by Matt Larkin
Bintang wore her baju only half-laced, barely concealing her breasts. Probably the Macan Gadungan wanted to be able to shift easily, though it must be mere habit now, since Surya’s glare would have contained the Moon Spirit within her.
“I am a Moon Scion.”
The woman tensed, one hand closing around a toyak she wore tucked into the back of her sarong. “The War King is a busy man.”
“And you are his guard … cat?”
The Macan Gadungan snarled at her and Tanjung had to fight a smile. It would not do to let these people know how powerful she had become. Rangda had helped Tanjung uncover the true potential of the bidadari blood running through her veins. No mere Jadian could stop her, but it was not her task to kill weretigers. The queen’s plans required finesse.
“I am Bintang, Macan Gadungan to House Soma. Appointed by Malin himself.”
Malin himself? It would seem the first of the Macan Gadungan had grown in stature despite the losing war he now fought. Instead of further mocking either Bintang or Malin, Tanjung simply bowed. “Tell Calon that Tanjung has returned. She will want to see me.” At least Tanjung hoped she would. If not, her task would become immeasurably more difficult. And Rangda did not tolerate failure.
The weretiger seemed taken aback at Tanjung’s bow and sudden politeness, and, after a moment’s hesitance, returned it, then slipped away into the palace. Shortly thereafter, Bintang returned, beckoning Tanjung to follow. The weretiger led her toward the palace courtyard. They passed a war room where Rahu stood staring at a map, then slapped it off the table, scattering papers everywhere. Tanjung wanted to pause, to ask Rahu about the war, but Bintang’s glare made her think better of it.
The other woman left her in the courtyard at the center of the Hill Palace, and Bintang went to stand by the fishpond. This had been Palace Shravana once, and glorious then. She supposed it was House Soma’s due after winning against them. Back then Tanjung had been horrified at what Rahu and Calon had used Malin for. Now, it seemed only right. Shravana had been weak. Most people probably didn’t even think of the fallen House anymore.
Tanjung’s concerns had been so petty. She’d let fear drive her every action. And for all her fear and caution and trying to do the right thing, she’d still wound up with a blade in her gut. The goddess had shown her the true error of her ways. Calon had been right all along. What mattered was power.
“Tanjung?” Calon asked.
She turned to see her old friend, now wearing a golden kembaya that perfectly matched her jewelry, looking almost a queen. From the lines around her eyes, though, she was queen of a doomed kingdom. And she knew it. Despite the heat, fabric covered nearly every inch of her skin. Concealing the Glyphs of the goddess knew how many Jadian bonds, most likely. The sorcery had worn away at Calon’s soul. A normal person might see it merely as the ravages of age, but Tanjung could see the signs—a hollowing in her eyes, a gauntness in her cheeks. The witch was in her early thirties but probably had only a few years left before she tried to call something from Kahyangan and that something decided to take up residence in her body. She grieved for her old friend, but Rangda got what Rangda wanted.
Calon hesitated, then shook her head and embraced Tanjung. The sudden warmth of it caught Tanjung off guard. She wanted to hug the woman back, but it was over before she could even react. No one had touched her with warmth in years. Was she ready to sacrifice this? To sacrifice Calon on the altar of Rangda’s glory? An icy pit opened in her stomach and she felt like she was falling. A subtle warning from the goddess not to lose sight of her mission, no doubt. Tanjung owed the Demon Queen her very life, and even her soul.
There was no room left for hesitation or fear or half measures.
“Where on Chandra’s dark side have you been?” Calon asked.
Tanjung chuckled. “Everywhere. But I’ve returned now, and I find all anyone talks of is this war.”
Calon slumped down in front of a palm tree and motioned for Tanjung to follow. “We’re going to lose. They’re going to come here and they’re going to kill us all, kill little Ratna, even. The Solar advance is slow, steady. Sometimes we take an island, a village. But we always lose it again when the Arun Guard show up.”
“I heard Malin has killed a few of them.”
“Four over the years, yes. And each one has cost him. He tends to take the deaths of the other Jadian personally.”
“He’s not here?”
Calon shook her head. “He’s often out with Ketu, taking one island or another. Trying to slow their advance on us. I’m not sure it matters. Another year, maybe, and we’ll have nowhere left to hide. And I don’t think I can make many more Jadian. The strain is …”
“I can tell.” Tanjung stared at the fishpond rather than meet Calon’s gaze. She had warned the woman sorcery would have a price. It was not a replacement for soldiers on the battlefield. And yet, here she was, going to drive her childhood friend, maybe her only remaining friend, to further magic. And Calon would have as little choice as Tanjung did—this war left her no choice. They needed power. It always came back to that.
Tanjung drew the grimoire from her satchel. It was bound in ancient leather, stained a red as dark as dried blood, and marked with Glyphs on the cover. “Lunar morale is breaking.” There wasn’t even a question about that. “The best way to reinvigorate that morale is to suck it right out of the Solars. What if you could evoke spirits without having to bond them?” As if there would not still be a price. “What if you could break the Solars, leave them vulnerable to your war bands?”
Calon ran a hand over the cover, then drew it back. “What is this? It’s cold.”
“A gift.”
Calon’s eyes narrowed. “A gift? From whom?”
This was it. She’d have to tell Calon sooner or later. “From the queen of sorcery. From an enemy of the sun.”
“The queen of … ?” Calon’s mouth dropped open, the confusion vanishing from her face. “You mean … Rangda?”
“The patron of witches, Calon. You started down this path of your own volition. In this book are secrets beyond your dreams. And I can help you understand them, uncover them. But the choice has to be yours. If you open this door, nothing will be the same for you.”
Calon’s hand drifted over the book again. And then she opened it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The city stank of rot. After so many years as a Macan Gadungan, Malin had learned to filter out common smells. The fresh floral scents of the rainforest, the tingle of clean dirt and water, those he could relish. But he’d learned to ignore the thick putrescence of Bukit. Mostly.
Tonight, though, the air tasted acrid and slick, almost from the moment he climbed the hill to the Lunar capital. Tonight he took no notice of the saddle roofs that always welcomed him home from so long away at war. The other Macan Gadungan watched him stalk through the city. They’d smell it too. But they’d leave it to him. They always expected him to be their voice, and it was a duty he would not shirk.
Before the Hill Palace, little Chandi chased Ratna with an ultop. The toy’s crack, as the ten-year-old slammed the rod through the funnel, sent nightjars aflight from the palace. Ratna screeched and ran from her cousin. Straight into Malin’s arms.
“Malin! Save me!”
Malin scooped the War King’s daughter up and cradled her against his shoulder. Shame Ratna didn’t have Chandi’s courage. Ratna was the War King’s only child and thus his heir. She’d need strength to lead her people. With one hand he brushed Ratna’s hair, casting a smirk over her shoulder at Chandi. The child’s wide smile revealed gaps where her adult teeth hadn’t grown in yet. The mischief in her eyes was so endearing he almost wanted to applaud her, but that wouldn’t do.
“Mind your family, Chandi,” Malin said. “Nothing can replace them.”
Only odd moments like this still reminded him of Tioman. If things had been different, they’d have had children about Chandi and Ratna’s age. Little girls or boys playing games l
ike these. Dwelling on such things was pointless. A few of the Macan Gadungan had born children to him, but he was not close to them, not the way he was with Chandi and Ratna. They had been sent off to train at Bangdvipa and Malin had seen little of them. Still, the Macan Gadungan, all of them were his family now, or as close to family as he could get.
Malin set Ratna down. “Go on. Go play.”
Even through the putrid stink of the palace, Malin could make out Bintang’s scent. He’d had her appointed to House Soma in his absence. A protector to Rahu and his family while Malin was away with Ketu, fighting the wars. There was no one he’d trust with the task more.
“The knight returns home,” she said.
Malin scowled. “I’ve told you a thousand times. I am not this Hidden Knight.”
Bintang merely shrugged. Always had to act like she knew better than everyone else. And knew Malin liked confidence in his females. He chuffed at her and pushed her aside, then slipped into the palace, only to find Rahu waiting.
Malin dropped to one knee, head bowed.
“Malin, come.” The War King led him to the courtyard, then sat beside the fishpond. Rahu stroked the baju he wore, gold songket embroidery on imported black silk, a gift from his wife. What it had cost Calon to get Tianxian silk in the middle of this war, Malin couldn’t guess. “I fear for my wife, Macan Gadungan.”
“Something is ill in the air,” Malin said.
“Yes. The Solars will seek her out, I can feel it. You must watch over her.”
Yes. The tiger within demanded he protect his charges. It was the reason for his breath, now. Eleven years this spirit had clung to his soul. Made him stronger. Sometimes, his old life seemed to have happened to someone else. Eleven years, and for ten of them, Solars had tried to kill those in his care.
Protect.
“Her own witchcraft draws them,” Malin said.
Rahu raised an eyebrow, a silent rebuke that allowed Malin no further response. There was none to be made, he supposed. Calon had created the Jadian bloodlines and now, if rumors were true, had turned to even darker arts. And still, she was his to protect. That was what being Macan Gadungan meant. Without that, he was mere Harimau Jadian, and damned for it.
Malin bowed, then stalked through the palace toward Calon’s chambers. The War King’s wife was not alone. Bamboo walls muffled the women’s voices. Other ears wouldn’t hear them. Malin’s did.
From the doorway he watched them. The shutters over the window cast the room in shadows, broken beams of moonlight illuminating symbols painted on the walls. Calon sat in the center of the room, poring over some old, foul-smelling book. Those symbols were of Kahyangan. He’d seen those before—seen Calon paint them when she put the tiger spirit inside him.
Calon’s friend Tanjung was here again, surprisingly elegant in her sea-green dress. Just another witch. After so long away, Malin might not have recognized her but for her scent, though it had changed, now suffused with the same rot the witches’ magic cast off. He’d dared hope Tanjung was gone forever. She might have helped him transform from Harimau Jadian to Macan Gadungan, but there were already too many witches in this city.
Tanjung whispered into Simhika’s ear, instructing Chandi’s mother on how to paint those symbols. His muscles itched. Eyes stung until he had to look away from the Spirit Glyphs. Unnatural symbols, like that of the thing she had put inside him. And now she called more. More spirits to ravage mankind and leave them empty! Breaches in the barrier between this world and the next that only the queen of all fools would open on purpose.
Malin stalked forward and grabbed Tanjung by the shoulder, spun her to face him. “What in Rangda’s frozen underworld are you doing?”
Tanjung sneered at him, at his hand on her shoulder. She was a Moon Scion, heir of Chandra. Protect. Malin released his grip on her, and she turned back to Simhika without a word. Sympathy passed over Simhika’s face, but she too said nothing. Chandi’s mother was far too easily swayed by Calon.
And, of course, it was Calon who answered. “Rangda’s underworld is right, Malin. The Demon Queen has a gift for the Solars. The crops on their island wither and die. Disease takes their animals and their young.”
The spirit within growled. Malin couldn’t tell if the others heard it. Didn’t care, either. The Macan Gadungan clawed at his mind. If Malin didn’t know better, he’d say it was afraid. And why not? Calon was talking about things far worse than Moon Spirits.
He knelt beside Calon. “Your husband wants me to protect you.” He leaned in close to her ear. “But you need protection from yourself. Abandon this madness, Calon. You are a child of the Moon God. The Demon Queen will bring nothing but damnation.”
Calon laughed as she rose, her grin filled with more mischief than Malin had seen in her in years. “Damnation indeed. The Solars want to live in an undersea city. Let’s see how they like having their villages on land flooded.” She stroked her fingers over the book in her arms. “The secrets here, weretiger—you have no idea. The truths of Kahyangan can end this war. A small spirit in you made you the unstoppable killer you are now—”
“I’m a bodyguard. Not an animal.”
“Imagine what else we could call. Imagine what more powerful spirits could do at our behest. I understand your fears. It’s right to fear the Spirit Realm. But I can save my husband, my daughter with this. We can use Kahyangan, once we learn the old truths.”
“Some things are better not known, witch.”
Calon glowered at him. Perhaps he’d crossed the line. “If I can end this war with the Solars, I have to do so. I will not let my family fall to the Arun Guard!” The woman drew herself up, as if her five-foot frame could be intimidating. “A mother would do anything to protect her child, weretiger!”
Malin winced at her words. Some mothers, perhaps. His had been less nurturing.
“Leave, weretiger,” Calon said. “Leave us to our work.” The witch’s hair danced about her face, despite the lack of breeze. Her crooked smile revealed a hint of perfect teeth. Calon met his gaze unwavering.
Tanjung snorted when Malin looked to her. Some claimed the woman had spirit blood in her. Maybe that was why she was the last of her House. He’d heard a rumor her brief marriage to Sidapaksa ended when the man was murdered by some war band or bandit.
Calon and Tanjung were too far gone to listen. Malin grabbed Simhika by the arms, looked deep into her eyes.
“Malin … ” she said, “some things must be. I won’t see Chandi grow up to face these same troubles.”
Malin shook his head. Three witches would call plagues down on the Solars. Chandra let this madness end the blasted war. Mankind had no business touching Kahyangan.
Malin tried not to listen to the spirit names the witches called as he fled the palace. Tried not to imagine what might answer.
Instead he sat beneath the shade of a palm tree, watched the young Lunar soldiers training with their keris knives. Watched the sun set and the night market open. Watched, and waited. Afraid to leave Bukit, day after day, as he kept his promise to guard Calon.
His other Macan Gadungan brought him food while he kept his vigil. He rarely slept. Nightmares haunted him when he did, visions of the Spirit Realm. Did they come from his own fears, or the memories of the spirit within him? Malin didn’t want to know.
On rare days when Calon opened her window, Malin would creep up to it and watch her. Once, Calon swept her daughter into her embrace. Moon Scion strength was more than enough to lift a ten-year-old girl.
“Maybe your father and I shouldn’t have started this war,” Calon said to Ratna. “But I’m going to end it. I’m going to give you the world, my little bidadari.”
Malin’s neck spasmed. He cracked it from left to right. Breathe. Maybe Calon was right. He returned to his palm tree, sat. Maybe she could end this. But Malin knew nothing of bidadaris or other heavenly inhabitants of Kahyangan. The only things he knew of the Spirit Realm were darker. Calon was letting loose spirits from Rangda’s
underworld and it sickened the tiger in him as much as the man.
Some days, Chandi and Ratna sat with him, playing nearby, or asking for stories of his homeland. Stories from before he was a weretiger. From another lifetime, when he’d been a sailor, a man, a husband. The girls’ friend, Mahesa, liked stories of the sea. Most Lunars didn’t appreciate the sea enough. The Solar navy scared them away from it.
Ratna wanted stories of romance—stories Malin would never tell. He didn’t even want to think of Tioman. Some things were best left buried. And Chandi, truest little Scion of the Moon God, she wanted stories of adventure. Those Malin had. More than he ever wanted. Stories of running from pirates, of storms at sea, of coming to the Skyfall Isles.
And sitting there, watching over the children and their fool mothers, Malin could almost pretend he was still that man. Could almost pretend the war was not happening.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Part of Malin wanted to remain in his unending watch, sitting with the children. Ratna and Chandi, they knew nothing of the curses of Solars or witches or wars. They knew only the laughter when he would hoist them over his head with one hand. They knew the man he would have been, in another lifetime. The man he wished he was, but could fool no one but children into believing in.
So his heart ached as Rahu approached, long before the War King spoke. Because such things never lasted. Not for Malin. Had he ever broken free of the fate his mother had cursed him with? Perhaps. If so, he’d gained his freedom at the price of his humanity.
“The Solars have launched an attack just off our island.”
Malin sighed. Yes. At last the consequences. Send plague and flood among the Solars, feel the wrath of the Arun Guard. Always a price. Calon had taught him that lesson eleven years ago. Saved his life and changed his fate—and changed him with it.
Rahu looked him dead in the eyes. “An attack on Bangdvipa.”
