few years ago, their combined might could have crushed any foreign invader. That was the dream of the Ratu Adil, to unite those dynasties. But by now, they were each so broken, so driven to the edge of destruction, it might be too late to stand against the Witch-Queen. Much less Rahu and Rangda.
No.
Naresh would not give in to despair. The Amrita had made him something different. And he would put an end to this spiral of chaos, even if he had to rain destruction across the Isles to do it.
For a moment, the thought startled him. Would he bring more chaos in the name of order? Perhaps he had no choice. Maybe the only way to save the world was to burn it. Or maybe it was the darkness rising in him once again.
Someone shouted in Tianxian, calling out that the enemy had been spotted. A moment later, the crew began announcing numbers of enemy ships. The words went by too fast for Naresh to catch many of them, but by the last call, he was pretty sure they were saying thirty ships. Thirty, to the Tianxians’ twelve.
His hand clenched around his keris.
“Now, Naresh, you see our might,” Tua Pek Kong said.
The Tianxian fleet moved to flank the Witch-Queen’s own. As they drew nearer, volleys of arrows fell on the decks of other junks, but Tua Pek Kong’s ship was too far to be in danger. And then a Fire-Lance roared. The explosion ripped a hole right through a dhow’s hull. More and more Fire-Lances retorted. Naresh couldn’t even guess how many of the weapons fired through the deafening cacophony.
At least four of the Witch-Queen’s fleet sank before the Fire-Lances were empty. In the silence while they reloaded, more arrows fell on the Tianxian fleet. Flaming arrows. Those flames caught sails and even slick decks that never should have allowed the fires to spread. Foul witchcraft burned men alive.
The Malayadvipan dhows continued to close the distance, even as the Fire-Lances launched another barrage. The Witch-Queen’s forces were boarding Tianxian ships.
“You need my help!”
Tua Pek Kong looked at him. “We are not close enough to—”
Naresh Strode to an enemy dhow. He rammed his keris through the captain’s chest before the man could speak. The sword stuck, forcing him to pause and yank it free before he could Stride again. The delay cost him a scratch on his arm as the helmsman attacked him with a keris.
Naresh Strode beside the man and slammed his elbow into the Malaydvipan’s face. He immediately Strode and cut down another, then another, and another. When he drew the Blessings, his Sun Brand seemed to charge from them. He could think faster. Everything slowed down around him.
He hurled a man off the ship, kicked another in the chest with enough force to shatter his ribs, and tripped a third before the first man hit the water.
One of the flaming Tianxian ships exploded, the force of it enough to knock down men on this dhow. Hot wind rushed over Naresh’s face just before he Strode back to Tua Pek Kong’s flagship.
Naresh shook himself. “What in Rangda’s underworld was that?” Perhaps the Witch-Queen had more powerful magic than he’d thought.
“The black powder must have caught flame,” the Tianxian said.
Black powder … “It explodes like that?” A simple fire could ignite it?
The man nodded.
“And do you have it on this ship?”
After a brief hesitation, the man nodded again. “Such powder is needed to fuel the Fire-Lances.”
Naresh glanced at the advancing fleet. “Bring me a keg of it.”
Tua Pek Kong watched Naresh’s face a moment, eyes narrowed. At last he ordered his men to do as Naresh bid.
Another Tianxian junk was going down by the time a pair of soldiers hurried to Naresh’s side, holding a keg between them.
Naresh put his hands on it. “Move back,” he told them, then grabbed a flaming arrow stuck in the gunwale. He jammed the arrow just into the keg, not quite touching the powder, ignoring Tua Pek Kong’s sudden intake of breath and the shouts of the soldiers.
He Strode into the air above a Malayadvipan dhow while holding the keg, released it, and Strode back to the junk. A heartbeat later an explosion ripped off the dhow’s mast. Chaos engulfed the crew on that ship.
“Bring me another!”
Tua Pek Kong and his men were staring slack jawed at Naresh.
“Now!” he shouted.
The admiral nodded, and the men ran off to grab another. As soon as they returned, Naresh repeated the maneuver on the nearest dhow.
Once he stood back on the junk again, he pulled back his baju to look at the Sun Brand. He’d worn it down. He drew his Potency Blessing hard. The Brand began to glitter, refilling even before his eyes. If he could refill the Brand anytime, unlimited power was in his hands. His fists trembled from the energies rushing through him, and lightheadedness threatened.
Another Tianxian junk went down, its crew overwhelmed by the onslaught from the Witch-Queen’s forces. Then another exploded.
Suddenly, one of the soldiers near Tua Pek Kong turned on him, attacking him with another of those long swords. Naresh shoved the admiral aside and caught the attacker with a right hook. The man crumpled to the ground. Traitors. Just what they needed.
But others among the crew of more junks had begun attacking their own. Some were fighting with weapons, but many just began biting or hitting with whatever was on hand.
“Surya’s glare,” he murmured. They weren’t traitors—the Witch-Queen’s magic had driven them mad. Only the foulest black magic would do such a thing.
Flames continued to spread with unnatural quickness. Naresh helped Tua Pek Kong up, who looked over his failing fleet. They were losing this fight.
“All Fire-Lances focus on their lead ships,” he shouted in Tianxian.
Naresh’s gaze darted from one ship to the next. He didn’t have time to wait for more black powder. He Strode to a sinking junk and placed his hands on the ruptured mast. This might not work, but he could try.
He Strode into the air far, far above a dhow, taking the mast with him. It was far too heavy to hold, and jerked from his hands immediately, tearing at his shoulders. But from this height, several thousand feet in the air, it would have a lot of momentum. Naresh Strode back down to a junk—any junk, since picking out a specific one from here was impossible.
A few heartbeats later, the mast crashed onto the dhow and the ship almost folded in half, crumbling like a man kicked in the groin.
And then Tua Pek Kong’s ship exploded.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SEVENTY-SEVEN
From the moment Naresh Strode onto the Tianxian flagship, heat raged around him. He had to shield his face from it. The whole junk was aflame, and most of the crew—those still alive—were jumping over the gunwale to get away from the sinking ship.
The hull was split down the middle, so the deck pitched forward into the water. Naresh’s feet slid along the slick surface. He didn’t try to fight it. Tua Pek Kong lay in a heap against the remains of the mast. Naresh scrambled over to him and knelt beside the man. Still breathing, but burns covered half his face and side.
With one hand on Tua Pek Kong, Naresh Strode to another junk. “Admiral, can you hear me?” he said, still kneeling. The crew of the new junk started at their appearance, but quickly resumed their attempt to escape the Witch-Queen’s barrage of arrows. “Tua Pek Kong!”
The man grunted. “How can we face such a woman?”
Naresh didn’t know. But he’d be damned if he’d let the Witch-Queen take Astral Shore. He dashed for the gunwale. A dhow was closing fast on them, and it was definitely a woman on the poop deck, shouting orders. A woman in elaborate regalia. “That ship,” he shouted in Tianxian. “Target it!”
The Tianxian crew hesitated.
“Follow his o
rders,” Tua Pek Kong said.
The junk fell off from the wind to bring the Fire-Lances to bear. A moment later, the weapons roared, splintering the Malaydvipan ship.
And then lightning split the sky, so close it almost blinded Naresh. It struck their mast, ripping through the junk and igniting the sails. The crack of thunder nearly drowned out the roar of the Fire-Lances and left his ears ringing. Another bolt struck the bow and Naresh slipped from his grip on the gunwale. Sailors on the bow convulsed and then fell.
Naresh Strode to Tua Pek Kong and grabbed him, then stood so he could see the shore. He Strode again, this time to the beach. There was no way he could save the entire crew. A moment later, the junk exploded. The fires must have reached the black powder.
Lightning fell on other Tianxian ships. Only a handful remained now, and the Witch-Queen still had more than a dozen dhows, near as Naresh could tell. This fight was finished. They’d lost, and she would take the Temple. He’d failed.
He stood, shaking his head.
No. No! It wasn’t finished. He was going to finish it.
They called him the Whale Lord.
He shut his eyes for a moment, his whole body trembling as he reached out with his mind. He could feel them, in the depths of the sea. Whales and dolphins and sharks and mantas. He opened his eyes, but they were filled with blinding light. He ripped off his baju to soak up more sunlight, then flared the Sun Brand as hard as he could, vaguely aware he was floating off the ground.
More power. He drew his Blessings. His mind touched so many others beneath the sea that its mysterious depths unfolded before him. He saw the infinite beauty of the reefs in a thousand colors, of the fish of a million kinds. He felt the water’s caress against the skins of innumerable beings as they glided through it.
More.
He demanded more, stretching himself through the depths of the South Sea.
His vision revealed all the ocean. And all of himself. He was a reflection of the sea, too. A mirror of the tide, rushing in and out, carried by a million currents. He could see into the depths of his being, see all that he was in the countless stars flickering before his eyes.