Curse of Witch and War

by Matt Larkin

  Oh. That was marginally better than weresharks. Or even weretigers, for that matter. She chewed her cheek, uncertain how to respond. If she helped rouse the dragon, was she culpable for the destruction it wrought? And if she did nothing, would she then bear responsibility for Calon inadvertently unleashing even worse dangers from Kahyangan? No matter how dangerous the Solar Empire might be, it was nothing compared to the horrors a witch could let free from the Spirit Realm if she wasn’t careful.

  This could be done. And if she was there to oversee it, maybe it could even be done safely. Yes, perhaps she had been a fool to drag Calon into the supernatural world. But she had done so, and Calon had always, always stood by her side.

  “The Solars are people of the sea,” Tanjung said at last.

  “They love their boats.”

  Crocodiles could disappear into swamps and rivers and even the sea if needed. They would make ideal spies. And assassins. And maybe, just maybe, if they did their jobs well enough, the Solars would not even know who was responsible.

  “Full moon tonight,” Calon said.

  She was going to do this no matter what. If Tanjung was there, at least she could make certain it was done correctly. And yet … to play with such forces, no matter how well-conceived the plan, was to invite disaster. A simple mistake, a misdrawn Glyph, a misspoken name, and they’d find spirits riding their bodies as vessels. And deep down, maybe that was part of the rush. Not only commanding power over life and death and the worlds beyond, but the thrill of knowing that danger. “I don’t think you understand the forces you play with.”

  Calon grinned. “So explain them to me.”

  “What I understand better than you is just how much I don’t know about Kahyangan. These Moon Spirits have animal bloodlines, but they are not animals. They are beings ancient beyond fathoming, things not of this world.” Tanjung shook her head. Why had Calon learned so little from what she’d done to Malin? Rangda damn them both.

  “Are you going to help me do this?” Calon asked.

  Tanjung favored her with another withering gaze. She’d known Calon a long time. The woman would do exactly what she wanted, no matter what anyone else said or did. “Of course I’m going to help you. If you’re determined to walk into a fire, I’m not going to let you go in alone. Bring the vessel when the moon rises. Not here. Down to the beach, beyond the Loghouses.” She rose and left Calon without so much as a nod.

  Was she a fool for helping her? Or would she be a greater fool to do nothing and risk letting Calon make a mess of this? By guiding Calon when she selected more tiger spirits for the Macan Gadungan, at least she had ensured they took only the weakest, the most easily managed. Sooner or later, though, this would bite Calon—bite them all. How many spirit Glyphs must be burned into Calon’s flesh? And with each evocation, bits and pieces of Calon’s soul and life-force were siphoned off by the spirits she bargained with.

  And the only way Tanjung could hope to save her friend was if she was by Calon’s side.

  Tanjung stormed back into her husband’s sculpting room where he had resumed work on a new statue.

  “Get out,” she snapped at the only servant in the room.

  Then she slapped all the tools off the worktable and climbed onto it, spreading her sarong wide.

  Sid dropped his chisel and stalked over to her, eyes dilated and nostrils flaring. “Maybe your friend should visit more often,” he whispered in her ear.

  “I don’t want to talk about Calon. Take me. Hard.”

  He did so, working with such fervor Tanjung drew her nails along his back. And still, when they were both spent, she couldn’t shake the fear clenching around her heart. Nor could she silence the voices in her head whispering about her foolishness.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The moon rose. And as Tanjung had promised, she went to meet Calon at the beach. Rahu was there, eyes dark, holding a young girl by the arm. The girl couldn’t have been more than six or seven years old. It was impossible to judge what the man thought, but clearly the girl was nervous. Tanjung could hardly blame her.

  Calon had already guided a middle-aged man to a stone slab and was strapping him down.

  Tanjung walked to meet her friend, who rose as she approached. “Who is he?”

  Calon shrugged. “Former slave. A man willing to trade anything for a step up in life.”

  “And the girl is his daughter?”

  Calon glanced at the child Rahu held. “No. Just another orphan with nowhere to go.”

  These people were certainly getting power and advancement in society, but Tanjung doubted they appreciated the gravity of such a decision. “Why a child? What good will that do?”

  “Rahu believes starting young will make our servants more pliable and give them plenty of time to train.”

  While that was probably true, Tanjung had to suspect the decision had as much to do with Malin as anything. They had put a powerful spirit into a powerful, willful warrior, and—surprise—had found him difficult to control. It had taught them a lesson. Tanjung could only pray they had learned the right lesson. If Rahu was planning so far ahead as to train children it might—perhaps—be a good sign.

  Tanjung sighed, shook her head, and began to trace spirit Glyphs in the sand. Most were for protection, control. The spirit they actually wanted to possess the man she would paint on his forehead. She had used the afternoon to research one such crocodile spirit—younger, weaker, and hopefully less likely to turn on them all. That was, of course, part of the reason for protective Glyphs. A witch had to use one spirit to protect against another in a kind of vicious cycle that burned out your life-force and left you ripe for possession yourself. And if Calon kept up this level of sorcery her friend would wind up nothing but a vessel for Chandra alone knew what.

  Tanjung had told her that a thousand times. The woman was going to do what she wanted to do. And maybe the best Tanjung could do for her friend was ease the burden.

  “I’ll do this one myself,” Tanjung said.

  “But I—”

  “You can do the girl.” Not even Tanjung wanted to try two in one night, and Calon was mad if she thought she could do so.

  Tanjung waved Calon away then drew her keris along her palm. One didn’t have to use blood to paint the Glyphs, but it seemed more effective in summoning spirits. She traced the Glyph on the man’s forehead.

  “What’s your name?” she whispered.

  “L-Lengser.”

  “Don’t be afraid, Lengser.” Tanjung continued painting as she spoke. “You’re getting a gift. Your soul will bond with that of another, make you strong. And because you were first, others like you will always look to you for guidance. Can you do that, Lengser?”

  The man nodded, slowly.

  Tanjung rose and turned her back on him, not wanting him to see her own nervousness. She had to seem confident or he might panic. The truth was, this was an operation few sorcerers in the world would even attempt, and with good reason. Intentionally calling a spirit to possess someone—and trying to keep that possession in check, to form a symbiotic relationship, was beyond challenging. It was an exercise in hubris.

  Fortunately, Calon had enough of that for the both of them.

  Breathing deeply, she began to pace in wide circles around the stone slab where Lengser lay bound. Slowly, under her breath at first, she started to chant, calling the names of the spirits whose Glyphs she had drawn in the sand. Begging for favors, for protection, and paying them with little bits of her soul. They heard her. Every soul in the universe had its own unique Glyph. If you drew that Glyph and spoke the soul’s name, it would come to you.

  There was power in names. Common lore warned children never to call out Rangda’s name when you were alone or when in darkness. Even the Demon Queen might answer to her name.

  A gasp escaped her as something fed on her life-force. It latched onto her like a leech, and with each word that escaped her lips, she felt it drain a bit more. Chills wracked her body, but she dare
d not stop. A circle of spirits was needed, each to control the next, their names chanted in a continuous mantra of protection. Of desperation.

  The air rippled ever so slightly. Tanjung almost could have imagined it. Something like a face pushed against the other side of the air, like it was trying to press through membrane far thinner than anyone wanted to acknowledge.

  Tanjung forced herself to look away, to keep chanting. Until at last she called to the crocodile she had chosen for poor Lengser.

  Nothing happened at first. Mortal eyes could not see into Kahyangan. The Spirit Realm was said to be much like Earth, but cloudy, suffused with starlight and wandering spirits. Spirits that watched everything mortals did with wonder or desire or hatred. Waiting for a foolish sorceress to open the way into this world. To do exactly what Tanjung had just done.

  Without warning, Lengser bucked against his bonds. He cried out in obvious pain, but his cries were cut short. No doubt the muscles of his neck contracted and shifted, forcing him into crocodile form. Tanjung backed away, not truly wanting to see the shift, but neither daring to turn from it.

  She knew it took mere moments, but it seemed a phase the man writhed in agony before at last becoming the crocodile. The creature watched her, its vertical pupils seeming far too alien, though the iris retained a hint of Lengser’s amber color. After a moment, it turned and slunk off into the sea.

  Tanjung’s knees wobbled and she let herself collapse onto the beach, head in her hands. She had done it. She had put a new race of Jadian into a man. Chandra forgive her temerity if she had overstepped her bounds. She giggled. Oh, if she had overstepped, Calon had made a flying leap over those boundries.

  The rain began to fall again and Tanjung shivered in it, lacking the energy to even wrap her arms around herself for warmth.

  She heard Calon begin chanting, probably calling the same spirits Tanjung had. Their Glyphs were already here and those spirits were no doubt nearby. Listening, watching. Probably angry at being forced to serve mortals.

  The little girl was now bound to the slab, eyes wide with terror. And … a tear streamed down her cheeks. The girl whimpered.

  Tanjung tried to stand, but her legs gave out. She reached out a hand for Calon, then caught herself. One did not interrupt a witch in the midst of an invocation. That was madness. Even the protective spirits might then be loosed to wreak their vengeance over the Earth.

  But this girl clearly no longer wanted the spirit. Had she ever? Was the child a volunteer at all, or merely a slave Rahu had bought to test his theories? House Shravana, the voices in her head whispered. So rather than kill the youngest Scions, Rahu had kept them for this?

  The girl screamed, a high-pitched wail that tore Tanjung’s heart to pieces. What had she allowed to happen? Chandra forgive her for more than temerity—she had helped Calon force a spirit into an unwilling host, one too young and too weak to resist.

  The girl bucked against her bonds, her incessant shrieking ripping Tanjung’s heart to pieces. She crawled for the child, desperate to offer some comfort and knowing there could never be any. Maybe never again for that girl.

  Tanjung had wanted this, had wanted to open the gates of Kahyangan to find her mother. And Calon wasn’t the only one who’d failed to heed her warnings—Tanjung was guilty of the basest hypocrisy. And this little girl was just her latest victim.

  The shrieking went on and on, the girl barely even taking in breath. Tanjung reached her, took her hand, and the girl’s grip pinched her so tightly she had to hold her breath. The spirit was already in her, making her too strong. And that spirit might well devour the girl’s soul, turn her into a vessel that might as well have been possessed by a demon.

  “You’re going to be all right,” Tanjung said.

  Scales burst through the girl’s skin, claws from her fingers. They tore through Tanjung’s hand and she was forced to jerk it away. The child’s face shifted, elongated as her bone structure rearranged itself. The sound of bones snapping and cracking was even more sickening with the werecrocodile than it had been with the weretiger.

  She sat, dumbfounded, watching the revolting transformation until it was done. A little baby crocodile had slipped off the rock and now scampered toward the sea.

  Tanjung struggled to her feet and trudged over to where Calon herself had collapsed into the sand. And she slapped the woman. “How dare you?”

  A strong hand snatched Tanjung’s wrist and flung her away, and she stumbled to the sand. Rahu towered over her, his glare silencing any retort Tanjung might have made and more effective than any reprimand. He held her gaze a moment longer, then turned to help his wife up.

  Tanjung watched them as they walked away, Calon leaning on his shoulder, worming their way down to the sea. She cast a mischievous gaze over her shoulder at Tanjung. Taunting her? And then she stood by the water. Where they would no doubt await the return of their newest … servants? Assassins? Victims.

  Sweet Chandra, she was going to be sick.

  Maybe when they visited the north, she and Sid could stay there a while. A long while.

  Tanjung had seen more than enough of Bukit. This was her fault. She had convinced herself she could make this better by helping Calon. And she’d been a fool. Instead of trying to control the damage by aiding the other witch, Tanjung should have done everything in her power to put a stop to this. And it was too late now. Too late for her to fix her mistakes.

  Too late to do anything but run from the chaos Calon and Rahu were unleashing.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Rohini Palace was built around a massive banyan tree, one that reached at least four stories tall and covered the palace atrium in a canopy of shade. The tree dwarfed even the elegant saddle roofs of the palace, and its roots spread throughout the atrium, creating a maze children darted around and under. Tanjung sat on one such root—one big enough to be called a bench—watching the House children play. This palace was so densely packed with Scions, servants, and slaves that everywhere she turned she was greeted by the bustle of humanity in odd contrast to the persistent greenery suffusing this place.

  Slaves hurried about the atrium, navigating the root maze without any apparent thought. One girl approached her and offered her a glass of coconut water. After being treated to tea no less than three times since she woke that morning, Tanjung welcomed anything else. She took the offered glass with a nod at the servant, who bowed and slipped away, practically disappearing behind roots.

  Sidapaksa was, as usual, nowhere to be found. He’d left her to her own devices while pursuing one political agenda or the next. Most likely he thought if he could befriend enough Scions of this House, House Rohini might take House Janggala under its protection. What would that be like? To live in a world where one didn’t have to worry about being raided by another House?

  Except that, as Rahu and Malin had proved, even the greatest Houses could fall prey to surprise attacks. House Shravana had seemed so powerful, so in control of the Lunar capital, that people had called its head—Lady Kencanawungu—Queen Kenya, though Lunars had not had true royalty in centuries. Kenya had managed to make Bukit neutral ground, a city more or less free of the continuous House wars that swept over Swarnadvipa. And now she was dead. Now Calon was using her sorcery, sorcery Tanjung had taught her, to turn Bukit back into a battleground. And a staging ground for a war Rahu obviously planned against the Solars.

  As children, they had scrounged after every magical secret they could find, all in the name of connecting Tanjung with her mother. Was Calon really only ever after the power? No, that was too cynical. Calon had been a loyal, loving friend. But the desire to control everything, to grasp at power, it had been there all along, and Tanjung had been too obsessed with her own quest to notice.

  Tanjung might have been the one who always uncovered the names and Glyphs of spirits, but it was Calon who insisted on practical uses. Ways to gain leverage over others, be it blackmailing her brothers into getting her way or sending a bout of malaria among
enemies of her House.

  Her latest endeavors had taken her too far, though. If she and Rahu truly wanted war with the Solars—and that seemed the ultimate ambition—that was one thing. But to begin forcing spirits into unwilling children …

  Then stop her.

  Tanjung tried to keep from looking around for the source of the voice. Even knowing it was in her head, it was always a hard instinct to fight, especially when the spirits spoke to her so directly. What was she supposed to do? She sure as Chandra’s dark side wasn’t going to physically harm Calon. Could she use other spirits to bind the witch’s power? She’d never heard of such spells, but what if it was possible? Calon would never forgive her, but at least she might save her friend’s life, save her very soul.

  Tanjung finished her coconut water and handed the glass to a slave who miraculously appeared at her side, as if they waited, watching her every need. Of course. That was exactly what they were doing. The stunning lack of privacy suddenly hit her, left her short of breath. This place pretended to be lush with nature, but it was thick with politics, too thick for her tastes. There really was no respite anywhere, anymore.

  “My lady?” the slave asked.

  Tanjung shook herself. She’d expected the girl to disappear back into the root maze as quickly as she had appeared. She raised an eyebrow at the slave.

  “Lord Sulakrama requests your presence in his sitting room.”

  More politics. She supposed she had a role to play as well in securing the future of her new House. To mingle and make a good impression. Tanjung nodded, rising from the bench, then looked around. Which way was the lord’s sitting room? Even the atrium aside, this whole palace was big enough Chandra himself might have gotten turned around in it.

  “This way,” the slave girl said, clearly reading the confusion on Tanjung’s face.

  Tanjung followed her around the atrium as the girl effortless ducked under the arches of roots, sidestepped children playing with ultops—popping toys—and avoided other slaves as if by some unspoken language. The slave led her back into the palace proper, around several corners, and into a lush room. The center of the room was open with a moonroof that looked down on a fountain. Drains could be opened to keep the fountain from overflowing during the rains, though the sun had peeked out for a few hours this phase. Tanjung could feel they’d return, but probably not for another full phase.