Clarkesworld Magazine Issue 168

by Neil Clarke

  Timah sneaked into the forest, clutching the silver spear in one hand. The rifle was slung along her side, slapping slightly against her form. She wore a sarong with a wide leather belt that held ammunition for her rifle, various knives, and small packets of spell herbs for protection. She wore stones as talismans around her neck, strung together with string, and slippers made from treated tree bark.

  Finally, she attached her modified goggles in order to see the celestial princesses better.

  The princesses who floated down from the flying vehicles were always dressed differently. One night, they would be resplendent warlike goddesses in gleaming silver. The next night, they would be ethereal dancers in wispy robes of lilac. They sang as they hunted. They were both extremely feminine in a way that Timah envied, but also extremely fierce. Timah sucked on her lower lip as she watched, willing herself neither to move nor to breathe too loud. She was invisible to them so long as she held on to the silver spear, and so she clutched it in a death grip. What she did not know, however, was naturally the one thing that she should have known. She was invisible to the princesses, but not to their pets, their guardians.

  The garuda of the celestial princesses of kayangan were larger than the colorful birds of paradise that could be found in the forest: the elegant and shy cenderawasih. Timah craned her neck, noticing that the garuda were now armored and wore curious goggles that she had never seen before: large and spiked at the edges.

  Timah had no warning, no warning at all this time. Quieter than breath, a beak pulled her out of her hiding place, lodging itself in her cotton baju, thankfully not puncturing her skin. She dropped her spear and shrieked, before remembering she was supposed to be quiet. She shrieked again as the garuda flew up into the sky, hauling her along.

  Her sisters wanted to know why she was so upset.

  Saengdao ignored everyone, slinking to the corner of their hut to stare at the thatched wall. She did not join them for dinner, even though the scent of the glutinous rice, spiced fish, and the mangoes that she had plucked from the trees earlier in the day filled the hut. She ignored her sisters further as they danced the menorah after dinner, practicing for the harvest pageant of propitiation.

  Her silence was of a sort that infected the others, and they finally settled down to talk quietly amongst themselves, their tail-feathers comfortably settled against the soft earthen floor.

  Finally, her eldest sister Yong-Yut sat down beside her.

  “What happened, Saengdao? Have you fought with Timah?”

  “She found one of those war-chariots. She wanted me to harness myself up so that she could ride me,” Saengdao’s tones were soft so that only Yong-Yut could hear her.

  Yong-Yut craned her elegant neck to look at her youngest sister.

  “What she did was wrong, Saengdao. You were right to be angry. But was she aware about what it means to our people? Did she know those chariots were instruments of shame and torture?”

  “Timah was thoughtless as usual. She only had a care about how we would get to see them. She only had a care about herself. As usual.”

  “The bunian?”

  “Yes.”

  Yong-Yut shook her head. “No good will come of her obsession with those folk. They are woven of a thread far finer than our own rude form.”

  “I know that. But she’s gone anyway, she says we’re all descended from them, and she means to learn more about our kinship.”

  Yong-Yut gave her sister a deliberate look.

  “Let me understand this. You let the girl you call your oath-sister go into the forest alone to spy on the bunian princesses, when you know she’s obsessed with them?”

  “She brought that war-chariot out. She wanted me to comply with an act that has caused shame and dishonor to our kind for centuries!”

  “I know, Yong-Yut. It was a terrible thing to have done, and very thoughtless of her. Still. Do you want something bad to happen to Timah? Really? Of the sort that may happen to her if the garudas capture her?”

  Saengdao sighed, and said reluctantly, “No. Not really.”

  “So come on then, you can go ahead with considering her unforgiveable after we’ve fished her out of whatever scrape she’s got herself into. You’ve got just cause, don’t get me wrong. But we can’t let her die. Our mother promised her mother, remember?”

  “What makes you assume she’s in trouble?” Saengdao countered.

  “You’re not with her, and she’s got artifacts she should not be anywhere near. And we both know what Timah can be like.”

  Saengdao shook her head and groaned. “Do we have to do this?” she asked in plaintive tones.

  “Yes, Saengdao, we really do.”

  “I don’t like coming here,” Saengdao said to Yong-Yut the next day as they entered the ruins of the Buried Kingdoms.

  “Well, most of us do make our livelihoods from scavenging these ruins, sister. You are now old enough to do the same.”

  Yong-Yut beckoned at her to take a left turn as they entered a winding road almost covered by giant ferns.

  “However, that is not why I’ve brought you today.”

  Yong-Yut pointed at a thatched hut that looked far more spacious than the hut they shared with their siblings. The thatching looked new and elegant.

  “Did you build this?”

  “Yes! Very slowly, I did. Come inside, I want to show you what I’ve found.”

  Saengdao followed Yong-Yut into the hut, which was spacious enough on the inside that Saengdao considered that they should be calling it a house. That was strange enough. Houses were not normal for their people. They were too used to needing to build homes they could quickly dismantle and carry on their broad backs. Building this thatched house within the grounds of the Buried Kingdom was even more terrifying, Saengdao thought.

  Yong-Yut lifted what looked like a huge frame off the ground.

  “What is that?” Saengdao asked.

  “It is a war-kite, used to fire missiles into enemy troops. The Khinnaree used to be deployed in the armies of the Buried Kingdom for that purpose. But there are other uses for these kites.”

  “Such as?”

  “Haven’t you ever wondered what it would feel like to fly?” Yong-Yut asked her.

  Saengdao almost flinched. “Not you too,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear in a nervous gesture.

  “My obsession with flight is not the same as your friend’s. I’m thinking about ways in which we should be able to defend ourselves. And flight is one way. I’ve managed to work out how to get it to work. Take this . . . ”

  Saengdao took the war-kite that her sister held out to her, and then watched as Yong-Yut picked up a huge satchel and another war-kite. Both war-kites were enormous and had harnesses attached to them. Saengdao nearly staggered under the kite she held. It was not so much because it was heavy, for it was definitely incredibly light. But the sheer length and width of the wings made the entire contraption difficult to carry.

  “Let’s go outside so we can get this to work,” Yong-Yut said.

  “But why?”

  “So we can find your friend.”

  “You just want an excuse to use your new toys. You’re just as bad as her,” Saengdao said. “What about the fact that you want us harnessed into these kites in the same way we were harnessed into the chariots?”

  “It’s different, Saengdao. I’ve changed these kites. These weren’t originally used for flying, but the Khinnaree would run with these kites on the ground to aim weapons at the enemy. But look! I’ve turned them into something that can make us fly!”

  Yong-Yut worked as she spoke, pulling straps and other bits of scavenged leather out from her satchel, attaching hooks and strange brass buttons and other bits of leather in a crisscross pattern.

  “What are you doing?” Saengdao asked.

  “Attaching the harnesses for the war-kites to carry us. Patience, sister!”

  Yong-Yut had her sister sitting down on a boulder before she strapped her into a
harness, which was then attached to the giant, violet-hued war-kite.

  Yong-Yut’s excitement was infectious, and Saengdao began to feel a measure of skeptical enthusiasm. “How do you expect these kites to carry us?” she asked. “We have never been able to fly because we are so dense.”

  “The same way they used to carry huge weapons of war, except better! Look!”

  Yong-Yut passed a rolled up piece of paper to Saengdao who stared at the illustrations they contained.

  “Your friend’s people aren’t the only one who can make machinery out of what they’ve scavenged from these ruins, you know.”

  “I just never thought we needed to do so. And why use the weapons and designs of our oppressors?”

  “There will never come a time when we do not need to do what we are doing right now, sister. We work with what we have. We scavenge, because we were robbed. Now, be brave, the next bit may sound alarming. Stand up please, in the clearing over here.”

  Yong-Yut attached what looked like a smaller leather satchel to her war-kite. Taking out a blowtorch, Yong-Yut started turning a dial on the satchel before attaching the blowtorch to a nozzle that jutted out from the satchel. A long jet of flame emerged from the nozzle. The satchel expanded, and a great force suddenly moved the war-kite upward.

  “Just remember to keep your limbs relaxed and stay calm. Also, take this!”

  Saengdao deftly caught the revved-up rifle that Yong-Yut threw at her and tried to remember to stay calm. It was not easy to do so, given that she was the most easily frightened of all of her sisters.

  Yong-Yut’s war-kite was bigger than Timah’s. The satchel with its strange properties of fire and force was also bigger. She held in her hand a large rifle that also seemed equipped with a silver spear.

  “I’m calling them propulsion-satchels,” Yong-Yut said, winking at the question in her sister’s face. She pulled Saengdao closer, attaching Saengdao’s harness to her own harness with a strong, woven rope.

  “There’s a smaller silver spear attached to the inside of your rifle. Do you remember how to shoot that thing?” she asked, giving Saengdao a cheeky grin.

  Saengdao snorted, being the sibling who was the most adept at hunting despite her nervous tendencies. “You know I do, but do we have to resort to violence?”

  “Hopefully not, but it is good to be prepared.”

  “Come on, Saengdao. We shouldn’t waste time.”

  Yong-Yut pulled down her goggles to cover her eyes, and Saengdao did the same for her own pair.

  The Empress’ wooden palace in the sky was the largest amongst all of the floating palaces, and naturally the grandest. Gold inlayed every wood-carved detail of her palace, and the ladders were studded with rubies and chalcedony. The Empress herself sat on a throne that was set so high in the throne room that thirty-six steps curved upward to meet her feet, clad in slippers of gold and jade.

  Timah gazed upon the Empress in awe, wondering if this was the last sight of grandeur she would be granted before they ended her sad life. If so, she was glad to die, she thought. Her dearest wish had been fulfilled. The Empress laughed, and it was not a kind sound.

  “I am assuming this is one of the little spies who kept returning to watch us. Of what race is this one, First Admiral?”

  First Admiral was a woman dressed in a simple outfit of teal cotton trimmed with silver and teal songket. She circled the kneeling Timah and then answered.

  “Of Malay-Thai extraction, descended from the apsaras of the Buried Kingdoms. She is one of our very distant kin, Your Imperial Majesty.”

  “One of the little ones we rescued from those accursed Kings?”

  “Yes, Your Imperial Majesty.”

  “They know our rules, and they know the price for our rules. She was caught spying. Shall we behead her, or shall we claim her as tithe?”

  Timah bit down hard on her lower lip so as not to embarrass herself with pleas.

  First Admiral paused to look down at her. “She is not without competence, this one, Your Imperial Majesty. We may be in need of more tinkers in the time to come.”

  The Empress exhaled. It was a long, tired sound.

  “You think we have come to this? Recruiting human tinkers?”

  “It’s worth a try, Your Majesty. We need to protect our palaces beyond what we’ve been doing. The empire of the air grows larger, and our people are no longer united as they once were.”

  Curiosity overcame Timah despite her fear. She asked, “Your Imperial Majesty, I am not fit to kiss the ground beneath your dais, let alone breathe the air you breathe, let alone speak, but may I know why the bunian are at war?”

  The Empress laughed again, this time a sound of shocked amusement.

  “So, not fit to breathe the air we breathe, but daring to question our actions? So very insincere, little one.”

  First Admiral glanced at Timah before looking up at the Empress, “Your Imperial Majesty, perhaps it would be good if her folk knew of what was going on. This impacts them as well. They are, after all, our kin.”

  The Empress made a dismissive gesture with her hand.

  “Tell her then. It makes no difference what these diluted by-blows know.”

  First Admiral bowed in graceful and profound respect.

  “We are not at war, little apsara. But there is a battle happening to determine which of the princesses will be the next Empress.”

  Timah did not understand. The Empress barely looked older than Timah. The Empress met her eyes, a small smile playing about her regal lips.

  “We do not serve as Empress forever, little apsara. After every decade, a contest happens to determine who serves next. This year, things have become rather strained.”

  “Her Imperial Majesty’s daughter won the contest this year. The other princesses claim it was foul play because an engineer died during the contest. They have now mobilized in opposing camps to determine the next Empress,” First Admiral said.

  Timah looked up at the Empress, suddenly realizing that the Empress was very possibly on the losing side of this battle.

  “Why would they call foul?”

  The Empress shrugged. “It was a technicality. It is not the first time such a thing has happened in our history. Not the first time an engineer has died, even. The violence with which these claims were made, however, is something new. We are growing more dependent on engineering. There was a time when we lived only on the power of sakti, but our connection to sakti grows weak. The world outside of kayangan grows stronger.”

  Timah said, “Your Imperial Majesty, this unworthy being would be pleased to serve and help you in any way at all in this battle.”

  The Empress shook her head slightly, frowning.

  “What can you do, little apsara? You’re but a tinker.”

  Timah was about to answer when a commotion broke out. She turned to look and saw six armed women bring forward Saengdao and Yong-Yut. They were harnessed to enormous kites that were dragging behind them. They struggled, their faces red, and their necks expanding in an alarming way. The sisters tried repeatedly to claw at the eyes of the bunian guards who pinioned their arms.

  “First apsaras, and now the Khinnaree? Are we to have the entire raggle-taggle survivors of the Buried Kingdom up here in my throne room? Captain Misha, what is the meaning of this?”

  “We found these two Khinnaree harnessed to armed war-kites that flew faster than our garuda, Your Imperial Majesty. We managed to overtake them when the winds slowed, and just before their machines died.”

  “The propulsion-satchels lost power as we gained altitude,” Yong-Yut said to no one in particular, sounding incredibly disgruntled.

  “Khinnaree mechanics and apsara tinkers,” the Empress said, her tone thoughtful, “I am going to need help to understand how such a strange event can come to pass. It is an anomaly, but may be fortuitous.”

  The Empress’ thoughtful tone came hand in hand with a shining luminescence in her form, which grew until she was an oval of light tha
t hurt the eyes. Timah immediately turned the dial on her goggles to compensate for the light-blindness. She gasped at what she saw.

  The oval of light seemed to split itself. A bird that seemed to be made of both air and light emerged from the Empress’ form. It floated above the Empress in a delicate way, its movements soft and deliberate. The peace it brought filled everyone in the room.

  “Holy Jentayu,” the Empress said, in a soft, reverent voice, “Give us guidance in this matter. Should we take these children as tithe or should we sacrifice them?”

  The bird flew down from the throne, coming face-to-face with Timah. The bird was so beautiful that Timah could not bear to look full into the soft brown eyes that fiercely looked into hers. The bird then flew above her, almost gliding in the air, before it reached the two Khinnaree sisters, circling them.

  Timah did not understand the ways of the Khinnaree, but she knew she had angered and hurt Saengdao. She wondered if the Jentayu would know of this. If so, would she be punished?

  The Jentayu flew back to the Empress. The two of them merged in a brilliant ball of blue light that hurt Timah’s eyes even through her light-blindness setting. She closed her eyes and kept them closed.

  It felt like a very long while before the Empress spoke. The entire room had descended into a reverent silence. It felt as though even the air had been sleeping until the Empress’ voice woke them up again.

  “You two Khinnaree, come closer. Tell me of how you changed these war-kites.”

  “I found close to two hundred war-kites in one of the armories in the Buried Kingdom, Your Imperial Majesty. I took two of them to work on. I also found the old engineering rooms of the Buried Kingdoms, where they combined minerals and gases to create fluids that could move objects across space. There were many diagrams in the engineering archives that gave instructions. I merely connected that design to the design of the war-kites so that I could fly,” Yong-Yut said, obviously trying to sound nonchalant. However, her eyes were almost shining with the pleasure of sharing what she had achieved.