Snow, Fire, Sword

by Sophie Masson

  Dewi waited until she was sure he was quite gone, then got gingerly to her feet. First things first. She knelt down beside Husam’s body and felt his pulse. He was alive, though still unconscious. Standing, she looked around her. The hantumu had gone out of the cave…up that way. She walked over and found the mouth of a narrow, rocky passageway. At the end of it, she could see…nothing. Well, the narrowest of chinks of light. She took a rushlight from the wall and walked down the passageway. It wasn’t long, and at the end of it there was a narrow exit, but it was completely blocked by a massive boulder. Only the tiniest slivers of light showed around it. Dewi put her shoulder to the stone. Not only did it not move, but her shoulder felt bruised and scraped afterward. They were indeed sealed in.

  All at once, she remembered her father’s talisman. With a pounding heart, she felt for it in her pocket—how she hoped it hadn’t somehow fallen out along the way. But no, here it was. She held it tightly in her hand and closed her eyes. She concentrated hard on conjuring up Bupatihutan’s image in her mind. “Open the door for us, Honorable Lord,” she murmured, “O great Bupatihutan, help us, help us.”

  Silence. No tiger-man appeared in her mind. She tried again. “Great Lord of the Harimauroh, help us.”

  Nothing happened. Bupatihutan was sealed off from her as surely as the cave was sealed off from the outside. She tried hard to quell her growing panic. After all, she had expected this, hadn’t she? Kwanyin had warned her. They were in the Sorcerer’s power now; the spirits could not help them.

  She made her way back into the cave. Husam was still lying down, but he was groaning, a hand to his brow. He lifted his head and tried to smile when he saw her. “Little heart, I am glad it is you. Will you help me sit up?”

  Dewi quickly went over to him. She put an arm around his shoulders and helped him up. He sat propped against a wall of the cave, feeling at his face. “Aaiyee! If I’d been younger, those hantumu would never have…” He looked at Dewi, and caught her expression. “Forgive me. Much good was Sword to you this night.”

  “Don’t blame yourself, Husam,” said Dewi gently. “It was my fault for bringing us here.” She swallowed. “We’re trapped, Husam. There’s no way out. The only exit is sealed with a huge boulder. The hantumu said we’re caught like rats in a trap. And I fear we are.”

  “You know what rats are like,” Husam said lightly. “Cunning creatures. Rarely get caught. Many a trap’s been made for rats, but there is a difference between making the trap and catching the rat. There are more rats than traps in this wide world, isn’t that so?”

  Dewi could not help smiling, even in the midst of her anxiety. “I suppose that is true. Father says rats will survive even the end of the world.”

  “Maybe that is because they don’t wait for others to help them,” said Husam. “They always want to survive, so they always help themselves in whatever way they can. Perhaps we should begin to think like them.”

  “We might soon have to test whether that will do us any good,” said Dewi. “The Sorcerer is coming to us. The hantumu said they were going to get Kerapi to tell him.”

  “Kerapi?” said Husam. “Why, that is…” But whatever he had been about to say remained unsaid, for they heard a great rumble, smelled a smell as of burning; and something came whooshing down through the roof to land in front of them. At first, it looked like a dazzling white pillar of flame, then it reassembled itself into a different form, and in less time than it takes to say it, a man stood in front of them: a tall man dressed like a king in gold and purple, with a tall purple turban on his head, and with a face so cruel it made Dewi’s flesh shrink. The man’s eyes burned with a deep fiery gleam, and when he opened his mouth to speak, they could see that his teeth were all of gold, and filed to sharp points.

  “You wanted an audience with me. I am here.”

  Dewi and Husam could not move or speak. The Sorcerer—for it must be he—glared at them. “Are you tongueless and voiceless? Get up when you are in the presence of your betters!”

  Dewi and Husam got shakily to their feet. Dewi glanced at Husam. There was a puzzled expression in the old executioner’s eyes, but she had no time to think about it, for the Sorcerer strode over to her. “What did you want to speak to me about? Speak!” he shouted, looming over her.

  He smelled awful, like burned flesh. It made her want to gag. But his eyes drew her. They were large, full of a malevolent power, the long vertical pupils slicing into her like sharp daggers. She wanted to look away but could not. Her limbs felt as if they were dissolving; her head was swimming; her tongue felt like molten lead in her mouth.

  “Poor child,” said the Sorcerer in a soft voice. “Poor child, you are weary. You have traveled a long way to see me, and now you are struck mute in my presence. Come, child,” and he extended a long, thin, taloned hand, dripping with beautiful rings. “Come here to me, and I will forgive your temerity if you will speak to me and tell me all you know.”

  “No!” Husam shouted, and flung himself between them. “No! You are not the Sorcerer—you are his slave, the afreet!”

  The man whirled around. His eyes were so large now, they seemed to be taking over his whole face, eating it, consuming it, turning it to flame. In an instant, the man had vanished, replaced by a small, wizened, twisted creature half like a monkey, half dwarfish man. But the eyes were the same—huge, glowing, and with sharp, vertical pupils.

  “Move yourself, Sword,” said the afreet in a harsh voice. “It is not you I am concerned with. Get away from the girl.”

  “No!” yelled Husam. “You will not touch her. I will—” He broke off, the words gurgling in his throat, as the afreet leaped at him, taloned hands reaching to scratch out his eyes. Dewi flung herself forward. “No!” she cried in her turn. “Don’t hurt him. Leave him. Hareekshaytin, it is me you want. You said so.”

  The afreet dropped suddenly from Husam’s shoulder to the floor. Husam bent over, choking. “You know my name,” growled the afreet threateningly. It was staring up at Dewi, its eyes again seeking to draw her in. She forced herself to look away, and her eyes fell on the painted wall opposite. A long shiver rippled over her. She looked at the sandy floor, trying to stop her teeth from chattering.

  She said, “I learned your name from one who knows you.”

  She nearly screamed then, for the afreet had leaped to her shoulder, its taloned claws digging painfully into her flesh. Its smell was in her nostrils now, very close; it made her feel so sick that she could barely think. But she managed to stammer, “You…you…are a slave, Hareekshaytin. A slave! I will not speak…to a slave!”

  A massive pain ripped through her, a pain such as she had never felt before. She doubled over, screaming, the afreet still clinging to her. It came again; it was inside her skull, inside her flesh, her bones, her very being. She fell to the ground. Dimly, she heard Husam’s shouts, saw him rush forward, but she could not worry about him as her head felt as if it were exploding. Wild jagged images unspooled in her mind, faster and faster, silent and relentless: houses burning, people in flames running from them, swords red with blood, black-clad men with blank faces slaughtering defenseless people, who ran before them begging for mercy, disemboweled corpses in piles on the side of the road…and then…and then…she saw her village, but horribly changed, destroyed, houses smoking, blackened ruins, her house…a pile of rubble, bodies lying flung outside the door. She recognized Jafar, and Wisnu and Ayu, though they were horribly mangled, their faces twisted in a last terror and agony. She screamed again, and heard the afreet’s voice in her mind. “This is the future. This will all come to pass.”

  Dewi shuddered from head to foot. She whispered, “No, no, no, it is just a fear I have in my mind, and you are twisting it, making it seem real.”

  “Fool! It is real. It will happen,” howled the afreet in her mind, “unless you tell me all you know.” The nightmares danced and cavorted in her head.

  “I do not know anything,” whispered Dewi, then wailed as the pai
n shot into her, more red-hot and violent than before. She couldn’t bear it, she couldn’t. She had to save her family, her village, all those people. She opened her mouth, but then Husam’s voice rang out.

  “Hareekshaytin! That is not what the hantumu call you. Do you want to hear what they call you behind your back, son of dread Iblis?”

  The band of iron and blood and fire around Dewi’s head loosened abruptly. The visions shattered and were gone. Her senses began returning to her. Her shoulder ached. The afreet had let go and had leaped onto the floor, staring at Husam. A growl was coming from its throat.

  “I heard them. They called you Kerapi. And you know what that means. Fire-monkey,” said the old executioner calmly, though Dewi could see that his forehead was beaded with sweat.

  The afreet stared at Husam, who went on. “O son of Iblis, you have been a slave so long, bending your power to another’s will. Shall you ever return to your home, to Jehannem?”

  The afreet swelled. Red and black tendrils of hair like snakes twisted out from its head. It growled again, deep in its throat. “I will be freed, once my master is master over all this accursed place,” it said at last. “I will return to Jehannem, and to my rightful place.”

  “Can you be sure, O Hareekshaytin?”

  “This has been promised,” said the afreet, staring at Husam. “I will no longer be a slave.” Its voice changed. “Iblis! I have been cold and lonely for too long in this accursed human world.” Its voice was rising, its clawed hands clenching. “In this accursed place do I appear to you like some ugly thing, like some—what is it you say those black scum call me—like a fire-monkey. But in my own land, I was handsome, powerful. I was a true noble Son of the Flame. Long have I paid for my folly in insulting my lord Iblis, long have I paid, but soon will I pay no longer.”

  “Those men, those hantumu, they are indeed unkind to call you such bad things,” said Husam soothingly.

  The afreet’s eyes burned with a wild light of hatred and fury. “Worse than unkind, they are dead men walking. Before I go, they will know the true nature of the Son of the Flame. They treat me like a thing at their command, like a creature of no consequence, and insult me, though I have helped them so often. They will know, before their eyes melt in their sockets, and their hearts shrivel to cinders inside them, and their flesh runs in puddles of oil on their worthless bones, they will know the truth, and they will be made soulless and mute with the knowledge. Oh, yes, yes! Then I will fling the last of their spirits into Jehannem, and they will be tortured for all eternity for the things they did and said to me.”

  “A good plan,” said Husam gently. “A good plan indeed, Hareekshaytin.”

  “Who gave you my name?” said the afreet, suddenly whirling on Husam. “Who was it?”

  “It is a good name,” said Husam quickly, backing away. “It is a name truly of Jehannem, not like that insulting name ‘Kerapi’ they call you.”

  The afreet screeched with fury. The very sound of the name seemed to make it wild. “Wait till I get my hands on those men! I will rip their entrails to pieces, I will wrap them around their heads.”

  “Perhaps you should tell your master,” said Husam smoothly. “He might punish the hantumu for it himself.”

  The afreet yelled, “My master loves those creatures! He has them by his right hand. Me, who have given him so much power, he treats like a beggar; and yet he rewards worthless humans who are not worthy of even being in my presence. Why, he is even more careful of you, who have thwarted him constantly, than he is of me.”

  “O noble Son of the Flame,” Husam said, “just how long has it been since those black spiders and their master have ridden on your power?”

  “Too long,” said the afreet.

  “Oh, I understand how you must—”

  “Silence!” shrieked the afreet, its eyes bright red. “You understand nothing, human thing. How can you even begin to?”

  Husam shrugged. “I understand you yearn for your home, Hareekshaytin, for your old place in Jehannem, for your position in the world of demons. You have been stripped of all your glory in this place. You are a son of wild Iblis, who never bowed to any man. Yet here you perform the will of inferiors. Why do you not rebel?”

  The afreet began to laugh. Its laughter was the same terrifying sound Dewi had heard in the atrium—inhuman peal after peal of wild, desperate, savage laughter. “You can never understand, old man. Never, even if you live for a thousand years. Rebellion is only for those who hope. There is no hope in me—only certainty that one day my master will have to free me, and the sooner I help him to accomplish what he wants, the sooner that will be, because until then, his will to power is too strong for me to resist.”

  “Is that so?” said Husam. “Why, I had always heard that afreets are the strongest of all of Iblis’s children. Why is it not you who hold sway? How can the Sorcerer hold you so?”

  “He wears a ring,” said the afreet, glowering, and Dewi held her breath, knowing that it was falling into the trap Husam had set. “It is a ring forged in Jehannem by the master blacksmith of Iblis himself. It has as its binding one of the dread names of Iblis. I cannot break free of it, as it was at Iblis’s command that I was enslaved.”

  Suddenly, it crouched down and whimpered. “He is calling me.” It froze in a humble, listening posture. Then it fell to the ground, writhing as if in torment, holding its head in its hands, making weirdly awful keening, moaning noises. Dewi could almost feel a strange kind of pity stirring in her. In the next instant that feeling disappeared, for the afreet suddenly rose to its feet, its face filled with an inhuman, cruel joy. “My master has told me much! He promises me much bloodshed, much destruction! Much blood will be spilled this coming day, for we march. We march! It is our time!”

  “Oh, then you will need us with you,” said Dewi very quickly. “You will need us to tell you what—”

  The afreet turned on her, still laughing. “You fool! My master has told me that he understands now, he already has what is needed!”

  Dewi’s heart pounded. “No, that cannot be, because you don’t have Fire—”

  The afreet cut in, with a mocking air. “You poor human thing! You strove to thwart my master, but he has been cleverer than you. You gave yourselves willingly into our hands, thinking thus to trick us, but you failed, for you did not realize that my master had anticipated this. And so you are here now in this dungeon, helpless and unable to take part in the final battle when my master will emerge in his full glory and destroy all his enemies.”

  “Do you think we can be bound by a dungeon, son of Iblis?” growled Husam. “It is our destiny that we will take part, and so it shall be! Otherwise, if your master did not need us, why would he hold us here? Why not kill us?”

  The afreet laughed again. “You are a fool, old man.” Its eyes slid over to the wall where the huge lizard hunkered. “We do not need to kill you. There is a much better way. The darkest part of the night comes just before dawn, and with it, the reign of the oldest thing of all, who kills without reason. You see this?” he said, pointing to the image on the wall. “This creature comes alive at the darkest part of the night. It is an ancient, wordless evil; there is no use pleading with it. It will devour you. We never stay here at this part of the night—it is too dangerous. But you will be here, in its sacred place. The oldest, most savage spirit of Jayangan will destroy you, and nothing can save you from it. You will die in a much more horrible way than you can imagine.” It gave a mocking bow. “So this is a leave-taking, human things. We will not meet again.” It gave its wild, savage laugh, jumped up in the air, and turned into a white pillar of flame, which funneled up through the rocky roof and vanished. Husam and Dewi were once more alone in the cave.

  EIGHTEEN

  ADI SLEPT LIKE a baby that night. No dreams or nightmares troubled him, for his spirit was at peace. He had been given a comfortable corner in Sadik’s room, and slept rolled up in a soft blanket. He awoke with a start at first light, with Sadik
gently shaking him. “It’s time to go, Adi. Best to leave for Kotabunga when it’s still cool.”

  Adi rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Sadik was already up, dressed all in white today, his unruly hair smoothly brushed down. His eyes were shining like stars. “Oh, Adi,” he said eagerly, “God blesses the day you came to this place, for you are the path to the world learning about the Shayk. Today the Sultan himself will be convinced.”

  “Mmm,” said Adi, a little disconcerted by such early-morning fervor. All things considered, though he admired the Shayk and what he was trying to achieve, and was glad to have found him, he would be relieved to get out of the community itself. The garden was very nice, but the rest of it—no, it just wasn’t his sort of place. It was an earnest place, and he was not an earnest person. He liked to have fun too much. And he was not a farmer, or a religious scholar, or a fighter either, really, but a craftsman. He missed, oh, how he missed, his master and the work they did together. That was what was in his soul.

  Empu Wesiagi had told Adi that he had worked so well on the Sultan’s kris, followed his directions so well, that next time he could create his own kris, suited to himself. Then, if it was well done, he would be taught the sacred finishing formula, and might be allowed to create a kris for their next client. It had been the proudest moment of Adi’s life, and it came back to him now with poignant clarity.

  He became aware that Sadik was looking at him questioningly.

  “Sorry,” he said with a little laugh. “I am a little distracted today, my friend. What is it you wanted to know?”

  “I said I think you’d better borrow some of my things,” said Sadik, laughing too. “Your clothes are rather rumpled and stained now, nice though they once were. It might be best if I lent you these.” He went to the chest in a corner of his room, opened it, and pulled out a plain brown cotton shirt and loose trousers. They weren’t beautiful, but they were clean and fresh, and smelled nicely of spices.