Snow, Fire, Sword Page 8

  Adi looked cautiously at Sadik; the Pumujisal didn’t like the Nashranees much, and the favor was often returned. It might be best not to mention he himself was a Nashranee, especially as he’d had one or two unpleasant experiences in the past. Anyway, his heart symbol was well hidden under his clothes, next to his skin.

  Sadik caught Adi’s eye. “You were down on the beach, friend Adi. Was the ceremony to be held there? Was it to do with the Queen of the Southern Sea?”

  Adi gulped. Before he could speak, Sadik said, “You believe in the stories of Queen Rorokidul, then?”

  Adi looked away. There was a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach as he remembered what he’d seen. He said, “It is not for me to believe or disbelieve.”

  “Mmm.” Sadik’s glance flickered over him again. “I think they are just stories. I think the sea is dangerous, though. My father met his death on it. And my mother’s heart broke because of it. I hate the sea. It is the realm of madness and death.”

  Adi certainly did not want to be dragged into a discussion of such things. Making an effort to be calm, he said, “I am sorry to hear of such sadness, friend. I know the sea can indeed be harsh. In any case, it is not where I wish to be. I have to get back to Kotabunga, where my friends will be waiting.” He added the last instinctively, and Sadik nodded.

  “You have become separated from friends. That is a great sadness. We will try to make sure you are soon reunited.”

  “Thank you,” said Adi. An obscure unease was gnawing at him, battling with his relief at being in the car. He wrestled with his thoughts, coming to a firm decision. He would rest a short while in Gunungbatu, to please Sadik, but he would leave that very day for Kotabunga. Yes. That was what he would do.

  ELEVEN

  “I DON’T LIKE THE look of that sea,” said Husam al-Din, as he and Dewi hurried toward the cave. She didn’t like the look of it either—the huge, angry waves that were crashing menacingly onto the sand, eating up more and more of it. But then, she hadn’t liked the look of it from the beginning.

  Husam stopped when they were a few meters away from the cave. “It’s under water,” he said. “We can’t go in there.”

  Dewi said faintly, “I have the ring of protection Kwanyin gave me, and my father’s talisman, which he got from the Harimauroh. Queen Rorokidul will respect them. Maybe she will help us.”

  “Doesn’t look to me like the Queen’s in a mood to listen,” said Husam, “but you can try.”

  “She’s probably just angry because her sacred place has been violated by the hantumu and the afreet,” said Dewi. “She has probably helped Adi and Anda Mangil. That’s why they’re not here. I’ll have to go closer to the water’s edge.”

  “Let me go first,” said Husam. Drawing his sword and holding it high before him, he stepped in front of Dewi, covering her as she reluctantly walked closer to the edge of the sea. She was oddly comforted by it, though steel and bravery were surely no match for the awesome power of the Queen of the Southern Sea.

  She stopped a little way from the edge. She could not bear to go any closer. The sea was dark, ferocious, terrifying. It looked as if it might devour the whole beach, the whole world. She thought she could see, flickering in and out of the wild waves, a woman’s face—beautiful, but twisted in fury. Dewi raised her hands. In one, she held her father’s talisman; in the other, Kwanyin’s ring.

  “Queen Rorokidul,” she cried faintly, then louder. “Queen Rorokidul! I beg audience with you. I beg—”

  The sea roared. A huge wave rose up and came rushing toward them, so swiftly that they did not even have time to move or cry out. But just as the wave reached their feet, it vanished, and in its place a fountain of water spurted up from the black sand. It was crystal clear and hung in the air like a shimmering bead curtain. Behind the curtain of water was the tall and graceful Queen Rorokidul. Her face was lovely, but her eyes were bright with anger.

  “You have audience with me. What do you want, child who is protected by two spirits?”

  “Your Ma-Majesty,” stammered Dewi, “we…I and my friends came here to this place to seek your help in our quest to find Snow, Fire, and Sword and defeat the evil that stalks our land.”

  “I know that,” said the Queen sharply, her eyes narrowing.

  Dewi said, “Your Majesty, I believe I have found Sword. He stands here before you.”

  The Queen looked at Husam. “You think you have found Sword. Are you sure, Dewi?”

  “Yes,” said Dewi, her courage rising. “Queen Rorokidul, it was on Siluman, at the doorway to your realm, that I found Sword, and I wish to thank you for that.”

  The Queen stared at her, silent for a little while. Then she said, “Child, you surprise me. And I am not often surprised. I accept your thanks.” She turned her dark glance on the impassive Husam, who still stood at guard with his sword held out. “He is not an unworthy man,” she said at last. “He could well be Sword.”

  Dewi saw a faint smile dart fleetingly from under Husam’s mustache. Emboldened, she said, “Your Majesty, we need your help. The hantumu were here, and—”

  A terrifying spasm of rage crossed the sea-spirit’s face. “Don’t say that accursed name! How is it that such creatures are allowed to desecrate this place with their evil presence? What sort of a world are you people creating up there on the land? Why are so many forgetting their sacred duties, their ancient obligations? Why doesn’t the Sultan of Jayangan—he whose family has always been guarded by me—why does he not act?”

  Dewi quailed. “Your Majesty, I cannot answer for the Sultan, but I know there are many, many people who still remember the debt they owe you. Many people who hold to the old ways, who fight to preserve what is good in Jayangan. But we are facing a dangerous and powerful enemy. We cannot defeat him easily.”

  The Queen snapped, “And there are many others who join the enemy, or do nothing about him. Ha! We should just turn our backs on the whole of this accursed human world.”

  “But there are also those like my father and the kris maker, who have put their own safety last. There are those who have paid the ultimate price,” said Dewi, white to the lips.

  “That is so,” said Rorokidul sharply, “but they pay it willingly, and we honor them for it.”

  Dewi swallowed. “Queen Rorokidul…my friends…might you tell us…”

  Rorokidul’s eyes bored into Dewi’s. She made a gesture with her hand, and a little wave detached itself from the sea and came rolling down to sink and die at Dewi’s feet. When it receded, it left a little, glittering object behind. Dewi bent down to seize it with a cry. It was Adi’s ring!

  Horror gripped at her throat. “Then Adi is…he is…”

  Rorokidul raised an eyebrow. “Dead? No. He escaped the hantumu. But he is without any link to the spirits, for he threw the ring away.” Her lips set in a thin line. “He said he did not want my protection. So I withdrew it from him.”

  “Where is he, then?” cried Dewi.

  “I do not know,” said Rorokidul with some asperity. “He left the beach.”

  “He has probably gone back to Kotabunga, then,” said Husam, turning to Dewi. “To Kwanyin.”

  Dewi said quietly, “And…Queen Rorokidul…my other friend…Anda Mangil…where is he?”

  Rorokidul’s face changed. “He was a good man. A worthy man.”

  “Do you mean…”

  For the first time, there was a gentleness in Rorokidul’s eyes. She said, “Yes. Anda Mangil is one of those who, as you said, paid the ultimate price. Anda Mangil is dead.”

  Dewi sank to the sand, her hands over her eyes. Images of the man she had known all her life—kind, cheerful Anda Mangil—flashed in and out of her mind. How could he be dead? How could he be? A deep determination took root in her heart and soul. It was for the peace of the spirits of the dead and missing that she would fight; it was for their sake that she would complete the quest. Nothing would deter her now—nothing—until the diabolical man who was behind this suff
ering and pain and fear was comprehensively defeated. But first they must find Anda Mangil’s body and lay him to rest.

  “O Queen of the Southern Sea,” she cried brokenly, “please tell us where my dear friend’s body is to be found, so we may honor him.”

  “Child,” came Rorokidul’s voice, very gently now, “he is already in the embrace of the sea, and we will honor him, for he is a man who has richly earned all the rewards of the spirit world. His body will be laid to rest in the halls of the sea, but his spirit will still be with you, while you need it. He did not want to be at rest while you are still in danger.”

  Dewi, her throat thick with emotion, said, “Is there not something I can take back to his family in the village, so that they may have something to bury and mourn?”

  “You can tell his family how he died, and how he will always be honored in my realm, and that of all spirits,” said Rorokidul, “but I know you humans need more.” A little wave rolled again at Dewi’s feet, and when it receded, it left behind something she recognized—the mandala pendant Anda Mangil had always worn, for as long as she had known him. Only, when she picked it up, she saw that it shone now with the patina of pure gold, was encrusted with real jewels, and carried a scent with it, a perfume like frangipani, of such beauty and sweetness that it made tears come to her eyes. “Tell them to put that on Anda Mangil’s shrine,” came the voice of Rorokidul, “and to burn sweet candles to his memory, for he was one of the best men in all of Jayangan. If more were like him, we would not face what we do today.”

  “Thank you,” said Dewi.

  Husam said, “Your Majesty, I must ask what my companion may not. If I am Sword, will you be able to help us find Fire and Snow? The Lady Kwanyin thought that as the mistress of the vast realm of the sea, you might know more of the nature of these companions.”

  “I wish it were so, but I do not know any more than she does. But you may know the other companions when you see them, for their natures will call to yours. Only be careful—they may not know it themselves, and think you to be an enemy. Remember this: If you are in trouble and you cannot reach Kwanyin, there is one place where you might find me in Kotabunga, and that is in the Water Gardens. There is an atrium, below the gardens, that is sacred to me.”

  Dewi had a dozen questions. “Your Majesty…”

  But she was speaking to empty air. The Queen had vanished. The sky was blue; the sea was flat and calm once more. And floating on it, on little rippling waves that uncoiled at their feet, were a host of beautiful frangipani flowers, some yellow, some pink, the sweetness of their perfume filling the air, just like the mandala Dewi held in her hand. She bent down to pick some up as they came riding in on the sea, and said a few prayers for the dearly beloved soul of Anda Mangil, who had given his life for his friends.

  They turned their backs on the sea, then, and trudged back up the sand to Anda Mangil’s car. The sight of it brought tears to Dewi’s eyes again. Poor Anda Mangil—how much he’d loved this car. And now he’d never ride in it again.

  A sudden blast of the car horn made her, and Husam, jump. “Suffering cats!” exclaimed the old man. “What’s the matter with this thing?” He broke off, eyes wide, mouth open, as the two front doors of the car slowly opened by themselves. The car horn sounded again, more softly, but still urgently, and then the engine started up. Dewi and Husam stared at each other.

  “Anda Mangil said it was no ordinary car,” whispered Dewi. She put a hand on the car and snatched it away when she felt a definite pulse under her hand. Gulping, she brought her hand back down again, and this time did not take it away when the car moved. She thought of Rorokidul’s words, of how Anda Mangil’s spirit did not want to rest while they needed him.

  The car purred under her hand. A sudden smile lit her face, warming her. “Let’s go,” she said to Husam, who still looked very wary indeed. “The car will see us safely to Kotabunga. You’d better get in the driver’s seat.”

  “Hmm,” said Husam suspiciously, but he did as Dewi said. Dewi got into the seat beside him.

  Husam stared at the wheel. “There’s only one problem with this, little heart. I never learned how to drive. And there’s no key. How can we control this infernal machine?”

  The horn sounded indignantly. The car doors slammed shut. The engine roared. With a little swish of tires, the big car jerked forward.

  “Hey!” shouted Husam. “If you’re going to do it by yourself, car, kindly remember to go along more smoothly!”

  The car horn sounded again, sharply, rudely, as if it were blowing a raspberry. Then the engine got into gear, purring like a cat, and the car drove smoothly up the cliff road, just in the way Anda Mangil used to drive. Dewi smiled, bitterness and happiness mixed together. Thank you, she said, deep within herself. Thank you. Oh, I am so sad, Anda Mangil, that you are gone, yet so glad you are still with us, somehow.

  The radio clicked on by itself, right at the beginning of Anda Mangil’s favorite song, “Beloved.” Dewi sang softly along with it, emotion sometimes causing her to choke a little on the sweet, familiar words. As for Husam, he was taking in all the wonders of the car, exclaiming over the pictures, leafing through the holy books, and generally acting just like anyone who came across this traveling wonder for the first time.

  TWELVE

  THE MOUNTAIN OF Gunungbatu was actually a bleak, stony hill set among other bare, rocky hills that stretched in every direction, as far as the eye could see. The town of Gunungbatu, as bleak and gray as its surroundings, sprawled at the foot of the hill that gave it its name. A dusty sign proclaimed it to be the biggest settlement in the region, but as this part of Jayangan was hardly well populated, it did not mean much. Gunungbatu’s main street was a dispiriting huddle of unkempt stalls and shops, and its roads were in a state of disrepair. There was none of the brightness and color of Kotabunga, not even the sleepy charm of smaller Kejawen towns. The few people who were on the streets looked rough and suspicious; indeed, some of them looked like brigands who’d like nothing better than to rob Adi and Sadik of whatever they had. Adi’s heart sank.

  But Sadik did not seem to care. He drove through the town, chattering cheerfully about how much Gunungbatu had grown recently, since his master had made his headquarters near here. He would not hear of Adi getting out, saying that Gunungbatu townspeople were not very friendly toward strangers, that someone from the community where he lived would be sure to be going to Kotabunga in the next day or so, and that they would be glad to give Adi a lift. “I will take you to our community now,” Sadik said, “for I think it would be discourteous of me not to give you some hospitality.” He did not add “and it would be discourteous of you to refuse,” but the implication was clear. There was no way out.

  Adi nodded. “Thank you,” he murmured. He looked out the window at Gunungbatu slipping past. After a short while, they turned onto a potholed road signposted to the “Community of Light.” Yes, that definitely sounded like a Pumujisal community, thought Adi nervously.

  “Are you sure no one will mind my being here?” he said. “After all, I am a stranger.”

  “Of course no one will mind! You know I was taken in by our great master when I was cruelly orphaned. He has done so much good, Adi!” Sadik’s face shone. “You will see, Adi, my master, Shayk Rasheed al-Jabal, is the holiest, purest man in all of Jayangan, and probably the whole world! And he is so learned, it makes my head swim.” He looked down at his hands. “I am afraid I am not the best student there. I cannot keep enough verses of the Book of Light in my head. I try, I really do. But then my silly thoughts scatter them, and I cannot remember.”

  They had arrived at a great white gate with the name of the community emblazoned on it in thick black letters. By either side of the gate stood four tall, broad, impassive-faced young men, heads swathed in black-and-white headcloths, and dressed in jeans and T-shirts. As the car drew up, Adi saw their hard gazes turn to him, minutely noting every aspect of his appearance. He shrank back into his seat, saying
, “Sadik, I do not think it would be a good idea for me to come here. It is a private community, after all. I will get out and walk back to the town. I will find a bus there, or—”

  “Don’t be silly,” said Sadik, stopping the car. “There are no buses, and the people of Gunungbatu can be unfriendly. They are superstitious and believe their mountain is haunted, and that strangers aggravate the ghosts that are there. They are fools! Besides, you’re my friend. We always welcome friends.” He got out and approached the guards at the gate. Adi watched as Sadik conversed earnestly with them. His hands felt clammy, his breath came fast. He thought of jumping out of the car and running away down the road, but did not dare to think what might happen then.

  Adi could certainly see no welcome shining out from the guards’ faces—only a watchfulness, a suspicion that made him feel very nervous. But in a short while, Sadik came back to the car, wreathed in smiles. “No problem,” he said, jumping back in. “They will just call up to the main house.” And indeed, one of the guards pulled out what looked like a walkie-talkie from a pocket of his jeans and talked quietly into it.

  “No problem at all,” said Sadik again, cheerfully. “You will see.”

  The guard finished his conversation, looked at them, smiled, and waved them on. Another guard opened the gate, and they rattled through, Adi trying to look relaxed and comfortable as they passed the guards.

  “Those boys,” said Sadik as they bumped along, “they are good boys, but they do not always know how to behave. Never mind—we must be careful in these days, as there may well be tricksters of the Demons’ Army trying to get in.”