by Matt Larkin
He could see the strands of his mind fraying, too. It didn’t drive him lunatic—he couldn’t allow that. Instead, he watched the threads of his past shrivel and break. In his days at the Academy he’d had a macaque… hadn’t he? And yet he couldn’t remember its name. For an instant, he saw himself feeding it pieces of banana… and that was gone.
His mother’s face … He couldn’t remember.
Still he needed more power.
Her voice, he held on to … until that too faded. The memories were cut from his mind. Mother.
The whales were coming to his call. He could feel their minds, even as his own broke apart. Because there was always a price. This power had to come from somewhere, somewhere within him.
Chandi’s crooked half-smile flashed through his mind. He had danced with her in the Academy grounds… it was slipping from his mind.
No! He would not let the memories of his wife go. But he had nothing else but his past to give. Nothing except his future. He could see his own life force, pulsing and throbbing within him, like the ebb and flow of the tide. And it was the only other place he could turn for such power.
And he would not surrender this world to darkness, no matter the cost.
He tied his life to the power surging through him, and felt that light within diminish. Years of his future bled away. Five years off his life, stripped away in an instant. Still he needed more. Ten years. Twenty.
Naresh roared, spreading his arms toward Surya’s face. He was hovering two dozen feet off the ground.
A pod of blue whales broke through the surface of the sea and hurled themselves on the Witch-Queen’s fleet. The animals crushed the ships like so much kindling, their sheer size more destructive than the entire Tianxian fleet.
Dolphins snatched Tianxians in the water and carried them toward the shore. Sharks dragged under the scattered remains of the Witch-Queen’s forces. Naresh could taste the intoxicating flavor of blood in their mouths, consuming all they were.
He released the power and fell from the sky, impacting the beach with enough force to drive the wind from his lungs. He lay face down on the sand, a slim awareness of rain falling on his back tugging at his mind. The sense of his own body and mind and soul had faded. But he’d really done it. He knew he had. The memories he’d lost were gone.
And he’d given up years off his life.
But this was only the Witch-Queen. When Rangda came, he would have to give more. Give and give until there was nothing of himself left. And he would do it.
He pushed himself up. No ships remained, only driftwood as far as the eye could see.
Someone dragged herself from the waters, barely able to stand when she reached the shore. Naresh watched the Witch-Queen, her regalia lost now, as she labored forward. “You did this,” the woman said. “You cannot stand before me. I am a demigod! I carry the blood of the divine in my veins.”
Naresh struggled to his own feet. His legs wobbled beneath him. He drew his keris. “If so,” he said, “you’ve chosen a poor use for that power.”
The woman drew herself up to her full height, walking now with strength and confidence. “I am the emissary of Rangda herself. I walk in the footsteps of the gods. You are nothing!” The woman extended her hand to the sky. A bolt of lightning flashed.
Naresh Strode to the side. It happened so fast, he couldn’t move far. The lightning struck the sand, flinging it into the air and crystalizing bits into glass. His eyes were singed, and everything flowed in afterimages.
He Strode again, behind the woman. And he rammed his keris through her chest. “I was thinking the same thing about you.” He yanked his blade free and she fell to her knees.
She stumbled, trying to turn to face him. Blood trickled down her mouth. The flickering lights before his eyes made it hard to focus. She slapped her hand into his knee, sending him tumbling to the ground.
The woman crawled on top of him and began choking him. Even the flickering lights began to fade.
Naresh drew his Potency Blessing and slammed his fist into her side. She jerked, but didn’t release him. Everything was lost. Light and sound and time slipped from his mind.
But the people still needed him. Chandi still needed him.
He slapped his hands up, connecting with the woman’s temples. She fell off him, collapsing onto the beach. Naresh gasped, trying to suck in breath through his raw, bruised throat.
He couldn’t see, but he reached over until he felt the woman’s body. Then he slammed his fist straight down into her head. Her skull crunched.
He fell, then. And shut his eyes.
The cosmos filled his vision, revealing sun and moon and stars. And Chandi. The one thing he would never let go of.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SEVENTY-EIGHT
The ruins of what had once been Palace Soma were now overrun by the rainforest. Vines covered the walls and poked through the roof. Nature slowly reclaimed what had once been taken by man. Pohaci smiled. The palace had sat right on the edge of Lake Toba, and must have offered peaceful respite from all worries. And yet, seeing the wild overtake it was more beautiful still—a gentle reminder that what was done could be undone. Sometimes, at least.
“I wonder why we never came here,” Chandi said. “If Father grew up in this place.”
“And Rahu?” Pohaci asked. She cared little for Ketu, but Rahu had taken her for a reason. She had to know what it was. She had to know everything, at last.
“Pohaci,” Chandi said as she stepped through the crumbling doorway into the ruins, “Rahu wasn’t really my uncle. He came from somewhere else. We don’t know where, exactly—a different country. For some reason, my father pretended to be his brother.”
Pohaci didn’t know what to say that. That House Soma were liars was no surprise. But what was the point in a deception like this? Perhaps it had allowed Rahu political power in Lunar society, but why should Ketu have cared?
“This place has been abandoned a long time,” she said at last. “I don’t know how much we’re going to find here.”
“All of the Houses maintained records,” Chandi said. “I don’t know much about them, but I know there should be something here.”
Pohaci shrugged. She’d spent enough time scouring the records of House Kshuparaka on Bangdvipa. No reason to expect this to be any different.
Except that this place was collapsing around them. The cracked roof let in a drizzle of rain that collected in pools on the stone floor. Macaques skittered away as she entered what might have once been a library. Probably where they had kept the records. Dozens of moldy books littered the floor.
What was she even looking for? She sighed. Rahu had claimed her after coming to Bukit …
Pohaci, daughter of Anjasmara. Who was her mother? A slave of House Soma? That would make the most sense, she supposed. But what possible interest would Rahu have had in the child of a slave? Unless her mother had angered him. Perhaps the War King had taken Pohaci to punish her parents for some transgression. What more terrible punishment could he come up with than to force their daughter to become what she had become? A monster.
She tore through the remains of the books, but there were few records of lineage, certainly none for slaves. Pohaci’s stomach growled. Perhaps they should break for the lingsir kulon meal. They had limited supplies, but one of them could go out hunting. Chandi was a pretty good hunter. Actually, the woman was fairly good at most things, Pohaci had to admit. She would have made a fine Buaya Jadian. Not that a Moon Scion would ever condemn one of their own children to such a fate.
“Pohaci,” Chandi called from somewhere upstairs. “Come up here.”
Pohaci left the library, following the other woman’s voice. The stairs had rotted through, and didn’t look likely to support a man’s weight, though they might support her. There were advantages to being short and slim. Still, the boards groaned under her every step. Not encouraging. The handrail had splintered, so she didn’t touch it. She’d rather not dig chunks of wood out of her palms
.
The remains of an arrow shaft stuck from the wall near the top of the stairs. Scoring on the walls up here looked like this place had been through a battle. Perhaps House Soma had abandoned its own home after someone else ruined it.
Chandi poked her head from a side room and grabbed Pohaci’s arm, pulling her in. “Look.” She pointed at a painting of a young man. The man looked vaguely familiar, but Pohaci couldn’t place him. “This must have been my father’s room.”
Pohaci drifted closer to the painting, glancing down when the floorboards beneath her creaked. The man in the painting was probably not yet thirty, and unlike the Ketu she’d seen, he hadn’t trimmed his hair short. It fell about his face, brushing the tips of his ears.
“He must have grown up in this room,” Chandi said, her gaze wandering about the chamber. It was nice enough, Pohaci supposed. Or it would have been, if there wasn’t a gaping hole in the wall where a window had probably once stood. “It’s odd, isn’t it, thinking of your parents as children? Wondering what they dreamed of.”
Pohaci shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”
Chandi frowned, then sat on the bed. It sank beneath her, then cracked. The bed didn’t fall all the way down, though. Chandi jumped up, looking down, then back at Pohaci. Something had stopped the two pieces of the bed from collapsing to the floor.
Pohaci leaned down on her stomach and scooted closer. There was a box under the bed. “Lift up the pieces,” she said.
Chandi did, and Pohaci pulled the box out. It was wooden, and mold covered the sides. The top stuck a moment before she pried it free and tossed it aside. Old papers sat in the box. She scanned the top one. “My dearest Damarwulan, I miss you truly. You must soon return to Bukit. The waiting without you seems interminable …”
“This is a love letter to someone named Damarwulan,” she said.
“From who?”
Pohaci skimmed to the end of the letter. From Anjasmara. Chandra, her mother had written this Damarwulan, had loved him. She tried to picture her face, but there was nothing. Damn it, why couldn’t she remember her own mother?
Pohaci shoved the letter at Chandi, then flipped through the rest of the box. Seven letters, seemingly spread over the course of at least a season. Including one from this Damarwulan, never sent. He claimed his family had learned of their affair, and was sending him to the Astral Temple as penance for his shame. “He told her to forget him.”
“Who was Damarwulan?” Chandi asked.
“His things are in Ketu’s room …”
Pohaci stood, dropping the box. She had seen the name Damarwulan somewhere, in one of those books. She hurried from the room, forcing herself to take her time on the treacherous stairs.
“Where are you going now?” Chandi called.
Pohaci ignored her, rushing back into the library and tearing through those books again until she found the one she was looking for. A record of accomplishments. “Damarwulan, bastard son of Suhita, defeated the Solar Menak Jingga in single combat,” she read aloud. “For this honor he was awarded praise by Queen Kenya of House Shravana.”
Chandi stood in the doorway. “What does it mean?”
“Rahu wasn’t really your uncle …”
“True.”
“Look for any record of Ketu in these books,” Pohaci said, waving her hand at the rest of the family records.
Chandi sighed and grabbed a stack. She folded her legs beneath her and did as she was told.
Pohaci grabbed another stack and began flipping through them. After a phase she looked up. “Nothing. No mention of Rahu, which is not surprising given you what you told me. And no mention of Ketu, either.”
Chandi shrugged, then stood, stretching. “So?”
“How could Ketu have passed Rahu off as his brother, as a member of House Soma? Don’t you think it odd no one else noticed?”
Chandi waved her hand at the destroyed palace. “House Soma must have fought with another House during Rahu’s rise to War King.”
“House Shravana, I think.”
“Where are you going with all this, crocodile?”
“That painting was your father. In Damarwulan’s room.”
Chandi shrugged. “So you think Ketu … was really Damarwulan? A bastard son of House Soma?”
“And he had no standing. So if he had an affair with a member of House Shravana, say Anjasmara …”
Chandi bit her lip, then walked over to stand a few feet from Pohaci. “It would be awkward, at best. House Shravana was one of the four great houses back then. They could only ally with a legitimate member of House Soma, if at all.”
“To cover that shame, House Soma sent Damarwulan to become a custodian of the Astral Temple. A priest …”
“Making the Amrita,” Chandi said. “Where he met Rahu? Because if Kala came to the Isles through the Astral Temple, so did Rahu. And they must have changed my father’s name to give him a new identity … to make him seem like a ranking member of the house.”
Pohaci nodded, trying not to shudder. “Malin said the Astral Temple sent Kala somewhere. It must serve as a gateway to some other land.” Pohaci slowly looked up at Chandi. “They told me my parents died in the Fourth War.”
“But if you’re the daughter of Anjasmara,” Chandi said, “if you’re the product of her affair with Damarwulan … and if Damarwulan was Ketu, then …” Chandi paused and met her gaze. “Then you’re my sister.”
Half-sister, since Simhika was still Chandi’s mother. Pohaci’s legs gave out beneath her, and she sat down, rather than risk falling. Rahu had taken her … Because she was Ketu’s daughter, too. His illegitimate, eldest child, probably four or five years older than Chandi. Her little sister.
She looked up at the other woman, who looked as shocked as Pohaci felt.
Could this really be the truth? Had Rahu given her to Calon to cover all this up?
She caught herself grinding her teeth and stopped. Nervous gestures were for ordinary humans. A Buaya Jadian was still until the time came to strike. Maybe Ketu had known about her, maybe he hadn’t. But Rahu must have known. The man must have murdered her mother, and sent her to Calon to keep watch on her. But he didn’t want her too close, didn’t want to risk someone learning the truth. So he sent her to work for House Kshuparaka.
Pohaci hadn’t noticed Chandi walking over, but the girl pulled her to her feet, then slipped her arms around Pohaci’s back. She had to fight against a tremble. This woman was hugging her. Humans didn’t do this with her. Only her own kind could be close to Buaya Jadian. Only Malin had held her so intimately.
Crocodiles didn’t need hugs.
She tried to push Chandi away, but the Moon Scion was too strong, and held on.
Crocodiles certainly didn’t cry. Pohaci never cried.
And yet, a tear rolled down her cheek. She embraced her sister.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SEVENTY-NINE
A few days ago, Chandi had thought she had no blood relatives left in the world. She’d lost Ratna, the closest thing she had to a blood relation, to the ravages of the underworld. From what Naresh and Pohaci had said, her cousin was dead. Her body was just a vessel for the Demon Queen. And now Chandi, against all logic, had found a sister.
So her sister was a crocodile. No one was perfect.
They were on their way back to Bukit now. Pohaci had found her answers, though Chandi wasn’t sure it had made things any easier for the woman.
“If this is all true,” Chandi said, “then you are the heir to House Shravana.” For that matter, she was the eldest child of House Soma, too.
Pohaci walked a short distance ahead, clearly more at home in the rainforest than even Chandi. She dodged around branches and underbrush without even seeming to notice. She grunted in answer, but said nothing.
Fine. “What do you want to do about it?”
“There’s nothing to do. I am Buaya Jadian, not a Moon Scion. And there is no House Shravana anymore.”
“There is as long as you live.” H
er sister. How could she have a big sister and not have known it? She guessed she could see herself in Pohaci. The same soft cheek bones, the same small lips. The same color eyes, almost.
“I’m not interested in being the lady of any House. I just want to save Malin from Rahu.”
Yes, there was that. Pohaci obviously didn’t want to talk about her lineage. And maybe Chandi couldn’t blame her. If she thought her father had failed her, imagine how Pohaci felt about him.
And how in Rangda’s frozen underworld were they going to get the ghost out of the weretiger? “Rahu only left Mahesa’s body when it died. When Malin killed him.”
Pohaci spun on her, and in two steps, held her by her baju. “What are you saying? That we can’t drive out Rahu without killing Malin? Is that what you believe, Chandi?”
Chandi pulled the werecrocodile’s hands from her shirt and looked her in the eye. “I don’t know. Even killing Malin might not work. Maybe Rahu would just move into another host.”
“Killing him!”
“Don’t you think he’d rather be dead than serve as Rahu’s helpless puppet?”
Pohaci shoved her, and Chandi stumbled backward, tripping over a root and landing hard. “He’s still in there!” The Jadian stormed off through the edge of the rainforest, almost entering Bukit. She stood, shoulders tense for a heartbeat. “What’s that smell?” she mumbled just before she ran off.
Chandi sighed, rubbing her backside as she rose. Damn crocodile. She had a nasty temper. Which probably ran in the family, didn’t it?
She trudged off toward Bukit, then froze. Across a field, Pohaci stood statue still, eyes locked on Malin. The weretiger was here, he’d seized the city. Rahu had seized it. A few buildings had burned, but Chandi hadn’t been able to see the smoke through the rainforest canopy.
“And Chandi, too,” the man said. “What a nice surprise. You two make quite the ironic pair. Never in my dreams did I guess you’d wind up together like this. Fate has a delicious sense of humor, does it not?”