Standing in his undershirt and shorts, he looked at his own crumple of clothes on the floor. They did look rather travel worn. “Thank you, Sadik,” he said.
A car horn sounded outside. Sadik rushed over to the window and looked out. “They’re ready! Come on, hurry up,” he shouted. Adi pulled off his sweaty undershirt, laid it on the crumpled pile of clothes, and put on Sadik’s shirt. It was when he was pulling up the trousers that he noticed Sadik was staring at him.
“You’re a Nashranee! I saw the heart around your neck.”
Adi glared defiantly at him and pulled on his shoes. “So what? What does that matter to you?”
“Nothing, nothing,” said Sadik uncertainly. “I believe that Nashranees can be saved, if they understand about the Light. And so that is well, is it not? Is that not a good thing?”
“Hmm,” said Adi gruffly, not wanting to be drawn into such discussions.
“But I thought you were a…I thought you were one of us,” said Sadik, earnestly, “or at least that you followed the Book of Light, even if imperfectly, given that you talked about the Queen of the Southern Sea, which is just a story for children who do not understand the truth.”
“I never said I was anything at all,” snapped Adi. “You just assumed I did. My family is Nashranee, so of course I am too. Your family is Mujisal, yes, so you are Mujisal. That’s the way it goes in Jayangan, Sadik. You know that.”
“Yes, I do know that,” said Sadik, looking troubled, “but one day it will not be so, and we will all follow the same way, for I know the Light is for everyone. It is true that many, many Mujisal do not understand fully what they should do to follow the Light, so how can a Nashranee? It must come from the heart, this change, not by force or rage. Perhaps one day, friend Adi, I might talk to you about it?”
“Perhaps,” said Adi coolly, though he fumed inside. “Not now, though, Sadik. They’re waiting, remember?”
He wondered briefly if Sadik would mention their little conversation to his teacher. In any case, it would not matter, as the Shayk was a good man. Of course, everyone thought their own way was the right one, but in reality that did not stop different ways from existing at once. Adi himself was not one to fight over it. He was a peaceable person, who loved his work and his family and had been content in his life—till the day his master was kidnapped. Now he found himself in a strange and terrifying world, among unusual allies, and all his old notions had had to change.
“We are friends, you and I, Adi,” Sadik said solemnly. “I heard your heart calling to my heart, and I knew we were friends at once. That is what matters, no?”
Adi saw that this was a great effort of understanding for Sadik, and it touched him. He said gently, “It is what matters, Sadik. You are a good person, a worthy disciple of your master.”
Sadik beamed shyly. “You are too kind, brother Adi,” he stammered. “You do me great honor by these words.”
“Not at all,” said Adi, and he opened the door and stepped out into the cool gray light of morning, closely followed by the still-beaming Sadik.
“Good morning, Adi. I trust you slept well.” The Shayk, dressed in spotless robe and turban, was sitting on the well-padded backseat of the shining big white car parked outside. He smiled when Adi nodded, and patted the seat beside him. “Come and sit beside me, and you too, Sadik.”
Adi and Sadik slid in. It was an unusual car, which had perhaps once done time as a limousine, for the back and front seats were separated by a thick pane of wavy glass, and the side windows were all black-tinted. But Adi could see that Ibrahim was at the wheel, and that two young men whom he had not seen before were sitting on the bench seat beside him.
“It’s all right, Adi,” said the Shayk, correctly interpreting Adi’s startled look. “These are Jamal and Ali. They are good boys. They can be trusted to keep their mouths shut. They are here for our protection.”
The young men did not seem curious at all. They had not turned around to look at Adi, who from the luxurious depths of the backseat could see only the backs of their slicked-back longish hair and their rocklike, sturdy necks. They certainly looked like they meant business. Well, he supposed even a holy man like the Shayk would need muscle with him; after all, Sadik had said he had many enemies. Even granted some exaggeration, there were always those who harbored bad feelings toward charismatic men. Besides, it showed that the Shayk was not only an unwordly priest but a realist. He knew evil was abroad in the world, and that you must be prepared to fight it, not wait for it to overwhelm you.
Ibrahim started the engine. The big car pulled away from the house, its engine purring powerfully. This car is even finer than Anda Mangil’s, thought Adi. It was newer, for a start, and as big as a small apartment. Well, maybe that was an exaggeration, but it was certainly large, and luxurious. There was enough room in the back for a small refrigerator, a radio and TV, and tables that were folded down at present. The backseat was covered in absolutely spotless white velvet, and the floor was carpeted with exquisite rugs of Al Aksara manufacture.
The Shayk was watching Adi’s reaction. “You like it, my friend?”
“Oh, yes, sir!”
“It was offered to me by a wealthy supporter of mine,” said the Shayk brightly. “You understand, I could not hurt his feelings by refusing it, though it is not in my nature to crave such things. I have come to know that my own feelings count for nothing in the more important pursuit of our cause, the cause of the Army of Light. This car is not only beautiful, Adi, but it is well protected in other ways. Watch!” He pressed a little button by his side. Immediately, thick steel mesh screens shot up, covering the side and back windows and the glass that separated the front from the backseat. The Shayk smiled at Adi’s and Sadik’s looks of wide-eyed surprise, and pressed something with his foot. Instantly, the TV swiveled, showing that there was a cupboard behind it, which opened, revealing two big black revolvers.
“They are fully loaded,” said the Shayk, rocking gently with the pleasure of the boys’ astonishment. “And I know how to shoot precisely.” His eyes were sparkling behind their glasses. “Yes, I am afraid, Adi, that a teacher must know more than how to memorize verses, in our dark days. Guns and swords may not work against the demons, but they work against their human allies. And it is my responsibility to know how to defend myself and my community.” He smiled reminiscently. “In my young days, in my own homeland, I was reckoned to be quite a crack shot, you know, as well as a good swordsman.”
Sadik looked a little troubled at this, and Adi thought he knew why. It was all very well to talk in the abstract of armies and fighting, but when faced with the reality, he shrank away. He’d talked so hotly about how the Shayk had had to fight and then flee from his enemies in the past, but had also spoken of how change must come from the heart, not force or rage. Perhaps he thought the demons could be defeated that way too. Silly naïve one, thought Adi, amused. He didn’t understand the world very much, and he obviously had never come across the enemies Adi himself had seen. Adi knew this was a serious battle, a fight to the death. The revelation that he was armed had only made him warm more to the Shayk. He was not just a holy saint in his garden, talking gently of peace; he was a tough man of action. Both were needed in their fight against evil, that was for sure.
“I would very much like to hear about your young days, sir,” said Adi respectfully.
The Shayk laughed frankly. “I am afraid my poor Sadik would not approve, Adi. He might become afraid of his old teacher!”
“Oh, no, Master.” Sadik looked very unhappy. “Please…that is not so….”
“I haven’t spoken of it for so long,” said the Shayk, ignoring Sadik’s stammerings. He pressed on the buttons again, and the gun cupboard swiveled out of sight and the screens shot back down. “But it will help pass the time till we get to Kotabunga. Now, Adi, I was not always as you see me now.”
Adi, glancing at Sadik as the Shayk took up his story, saw that the other boy’s face bore a look of baffl
ed hurt. He must be wondering why he is being ignored, he thought, while I am drawing out his idolized master. Perhaps he will even end up resenting me, he thought a little uncomfortably. I, who am not even a Mujisal, am being privileged by the holy man he admires above all others. He tried to send Sadik a message with his eyes, to say that he could not help it, that it meant little, that Sadik was the Shayk’s true companion while he himself was a mere distraction. But Sadik was not looking at him. He was looking at the Shayk, listening to every word with a humble, hangdog expression on his face. Really, it got on Adi’s nerves.
The Shayk’s story kept Adi enthralled all the way to Kotabunga. From the time the Shayk was a small child, he had shown a great aptitude not only for wielding the sword but also for learning. He had been able to memorize the holy Book of Light by the time he was seven; was having discussions with teachers three times his age by the time he was ten; and by fifteen, he had already accomplished the great pilgrimage to the holiest city of the Great Desert, where the Messenger of Light had been born. Rasheed had realized very early on that it was his destiny to try to strengthen the Army of Light in their eternal battle with the Demons’ Army. His preachings on this were fiery and exciting and full of great insights, and people flocked to hear him. But Rasheed didn’t only preach. During his childhood, he also fought battles with raiders, wrestled with a lion and a wolf, bested an afreet, and was saved by an angel from the dagger of an assassin. He grew to manhood respected and loved by all those around him and at the age of sixteen was given the title of Shayk as a mark of respect for his prowess and learning, and married the beautiful daughter of a neighboring chieftain. She presented him with a son and then another a year later.
The demons could not allow the young man’s charmed career to go on in this way. They caused dissension in the ranks of his followers, and then they caused open treachery. When the Shayk was on a visit to an oasis city, raiders struck at his home camp in the desert and attempted to carry off his wife and sons. They and his clansmen resisted bravely, and God sent angels to come to beat the raiders off. But the demons were not finished yet. The King of the Desert sent men to arrest him, so he and his wife and sons had to flee to a neighboring country. Only two months after that, the boys died after catching a terrible disease. The Shayk’s wife fell into a deep depression. She would not speak or eat, she would not listen to the Shayk’s exhortations about trusting to the Light to make things better, and soon she died, heartbroken.
A lesser man would have cursed Heaven for not saving his loved ones, and for favoring the wicked against the good, but not the Shayk. He humbly waited for the darkness to lift; and always in his heart, the Light shone. One day he had a dream that was to change his whole life. He dreamed that he had been carried by flocks of lovely green birds to a beautiful little green island, far far away. An island that knew the Light, but only imperfectly. An island that was at risk of being subverted by rich, immoral foreigners from places beyond the setting sun, like the Rummiyans. An island that needed teachers, that needed the full and true understanding of the greatest Messenger of them all. And that island, of course, was Jayangan. He knew what his mission in life was—he must journey far away and preach to the people of that lovely green island.
With his good friend Ibrahim and other followers he settled not far from Kotabunga, and started a farm and a school. The farm and school thrived; they did good works, teaching and also helping to rescue those in need. Once again, enemies watched and waited. They spread false stories about the Shayk and his companions, and those stories reached the ears of the Sultan at the time. The Sultan, who had begun by being friendly toward the young teacher and his followers, turned against them and ordered his soldiers to arrest them. They escaped only through the good offices of angels, and the kindness of strangers who had heard of their work and loved them for it. They fled to another country and waited till things were better in Jayangan.
Things improved indeed when the old Sultan died and his son, Sunan Tengah, took over. Though Sunan Tengah himself was only a lukewarm follower of the Light, concerning himself more with affairs of state, his eldest son, Crown Prince Yanto, was a fervent follower. He prevailed upon his father to allow the Shayk and his friends to come back. They were allowed to return, and Prince Yanto even gave them some land at Gunungbatu, where they have been ever since, growing in strength and fame.
“And that,” said the Shayk, winding up his story, “is a little of how we came to be here. I hope you have not found the time wasted, listening to these old stories.”
“Oh, no,” said Adi, “it is a tremendous story!”
“And now we come to the next part of our story, Adi,” the Shayk said, leaning forward and fixing him with a bright gaze. “You yourself have brought us the next part. I always knew that you—or someone like you—would come to us one day with just such a tale as you have told us. The time has come at last for the battle to begin, for the veil to be ripped from the faces of the Demons’ Army. This will be a decisive battle, my son, and you have brought it to us—” He broke off, frowning. “What is that dreadful noise I can hear?” The Shayk tapped on the glass in front of him. “Ibrahim, what is going on?”
Ibrahim stuck his head out of the window. He called back to the Shayk, “It’s someone playing some sort of song, a radio on too loud, maybe.”
They were in a mean, narrow little street, not far from the great square that led to the palace. The music got louder and louder. Adi knew it at once: It was that ubiquitous song “Beloved.” But it wasn’t on the radio. Someone was actually singing it, the sound floating from the open doorway of a shop farther down. Whoever the singer was, she had a gorgeous voice, he thought, as the melancholy, joyful, passionate strains of the song came rolling on, sending shivers of delight through him.
He turned to tell the Shayk what it was, but the old man was frowning. “What a vile sound,” he said. He glared at Adi. “Cover your ears!”
Startled, Adi obeyed. He glanced over at Sadik, who had also, quickly, guiltily, clapped his hands to his ears, though it was apparent he’d been enjoying the song too. Adi tried to say, “Er, it’s only this—”
But the Shayk ignored him. “Go back!” he ordered Ibrahim. “We don’t want to go down there.” Ibrahim nodded and accelerated backward out of the alley.
The Sultan’s palace occupied a vast area of the center of Kotabunga. It was set within a large white square planted with palm trees and frangipani and bougainvillea. Its outer walls were also white and had golden-topped gates set in them every few meters. Guards in brown and white and gold sarongs, jackets and headdresses, with businesslike krises set into the waistbands of their sarongs, stood purposefully before each gate. Others patrolled around the walls.
They parked the car under a frangipani tree. Adi expected that Ibrahim, Jamal, and Ali would stay there with the car, and so it proved to be. But it was a bad moment for him when the Shayk turned to Sadik, handed him some money, and said, “You are to go to the market and buy us some mangosteen. We will need it when we come back.”
Sadik’s face flushed; his eyes shone with hurt. He gave a quick glance at Adi, then, bowing his head meekly, said, “Yes, Master, I will do it.”
“I can go with—”
“You are to come with me, Adi,” said the Shayk very sternly. “Do not shirk the destiny you have been given. It is not worthy.” And so saying, he turned and marched purposefully toward one of the gates, his straight back expressing righteous indignation. What else could Adi do but stumble after him, in a rather undignified fashion, and beg his pardon?
NINETEEN
FOR A MOMENT, after the afreet had vanished, Dewi and Husam stood rooted to the spot, unable to move. Black despair invaded them both. They had played into the enemy’s hands. The battle would be joined, the Sorcerer emerge into the open—and they would not be there.
After a while, Husam growled, “Well, it’s time to put on our rat’s heads, little heart. We will not stay here. We will escape.”<
br />
Dewi stared at him. She felt numb. “Oh, Husam, how can we…” she began wearily, but he shook his head.
“Don’t say it, or you will become as spellbound by despair as the afreet and its master want. Now, let’s check that this exit really is blocked.”
“It is,” said Dewi, but Husam was already limping up the passageway, rushlight in hand. She did not follow him. What was the good of it? She already knew they were sealed into this place that would be their tomb—whether from hunger or thirst, exhaustion, or what the afreet had spoken of, it made little difference. She looked at the painted wall. Was it her imagination, or did the rock bulge out just a little more? Her breath fluttered coldly in her throat. The oldest thing reigns at the darkest part of the night. As she stared, the painted lines of the great lizard began to flex—just a tiny ripple of movement, a slight shudder in the rock, but unmistakable.
She tried to tell herself that any form of dying was as bad as another, though she knew it wasn’t so. She held on tightly to her father’s talisman. It might not work in this place, but it was a tiny shred of comfort, a faint link to her father and to the world above, which she would never see again. Once more, she tried to call to Bupatihutan in her mind, but there was no answer, no vision, nothing but the tiger’s claw lying senseless and nerveless in her hand.
Husam returned. His face was strained but his tone was light: “Well, I tried every name, every magic formula I could think of, and it hasn’t budged. I don’t think we can get out that way.”
Dewi, her voice choked with fear, said, “We can’t get out any way, Husam. We’re doomed. Forgive me, Husam, for having dragged you into this. Forgive me. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought that we had a chance. I’m a fool.”
Snow, Fire, Sword Page 14
