The True Queen

by Zen Cho

  There was something in her voice—the hopelessness of one speaking of a certain doom—that gave Muna a pang. She said:

  “You need not marry Mr. Hobday if you do not like him.”

  Henrietta shook her head. “If it is not him, it must be another gentleman. And there is none I would marry.”

  Save Mr. Wythe, thought Muna. This gave her a worse pang, but before Muna could decide what to say, Henrietta went on, more cheerfully:

  “But my own wishes are of little account. Duty requires me to leave Britain, so depart I shall. I only wondered whether you would be so good as to help me?”

  “I will do all I can,” said Muna. “What do you need?”

  Henrietta hesitated. “Have you given any thought to what you wish to do now? You will be welcome here for as long as you should like to stay,” she added quickly. “Prunella will come and tell you so herself, but she insisted upon my saying it too.”

  “That is good of her,” said Muna. “I shall take advantage of Mrs. Wythe’s hospitality for a little longer, if I may. But I don’t mean to impose on her for long.”

  It was difficult to conceive of a future. Even when Muna put her mind to it, as she did now, striving to pierce through the darkness that pressed in on all sides, there was only her great intention—the charge she had entrusted to the polong. Beyond that, she could not tell what might happen.

  If she lived, however . . . if she lived . . . what would she choose?

  It was a question she had not asked herself before, but the answer came readily. Muna saw a substantial wooden house—a house sitting nearer the jungle than was quite comfortable, haunted by more than its fair share of ghosts, yet promising absolute safety to those admitted to its shelter. As she thought of Mak Genggang’s house, its very smell came back to her—the scent of sun-warmed timbers, spices frying in the kitchen, and Mak Genggang herself, clean flesh and freshly laundered cotton.

  “I should like to go home,” said Muna. “To Janda Baik, I mean.”

  Henrietta nodded. “I thought you might. Prunella and I think it would be wise for you to take precautions, if so. You would not wish the Fairy Queen to turn her attention to your home.”

  “No, indeed!” said Muna. “What would you recommend?”

  “We must account for you, you see,” said Henrietta. “It is no good putting about a story that explains only my disappearance, when the Fairy Queen knows there were two of us. We thought we might say that I took you with me when I ran away. You would stay here as long as you liked, and go on to Janda Baik when you were ready, under a false name. Since you have no family here, and no one knows you, that misdirection should suffice. There is a spell we could use to give you a new face, for a time. You could put it off, of course, once the Queen had forgot us.”

  “That sounds sensible,” said Muna. It was unlikely the Queen would soon forget her, or that Muna would ever be able to go home, but Henrietta did not need to know that. She was leaving soon, and would be spared the consequences of Muna’s plan. “So I go with you to France, do I? But what do I do when you die?”

  “Oh!” said Henrietta: it seemed her invention had not extended so far. “Perhaps you remain in France. You spied on Britain on their behalf, after all, and are entitled to their gratitude.”

  “No,” decided Muna. “I think I had better dive into the river with you! I should not wish to be parted from you, since we had gone so far together.”

  This made Henrietta laugh, as Muna had intended. For a moment they sat smiling at each other.

  “There is another favour I should like to ask,” said Henrietta. “I know it would gratify my mother extremely—and I should like to give her pleasure while I can. But you must feel at liberty to decline if you do not like the notion.”

  “What is it?”

  “My mother is hosting a ball tomorrow evening for my sister Amelia’s coming-out,” said Henrietta. “I know it would please her if you were to attend. She was very much struck with you.”

  “I remember,” said Muna. The Sorceress Royal’s ball seemed long ago now. She felt as though she had aged centuries since that evening; it was impossible to hold any grudge about Mrs. Stapleton’s conduct then, or do anything but what would please Henrietta. “I should like to attend the ball, if you are sure I would be wanted.”

  “Oh, you will be a sensation!” said Henrietta. “I do not know why society should abhor an English magicienne but fall into raptures over a foreign sorceress—but there it is! I am very much obliged to you. It will not make up for all I mean to do, but my mother will be delighted, and that is something. And,” she added, brightening, “I shall like you to meet my sisters!”

  But then Henrietta seemed to realise this might be an unhappy reference. She flushed. “That is to say, if you would not mind my presenting them to you.”

  “I should be honoured to meet your sisters,” said Muna gently. “Will you tell me about them?”

  This was a well-advised question, for Henrietta forgot all awkwardness at once in the pleasure of describing her sisters. There were three: “None has magic, thank goodness! We have always been the greatest of friends, though I was sent away to school. Charlotte is the drollest, for she is not yet thirteen and still very much the child. Louisa is second youngest; she has the most sense, but it is Amelia people notice—she is the prettiest, and has the most go. I have not made up my mind which you will like best.”

  “That is easy enough,” said Muna. “I shall like you best. What ought I to wear to your mother’s party?”

  A grave look came over Henrietta’s face, for this was a delicate matter. “It must be something befitting an exotic, but not anything Mamma would deem improper. I believe . . .”

  But Henrietta never had the chance to explain what Muna should wear, for then the polong reappeared, with none of the discretion Muna had asked for. The door burst open and red smoke poured in, making the women cough.

  Henrietta leapt to her feet, whisking out a handkerchief and putting it to her nose.

  “Do not breathe it in, Muna!” she cried in a muffled voice. “It may be poison!”

  But Muna had heard what Henrietta had not—the clatter of an object dropping on the floor. Muna flung herself down and saw the gleam of red gems, set in a coil of bluish-green stones. She laid her hand on it just as the polong’s voice boomed:

  “Here is my gift to you, child—the Queen’s Virtu and the heart of Saktimuna, restored to wholeness!”

  24

  THE POLONG EMERGED from the smoke, glowing with self-satisfaction, but she checked at the sight of Henrietta. “Who is this?”

  “My friend,” said Muna absently.

  “Your friend?” echoed the polong. “You did not tell me you had friends among the English. Did not I say Mak Genggang wished them to remain ignorant of my existence?”

  “Are you acquainted with this fairy, Muna?” said Henrietta. Then she saw the object in Muna’s hands. Her eyes widened.

  “You have found it,” she breathed. “The Queen’s Virtu!”

  The object was the twin of the ornament the Queen had worn when Georgiana had brought Muna and Henrietta to her—a double-headed snake, its body made of turquoises and its eyes of rubies. And there was more.

  “This is writing,” Muna said aloud.

  She showed the talisman to Henrietta, but Henrietta only looked confused. “I cannot see any writing.”

  “Look here.” Muna’s fingers traced the stones forming the serpent’s body. Close to, she could see that the stones formed a pattern, and no meaningless pattern either. The words unfolded in her head. She murmured them aloud:

  “Here is the inner heart and virtue of the villainess Saktimuna, who was cast out of the Unseen. Whoever holds this shall master the Serpent, who is unworthy to be mistress of herself.”

  “What language is that?” said Henrietta. It was only then th
at Muna realised she had been speaking neither English nor Malay, nor any mortal tongue. Both Henrietta and the polong were looking at her strangely.

  “That is Palace speech,” said the polong, frowning. “The tongue reserved for the royalty of the Unseen. How comes it that you are able to read it . . . ?”

  The spirit’s voice trailed off. She stared at Muna, her lip trembling in outrage.

  “That Woman!” spat the polong, startling Muna. “She must have known. The Great Serpent disappears in a storm and two girls are found on the shore the morning after, girls who have no memories, no family to claim them . . . of a certainty she knew. Of all the sly, mistrustful creatures! To think of her charging me with your protection and not telling me!”

  “You mean,” said Muna, “Mak Genggang guessed my sister was Saktimuna? She knew of the existence of the Great Serpent?” She did not know how to feel about this.

  “Of course she did,” said the polong. “The Great Serpent was old when Mak Genggang’s grandmother was born. Where do you think Janda Baik drew its magic from? The Serpent was the source of the island’s power—it was her magic that drew witches and lamiae and kings to its shores. The witches all knew that.”

  Sakti had not known it, thought Muna—but then, Sakti had only been an apprentice witch. No doubt the disclosure of a mystery like the Serpent was reserved for those who had progressed further with their studies than Sakti had had the opportunity to do.

  She squatted so that she was nearer the polong’s level.

  “Kings?” said Muna. “Do you mean the Sultan of Janda Baik?”

  “The kings were before your time,” said the polong. “They were always taking it into their heads that the Serpent was an evil spirit and trying to kill her—without the least success, of course. In time Mak Genggang was obliged to beg the Serpent to pretend she had been murdered, so that the kings would stop troubling us. There had not been a questing raja in our waters for many years when the Serpent disappeared.”

  “When was that?” said Muna—but of course, the polong had already said. The Great Serpent had disappeared in a storm—the storm after which Muna and Sakti had woken on Janda Baik, with no knowledge of who they were.

  The polong would not say more in Henrietta’s presence, but Muna thought she understood what the witch must have felt then. To lose the island’s chief defence, at a time when the British were circling Janda Baik like kites . . .

  “That was why Mak Genggang was so busy,” she said aloud. “She scarcely had time to try to break our curse.”

  “She would have done better to devote more time to you, and less time to . . . other things,” said the polong, glancing at Henrietta. “Perhaps she only suspected, after all. I cannot see why she should have sent you away if she had known what you were.”

  “She feared we might fall into the hands of the British,” said Muna. For Henrietta’s benefit, she added, “The raja of Malacca, I mean, who might not have been sympathetic. Now that I know my sister was the Great Serpent, I understand why she feared it!”

  “Oh, Sakti was not the Serpent,” said the polong offhandedly. “What can have given you that idea? It is both of you. I see that now! Mak Genggang would have guessed it, too, if she had known what had become of the Virtu.”

  Henrietta knelt by the polong while Muna gaped.

  “You think Sakti and Muna are both parts of the Great Serpent,” said Henrietta.

  The polong looked at the Englishwoman with misgiving. “What do you know of it?”

  “Nothing whatever,” said Henrietta candidly. “But I know that a talisman as powerful as the Virtu cannot be broken up without dramatic results. I wondered, when Sakti told us what the Duke had done . . . but now I can guess what came to pass. When the Duke divided the Virtu in half, it must have split what remained of the Serpent in two.”

  The polong looked grudgingly impressed. “Yes. When the Queen took the Serpent’s heart and flung her down into the mortal realm, that weakened the Serpent—made her more liable to be broken up again. That is how some smaller spirits are made. They spring from the destruction of greater spirits.”

  Muna looked incredulously from the polong to Henrietta and back again. They seemed to understand each other—and yet with every word they spoke, Muna’s bewilderment grew.

  “But, but,” she stammered, “but I cannot be part of any spirit. You forget I have no magic.”

  “You are the Serpent’s material part, of course,” said the polong. She was matter-of-fact, just as though she were not saying the most extraordinary, inconceivable things. “A spirit of the Serpent’s size requires an anchor to the mortal world if it is not to dissolve into lesser imps. You have seen the imps I mean—they are the fine ones who must carry out the orders of mortal magicians and greater spirits alike.

  “Some spirits anchor themselves to human beings and become their familiars, but the Serpent tethered herself to Janda Baik. The island became a part of her, as she was part of it. When this Duke you told me of broke the Virtu, he will have divided the Serpent into soul and matter—spirit and insensate clay. You are the clay, and Sakti is the spirit, which is the same thing as magic.”

  “I can’t be . . .” But Muna allowed her voice to trail off into silence, for she found she believed the polong.

  Was that why the Serpent’s thoughts had been so familiar in her vision? They had been her own.

  “But if it is true,” she said aloud, “Sakti is not . . .”

  Not my sister, Muna meant to say, but she had known that already, when she had decided that Sakti was Saktimuna, the lost True Queen, and Muna herself a mere hanger-on. There was no reason she should feel so desolate now—and yet to know her attachment to Sakti had not been devotion to a sister, nor a charge she had disinterestedly assumed, but merely a sort of obsession with a part of herself . . . made Muna feel unmoored, cut adrift from the certainties that had buoyed her before.

  “Yes,” said the polong. “Sakti is not dead.”

  Her voice penetrated through Muna’s haze of self-pity. Muna raised her head. “What?”

  “The Duke may not have intended it, but he served you well by breaking you up,” said the polong. “It will be far more difficult for the Queen of the Djinns to destroy you now—you cannot be extinguished unless she tracks down every part of you. It is like those magicians that hide their heart away, so they will be proof against any attack. So long as the Virtu survives, so will you—all of you.”

  Muna looked down at the gleaming talisman in her hands. “You mean I could use the Virtu to save Sakti?”

  “Or revive her,” agreed the polong. “Whatever they may have done to her in the Palace of the Unseen may have scattered her spirit, but since you have her heart, you ought to be able to recover what remains—so long as you find her before the Queen does. If the Queen realises what Sakti is—a sliver of the Great Serpent’s soul—I should think she will devour her at once.”

  “What do I do?” said Muna urgently. “How can I find Sakti?”

  “It will be easy enough once you have your magic back,” said the polong. “You shall have to take the Virtu into yourself.”

  Muna understood. After all, she had absorbed Fairy magic once before.

  She raised the Virtu to her mouth, but a hand seized her wrist, stopping her.

  “Wait!” cried Henrietta.

  Muna had nearly forgotten Henrietta was there. While she blinked, Henrietta turned to the polong. “But what will happen if Muna takes the Virtu into herself? Might there be any ill effects? Surely to absorb so much magic will alter her.”

  “Beyond recognition!” agreed the polong. “With the Virtu, she will be the best part of the Great Serpent. Once she has summoned Sakti, that will make up the whole. Saktimuna will be restored to herself, able to protect Janda Baik from its enemies.”

  “But will Muna be herself?” said Henrietta.

/>   “Why, no,” said the polong. “She will be swallowed up in the Serpent.” The spirit seemed puzzled by Henrietta’s agitation. “But Muna is not a real person, you know.”

  The polong seemed to intend this as reassurance, but it did not answer.

  “She is a real person to me!” retorted Henrietta. She turned to Muna. “Don’t listen to this creature. We must not be precipitate. There is surely another way!”

  “Oho!” cried the polong, bristling. “The Englishwoman shows her hand, but you will not be deceived by her, child. It is clear she desires the Virtu for her own people!”

  Henrietta flushed. “That is not—that is a falsehood, Muna, you must believe me!”

  Muna was not listening to either of them. She looked at the polong. “If I swallow the Virtu, could I defeat the Queen?”

  The polong spread her hands. “Who can say who will triumph in these battles between great spirits? But the Serpent always claimed that her powers surpassed those of her sister. She said she was overthrown only because she had not expected treachery from that quarter.”

  “Muna,” said Henrietta. “Muna, do you hear me? If you do this, you will be absorbed into the Great Serpent; you will lose yourself in her. There is no call for you to make such a sacrifice. I beg you will not do it!”

  She took Muna’s arm, but Muna put her aside as gently as she could.

  “There is no such thing as ‘myself,’ you know,” said Muna. “So it is no great odds either way.”

  “If that is true, then there never was a Sakti either,” said Henrietta, “and nothing for which you need make a martyr of yourself!”

  It was like being touched on an open wound. Muna flinched. “Don’t! How would you feel, if it were your sisters? If I can ensure that Sakti lives—even if she is changed, even if we are both changed—what can I care for anything else?”

  Before she could lose her nerve, she put the Virtu in her mouth. Henrietta lunged at her, apparently determined to pluck the talisman from her.

  “Henrietta!” sputtered Muna. She contrived to fend the Englishwoman off, but it was not such a straightforward matter to eat something so unlike food. Even if Muna’s mind was convinced of the need to swallow the Virtu, the rest of her was far from being persuaded. She was still choking on the talisman when the polong’s head whipped up.