by Matt Larkin
“And the Buaya Jadian as spies? Assassins?”
“They were created for a purpose. If not given that purpose, how can we expect anything but trouble concerning them?”
“How do you know this Moon Scion will even do the job?”
“That’s why I want you to go with her, make sure things are established correctly down there. I want the adults ready for action in a few months. The children need to be educated, trained for a life of … meaning.”
Meaning. As Rahu had given him? A few months ago Malin was ready to die. Had this man saved his life? Maybe Malin could do that for the other Jadian. Bintang was a fool to call him some Hidden Knight … but if he could give their lives purpose, that was a kind of saving them. He nodded, saying nothing.
“Go down to the harbor and meet Padmawati. A dhow is being readied for you this afternoon. Some of the Macan Gadungan and Buaya Jadian will go with you. The rest we’ll send once you have things in place. I expect you back here in no more than two months.”
Malin grunted. Rahu had clearly thought a lot about this plan. Always planning. Scheming. And still sometimes he smelled of fear. Whatever he had lost in his former home, whatever had possessed him to come here and claim Ketu as a brother—he feared it. Must be why he was so damn determined to build his army here. And maybe Rahu had saved Malin. So now Malin would give him that army.
He returned back down the same narrow path he had just climbed—the shortest route to the harbor. He didn’t mind the climb. Gave him time to think. Most of the other Jadian had little combat experience, some had basic training in the Skyfall martial art, Silat. Malin had spent the past few months adapting his own training under Balituk to the Silat styles. There were distinct similarities, but just enough differences to keep the practice entertaining. Diverting, at least. Maybe learning stick fighting would help the other Macan Gadungan. Protectors needed weapons in the daylight, too.
A woman waved to him as he drew near the harbor. She wore a white, ruffled baju embroidered in the local style, songket they called it. The elaborate work clearly marked her a Moon Scion. That and the calculating look in her eyes. Lust for power. The tiger knew all about power.
Beside the woman stood a boy, no more than ten, and he held the hand of a young child, perhaps two or three.
“Padmawati,” Malin said to the woman, offering her a bow and ignoring the children.
The woman nodded at him. No bow. So he was beneath her? No matter. Malin had been saved to serve. Protect. That was what he’d do.
“We’ve selected eight Macan Gadungan and five Buaya Jadian to begin construction.”
“Construction?”
“There’s an old temple on the island but it hasn’t been used in centuries. We need to repair it. It’ll give us a place to work from.”
And she planned to use the Jadian instead of Lunar laborers to do it. Teach them subservience and hard work. Crude, but probably effective. A warrior’s training often began with strength and endurance building exercises. Construction would do.
She turned back to the children, as if Malin no longer mattered. “Rang, watch over your brother while I’m gone.”
The older boy nodded, then led the younger away. The woman watched them go with a forlorn smile. “They’ll be fine,” she mumbled to herself. This woman so believed in Rahu and Calon she was willing to leave her children behind for the task? More likely it was her own ambition, a struggle to gain control of the new power the Jadian represented.
“Do you have children, weretiger?” she asked, watching her own children walk down the beach.
“Not that I know of. Are you offering to help with that?”
The Moon Scion’s look of disdain could have wilted a corpse flower. “You do know which of us is in charge, yes?”
Unbidden, a snarl escaped Malin. Mostly he had the tiger under control. Mostly. The Moon Scion’s eyes widened just enough Malin couldn’t help but smirk. He stalked up the gangplank, giving no other answer.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The aquamarine waters around Bangdvipa welcomed Malin. The dense rainforest covered all but the rocky shore. This island was primal. The dhow anchored offshore and Padmawati ordered canoes lowered to carry them ashore. Malin didn’t wait. He leapt over the side and plunged into the sea, then swam to the rocks.
Mine.
The tiger approved. It liked the wild places.
The sea had cut an archway through the rocks, forming a natural bridge to an outcropping, upon which lay the ruins of an ancient temple.
The rocks were slick, hard to climb, but Malin hefted himself up. Splashing behind him. Malin turned to see Bintang climbing up beside him.
“Don’t think you get all the fun.”
Malin bared his teeth at her and scrambled ahead, racing his way to the temple.
The girl laughed and charged after him.
The rock bridge was worn smooth by wind and rain. Running was dangerous. Would have been dangerous for a human. Malin was not human. He’d get to the temple first.
He burst through the entryway and into the chamber within. The walls were stone, and though nearly as weathered as the bridge, they remained strong. But the ceiling had rotted away and hundreds of sunbeams peeked through the roof, illuminating the central temple.
Bintang skidded a stop just past him, still chuckling amidst her panting. “You had a head start.”
Malin paid her no mind. Across from the entrance stood a half-circle slab of stone, as tall as he was, though the top had cracked off. Still, he could easily see the crescent moon face of Chandra watching him. Would the Moon God welcome him to this place? Tanjung had called him a Moon Spirit. Or called the tiger one. Sometimes it was hard to separate himself from it.
More disturbingly, on the east wall stood another such slab, this one engraved with Surya. The Solar’s Sun God. Malin had traded with the Solars in his days as a merchant prince, mostly in the Spice Islands far east of Swarnadvipa. He knew their religion well enough. On the west wall was a third slab, this one marked with flame.
“Why fire?”
Bintang strolled over to the slab, examining it. “It’s Agni. The Solar slaves, the Ignis, they worship the Fire God. This temple must date back to before the breaking of the Pact. Back when all three dynasties ruled the Isles together.”
“You know a lot.”
She snorted and rose, stalking to stand close before him. “I used to run with a pirate band. I wasn’t born a slave.”
“We are not slaves now.”
She bared her teeth in what could have been a grin. Except it was a challenge. Prove it. Prove to her they were not slaves of the Moon Scions. When he didn’t immediately answer, Bintang chuffed, blowing a breath of hot air on his face. “What do you even know, Macan Gadungan?”
In the shadows of the temple, her pupils had dilated. Her scent had grown heady enough to draw a low growl out of Malin’s chest. Malin grabbed her by the throat and shoved her back against the wall. “I am first! I am free!” Free of the curse. He had to be. Free to change his fate. Free to make a new destiny here, among the Lunars. And not as any slave.
“How free?” she asked, her words faint as he applied just enough pressure against her neck. She grabbed his wrist, her own strength impressive, but not enough. When she failed to pry his hand away, Bintang grabbed Malin’s throat in turn. “What does being first of a slave race buy you?”
Malin leaned in close to her, relishing the pain and adrenaline as she choked him. “I am first of the Macan Gadungan.” Talking hurt. Wonderful pain. “You are beneath me.”
“Prove it,” she growled.
Malin couldn’t shake her scent, couldn’t still the trembling in his chest. He pried her hand free of his throat and flung her to the ground. Was this what she wanted?
Mine.
Only daylight kept him in human form. The tiger writhed beneath his skin. Demanding he claim what was his due. Malin dropped down on top of Bintang and flipped her over, ripping away her sar
ong. It was in control now.
Mine!
The tiger tore off Malin’s own sarong and thrust into Bintang. It roared. She hissed, then laughed. Her moans drove him on, melding with his own, echoing through the temple. He yanked her kebaya away, exposing her full back. The tattoo he had seen only in pieces was revealed now. A massive tree stretching into the clouds, birds flying among its branches.
And beneath it, near the rise of her ass, a man, seeming to stand guard over the tree.
Any thought of her tattoo fled as Malin roared, his release. Bintang was screaming too, laughing.
“You are fucking animals.”
Malin turned see Padmawati standing in the temple entryway, hands on her hips, a whole crowd of her followers watching. He rose, mortified as he scrambled for his sarong. But only for an instant.
All mine.
It was in him. The tiger took what it wanted. Took what was offered. Embarrassment? For mortals. There was no shame in mating with a willing female. He tossed aside his sarong and strutted toward Padmawati, no longer minding his half-naked state.
And he snarled.
She fell back a step, then glared. “Y-you make as much noise as real tigers.”
“We are real tigers!”
Malin’s outburst surprised him almost as much as it seemed to her. The Moon Scion’s mouth hung open, and she sputtered.
Bintang giggled behind him. “You have no idea what we are, Moon Scion.”
Padmawati glanced back at the Jadian behind her, then straightened her sarong. “Be whatever you want. But I expect this roof rebuilt in a week.”
Malin chuckled. With a small army of Jadian? “We’ll have it finished tomorrow. Now go back to your boat, Scion. Tonight, Bangdvipa belongs to those who would be animals.” Her eyes widened deliciously, and Malin couldn’t stop himself from leaning in. “Unless you want to join us? Can you smell love on the wind? Any of these males would happily fuck you from dusk until dawn. All of them, if you want. Want to feel a tiger inside you, Scion?”
The Moon Scion scoffed and spun around, stalking back across the bridge. As if his words had broken a dam, several other Macan Gadungan grabbed each other, letting lust take them over. This place brought it out. Maybe it was mating season. Maybe it was the wild nature of the island. Maybe it was just the taste of freedom. Most of these people had been slaves before they volunteered to be Jadian.
Some of the adult Buaya Jadian leapt off the rock bridge and into the sea. Malin had no interest in how or where the werecrocodiles planned to mate.
Instead, he sunk to the floor beside Bintang, who hadn’t bothered to cover herself. Malin turned her by the shoulder, to examine the tattoo. The leaves were done in brilliant pink that somehow reminded him of the cherry blossoms he had seen in Tianxia once.
“What does it mean?”
“Djambo Baros.”
“What?”
“You really aren’t a Skyfall native. Djambo Baros is the Tree of Life, housing the Wheel of Life. It guides us, all our fates, our lives, our rebirths. All the cycles that make up existence and connect Earth to Kahyangan.”
Guiding fate? She purred as he traced the lines of the tree along her back. Tempting to blame this Djambo Baros for his misfortunes. But he knew a witch’s curse had brought him here. And maybe, just maybe, another witch’s curse had set him free. “Who is the man?”
She turned then, bore him down and nibbled on his ear. “Satrio Piningit.”
The Hidden Knight again. A man who would lead revolution. Malin would never be such a man, even if he had stood up to Padmawati. That had certainly felt good though. “You really believe in this prophesied warrior?”
“You have to believe in something.”
Did he? What did he left to believe in? Maybe not even himself. But if he could make this island a sanctuary for the Jadian, maybe his life would have some meaning. Maybe he could provide them some shelter. They had lived as slaves, but here they could be free.
“The Moon Scions need us,” he said at last. “Need the Jadian to be their protectors and spies. We do not have to be their slaves.”
“Your loyalty to Rahu blinds you, Malin. Did you not see the way Padmawati looked on us?”
He shrugged. “Too prudish to admit what she wanted. She was probably jealous.”
Bintang laughed, but it was a brief laugh. “I guess she had a right to be.” Then she pulled away, a forlorn look on her face. “One day you’re going to see them for who they really are.”
Or perhaps he could show all the Jadian a better life than the one they had left behind.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Darkness gave way to a haze of mist before Tanjung’s eyes, no matter how tightly she shut them. It was calling her, somewhere far to the north, beyond Malaydvipa, somewhere in El-Hind. She couldn’t quite say how she knew, only that she was certain it was there, waiting for her. A gift from Rangda—or, rather, an insistence. A grimoire of secrets from a forgotten age long, long before the breaking of the Pact. Maybe even from before the founding of the Pact.
The goddess didn’t speak to her in words. Just sensations, instincts that came from nowhere, and dreams. Always the dreams.
Tanjung had fallen into darkness and expected to become a wandering shade, lost in Kahyangan, unable to tear herself away from Earth or find her way back to the Wheel of Life. Such was often the fate of those murdered and unsent. Except she didn’t die.
Palace Janggala had once seemed so inviting a home, with its magnificent water gardens and fine ornamentation. Tonight, though, it seemed another world. And her memories here were just memories of a dream. She knelt behind a grove of ferns, gazing in at Sidapaksa. Her lover. Her husband. Betrayer. Murderer.
Damned forever.
The last had been a voice in her head, but not like those that had so often spoken to her before. This had come from within her. The spirit that had taken residence in her body rarely spoke to her, but it hated House Janggala maybe even more than Tanjung herself. Hated with such vehemence it seeped into Tanjung’s every pore and suffused her waking thoughts and dreams alike.
Dying in the rainforest, she had witnessed an endless expanse of mist. Not the mist that clung over Swarnadvipa in the early morning, blanketing mountains and forest in cloudy canopy. This mist held the icy chill of death, of an entire frozen world. Snow-covered mountains peeked above the mist, forming a ring around a tundra that stretched on and on.
Out there, in the mist, things moved. Not only mere ghosts of the damned, though they were there in multitudes. But other creatures—demons, if she were honest. Demons born of Mist. Some were headless corpses, not rotting in the chill, waiting. Waiting for heads that had flown away and sought other souls to torment and consume. Revenants and leyaks and the stuff of nightmares. She’d prayed to Rangda and she found herself damned to the Demon Queen’s underworld.
Or so she’d thought. And then she had woken, her wounds now icy to the touch. Everything hurt. As if Rangda had not healed her body, but rather simply denied her soul the ability to depart. Forced her to keep living despite wounds that should have killed her. Even now, after the long trek back, still her gut ached. Breathing hurt. Eating hurt. Taking a shit was utter agony. She had prayed to live, not even realizing death might be a release. Her injuries were healing, but at a painfully slow rate.
And how much of her continued existence did she owe to the Demon Queen? How much did she owe to her mother? Perhaps part of the reason she’d been able to live was her supernatural heritage. She was a Moon Scion and the daughter of a bidadari, making her a half-goddess. No. She was kidding herself to think that she’d have lived through that wound without aid from the underworld. That ghost had settled around her soul. Maybe it would have possessed her, controlled her, if not for Rangda’s power. Now, the spirit merely kept her walking on days that pain should have crippled her.
And that insistence was ever in her mind, calling her to the tome. Demanding she find it, though what the Demon Queen wanted
Tanjung to do with the book she had no idea.
Either way, she had something she had to do here first.
“Ghost,” she whispered. “Come to me.”
The thing inside her stirred, shifted. It wasn’t used to her addressing it directly. But the spirit was clearly subservient to Rangda, and that was all Tanjung needed to know. At the moment, they were on the same side.
“Aid me.”
Betrayers.
The ghost’s fell, icy whisper in her mind sent a shudder down Tanjung’s back.
“I know who you are … Dewi Anggraeni, right? They killed you, didn’t they? House Janggala.”
Anggraeni had been a Solar over a century before, one fool enough to marry a Lunar, Prince Panji. And House Janggala had had the girl murdered because her marriage had broken an engagement between Panji and one of their Scions. Of course, after so long, the truth was lost in the legend. But the hatred, the incomparable rage wafted off the spirit and infected Tanjung, feeding her own need to avenge the wrongs done to both of them.
Kill.
Tanjung snorted. “That would be too easy. He has to suffer for what he has done.”
Torment.
“Show him,” Tanjung said, certain the spirit inside her could feel her intent. They were so intimately connected it would probably know what she wanted even if she did not speak.
Something pulled at Tanjung’s insides, her heart lurching into her throat, and she slumped down on her ass, then fell onto her back as Anggraeni crawled out of her. Without the ghost inside, Tanjung lacked the strength to stand and her pain redoubled itself. But, then, Anggraeni would help her share that pain.
The spirit’s form was hazy as mountain mist, blue-white in color. Her face must have been beautiful in life, but her eyes were now pupil-less pools of icy blue. She flickered twice, each time becoming more solid in appearance. And more like Tanjung.
Tanjung shuddered at the sight, like looking in a mirror. As a Moon Scion, she could use the Blessing of Glamour to disguise her appearance. It was pale illusion compared to the perfection with which the ghost could copy her form.
