“Thank you,” Dewi managed to say, when the silence had lengthened a little too long and the woman’s happy smile was slowly being replaced by the beginnings of an nervous expression. “Thank you. That is very kind.”
“We are happy, beloved strangers,” said the headwoman, with a funny little bow. “You have come from our sacred place, from Old Mountain, and we are honored. Please follow me.”
As Dewi and Husam followed the swiftly striding woman, they saw that the other people in the gardens had drawn closer together, and that their gazes at the pair were an odd mixture of delight, awe, and anxiety. Dewi whispered to Husam, “They think we’ve come from that place, that we’re from the place of the Old Ones, the people who helped us, who had those strange wings attached to them.”
“Yes,” Husam whispered back. “See the pillar in the middle of that pavilion, and the flowers on it? That’s no Mujisal house of worship, or Nashranee—not even Dharbudsu. That’s something I’ve only heard about, not seen—the old, old faith of Jayangan.”
“These are the descendants of the people of that mountain,” said Dewi, staring. “They think we’re their ancestors, come back to life.”
Kembang had stopped before one of the huts. She beckoned to them. “Come, beloved strangers.” She looked excited and proud. They hurried over to her, and she led them into the darkness of the little hut.
When their eyes got used to the dimness, they saw that the hut was only one large room, simply furnished, with a table, a couple of chairs, a fireplace, a curtained alcove in a corner, a chest in another, and a tall shelf in yet another. On this shelf, in pride of place, stood a massive, old-fashioned wireless radio, an unexpected sight here. No doubt its presence explained why the shepherd boy, who lived in such a remote place, knew the tune of “Beloved.”
The woman disappeared behind the curtain. Thumps and bumps issued from behind it, and Husam and Dewi looked at each other, mystified. Finally, the woman emerged, puffing, proudly dragging out the last thing they expected to see.
It was an ancient, heavy motorbike and sidecar. In the half-light of the hut, it gleamed softly. “Come outside, come, come,” said Kembang happily. She bowed to Husam. “See, beloved stranger, we have looked after your speeda well.”
Out in the full light, they understood why she called the machine that. The brand name of the company that had made it, and which must have gone out of business long ago, was emblazoned on it: Speeda.
“We always knew that one day you would come back for it,” said Kembang. “It has been very kind to us, and we are glad you allowed us to use it for so long.” She beamed at them. “But we always knew this speeda must one day return to its own place, so we looked after it for you.”
“That is very good of you,” said Husam, blinking a little. He looked at Dewi. She understood his glance—he was uncomfortable with this deception, even if it had been an involuntary one. Impulsively, she said, “Kembang, there is something we must tell you,” and without stopping to draw breath, she told the headwoman all that had happened, especially what had happened in Old Mountain. Kembang listened intently, not interrupting once. When Dewi had finished, she said, “I see.”
“We did not mean to deceive you,” said Dewi nervously. “It was just that…”
Kembang shook her head. “Do not be concerned.” To their surprise, her eyes were shining. “The Old Ones spoke to you? You saw them?”
Dewi nodded. Kembang clasped her hands. “You do not know how glad you make me. Oh, you might not be our beloved strangers, but you are beloved strangers just the same—just like the one who left us this speeda, before I was even born.” She touched its gleaming metal affectionately and rather wistfully. “This has been good to us, but we understood it had to be returned one day.”
“Kembang,” said Husam gravely, “we make you this promise. This speeda is to be part of a great battle, but when that is over, it will be returned to you.”
Kembang’s eyes lit up, and she stroked the bike again. “Oh, beloved strangers,” she said softly, “you speak of a great battle. Is that against the Lord of Shadows, the evil one?”
“Yes, it is,” said Husam. “It is indeed.”
“Then it is just as it should be, for our prophecies speak of such a battle,” said Kembang decisively. She looked at them, her head on one side. “Beloved strangers, where have you taken Snow, Fire, and Sword? You will need them in the battle against the Lord of Shadows.”
They stared at her. Then Dewi said, faltering a little, “We have Sword…and we know Fire…but Snow…Snow we haven’t found a trace of.”
Kembang nodded. “That is what the prophecy says. Snow is hard to find. And that is because Snow is antithetical to Fire. Only with Snow’s death, melted by Fire, can life-giving Water be born, which will refresh the land. That is the meaning of Snow, do you see? Only by death can life come.”
“How do you know…where did you…”
Kembang smiled. “We are far from the world, but we hear many things. And our spirits are ancient, very ancient, and know things from before the dawn of time. This battle is an important one. We, too, are a part of it somehow. We must not stand aside this time.”
“That is so,” said Husam. “No one can stand aside. This must be why the Old Ones helped us, in the mountain.”
“That is what I thought.” Then she looked worried. “We have survived before by hiding away from the world. We are few, and weak. It is hard to know how we can properly join in this fight without being destroyed.”
Suddenly, an idea came to Dewi. She said, “Kembang—the wicked ones whom we are fighting, they are desecrating Old Mountain. They use the wiles and strength of demons to hollow it of its goodness. They held us prisoner in the cave of the Great Lizard, hoping it would devour us. And they are holding good people in the pit on Old Mountain, chained with heavy iron links.”
“We heard noises there, but we thought it was demons.”
“No, no, they are not demons, but good men and women, who are needed in our fight. Among them is my own father. So…”
“So you want us to go to Old Mountain,” said the headwoman, with an expression in her eyes that Dewi found difficult to fathom. “You want us to go and free the captives?”
“Yes, and bring them back to your village, where they can be safe,” breathed Dewi. “That could be your part of the fight, if you will agree.”
“This is a place where we have not set foot for many, many years,” said Kembang. “Many generations ago, our people were numerous, our ways respected and shared by all. Then the changes came, and we were killed, driven out, our ways smudged, obscured, forgotten. Now there is only this village that remains, safe within the stones. We have not gone back to Old Mountain for a long, long time.”
“Now is the time to go back,” said Dewi.
“Yes,” said Kembang, straightening. “You are right. It is time to go back.” Her shoulders were squared. She said, “Beloved strangers, you honor us.”
“No,” said Dewi, “it is you who honor us. It is your honoring of memory that has meant that the demons cannot use Old Mountain as they wish. And your part in this task is a very great one. I would not know how to thank you, if you did this.”
“Tchah,” said Kembang, coloring and looking away. “There is no need for thanks. We will be glad.” She reached into her clothes and brought out an ignition key, which she handed to Husam. He exchanged a questioning look with Dewi—would the bike actually work, would he be able to drive it?—but as if not at all concerned, he sat astride the bike, while Dewi clambered into the sidecar. He put the key in the ignition and started it. To their surprise, but to Kembang’s beaming pride, it roared into life.
“My father’s sons looked after it well,” she said. “They took it sometimes on trips to town so we could sell our vegetables and eggs. This is how they earned money to feed it. They have not taken it for a long time, but I think it will take you quite far.” She put out a hand and touched each of them, fleeting
ly, on the hand. “Good-bye, beloved strangers,” she said softly. “We hope you will come back to us one day.”
“We plan to,” said Dewi heartily, thinking of her father.
Husam added, “And then we’ll return the speeda, never fear.”
Kembang nodded. “That is well. We will play our part, beloved strangers, for it is right we do.” She stood back and, with the other villagers, watched Dewi and Husam trundle rather unsteadily out of the village on the purring machine.
Husam managed to keep the bike going in a more or less straight line, driving very slowly, till they were out of sight of the village, and then, cautiously, upped the speed. Fortunately, the path, though narrow and set between pillars and boulders, was straight and quite well made. Some distance from the village, the road dipped sharply downward, nearly unseating Husam and Dewi, and the pillars and boulders disappeared, as did the trees and bushes. They were now in open country, barren-looking fields on either side of them.
Neither of them spoke for a little while. Then Dewi said, shouting above the roar of the engine, “I wonder who left this motorbike with them?”
“It’s an old thing,” said Husam, “and Kembang said they acquired it before she was born. Its owner was probably a lost traveler—an intrepid explorer, a madman on a jaunt, who knows? It was ages ago, and he is doubtless long gone from this earth. What matters is that he left his machine there. It served them well; now it serves us. Truly, God is great!”
“Truly,” said Dewi gravely.
“What worries me, little heart, is what Kembang said about Snow. If that is true, then we need Snow only to take him or her to their death. Kembang was very matter-of-fact, but I don’t like the sound of it at all. Sacrificial lambs may be good bait for wolves, but it does not seem honorable to me. How can we fight evil if we know beforehand that one who is to be our companion will die? And how is it that it is Fire that will do it? Poor Kareen Amar—why should she have to be the death of a stranger?”
“She doesn’t have to…” began Dewi, but Husam snorted.
“She is of the Jinn. They are a people strongly devoted to fate, and prophecy.”
“Yet they have free will,” said Dewi steadily. “I remember reading that, in a book my father has. They can choose.”
“Well, yes, but Kembang was quite clear. Fire is to be the death of Snow.”
“The afreet is also made of fire,” snapped Dewi. Husam started. The motorbike juddered.
“Oops—sorry. Why, Dewi, you are quite right.”
“Oh, really, I know no more than you. I wish we’d never heard what Kembang said. But we did, and the knowledge can’t be wished away.” Oh, if only she could speak to her father about it right now! And how slow the bike was! “Can’t you go faster, Husam?” she shouted, but he shook his head.
“It’s going just as fast as it can, I think. It’s old, Dewi, like me, you know!”
TWENTY-FOUR
ADI RACED BACK through the corridors and courtyards to the entrance of the palace. Nobody stopped or challenged him, for it was bedlam. So much was going on—guards hurrying from one end of the palace to the other, the Sultan’s servants rushing to barricade themselves in their quarters or streaming out of the palace toward the city—that nobody noticed him. This activity was not an impressive sight: not the sight and sound of people preparing themselves for battle, but a panic-stricken rush to find safety.
Adi ran, stomach churning, heart sinking. Despite the Sultan’s brave words, it was obvious that nobody was ready for the invasion of the Sorcerer. Nobody knew where to look, what to expect. The Sultan had wasted precious time. At first he had refused to believe there was anything wrong, and even when Empu Wesiagi had begun to convince him, he had kept it quiet. Perhaps he had thought he could deal with it in secret, behind closed doors. Now, he knew he could not. And so did his people. How they had found out so quickly he was not sure, but it was likely that the guards had been listening at the keyhole and spread the alarm. The country had been at peace for so long, and the palace guards had never experienced an insurrection or real trouble. Perhaps they had become soft.
He reached the palace gate and looked out. The square was a heaving mass of people and all kinds of transport—taxis, cars, trucks, buses, bikes, motorbikes, betchars, even horse-drawn carts, all milling around trying to funnel down the streets that led off the square and into the city. He searched the crowd, trying to see the Shayk’s car, which had been parked under one of the trees at the edge of the square. Just then, screams and yells erupted from the crowd as two helicopters flew low above their heads, heading out of the city. There would be even more panic now, Adi thought. He looked wildly around and saw Ibrahim in the car, a little distance away. He had drawn his sword and was waving it out the window, and yelling at people around him, trying to get them to move, to make way so the car could get through. Adi wriggled through the crush of people, making for the fierce figure. But he was jammed in between columns of panicking people, and couldn’t move backward or forward. He yelled, very loudly, “Ibrahim! Ibrahim! No, don’t go! We have to stay here! The Sultan, the palace!”
Someone grabbed his elbow. It was Sadik. “What’s going on, Adi?”
“The battle…the Sorcerer…it’s going to start…the Shayk, he’s gone with the Prince to fetch people, fetch fighters. He said Ibrahim should stay to help us here, in case the Sultan’s attacked before they return.”
Sadik’s eyes widened. “I’ll help too! I’ll stay! I’ll go and get Ibrahim. Wait.” And he was off, elbowing his way through the crowd with remarkable self-possession and swiftness. Adi began to back away, toward the palace gates.
In a very short while, Sadik reappeared with Ibrahim at his side. The big man had moved quickly through the crowd—perhaps a drawn sword cleared people’s minds wonderfully. Despite his earlier yelling, he looked quite calm and collected, his eyes shining with a savage glee. He was looking forward to this battle.
Adi explained rapidly what they had to do. Ibrahim looked faintly disgusted that he was just going to be a guard for the Sultan, but he nodded amicably enough, aware that his beloved master wanted it so. Sadik, however, was almost beside himself with excitement, chattering about how this was the greatest day of his life, that everything he had been taught in the community was coming true, that this was a great day for Jayangan, that evil would be defeated finally and the reign of goodness would come, and that the Shayk would be a national hero and honored fully, as he deserved.
“Wait,” said Adi, rather disagreeably, into this flow of words. “We’re not there yet. Look at the people out there in the city. They’re panic-stricken; they’re not going to fight. And they’ll hamper us just by being there.”
“They’re panicking because they are afraid. And who wouldn’t be?” said Sadik fiercely. “People know about the things that have been happening, and they’ve heard it’s the most evil of all black magicians running those hantumu. They say he has evil spirits under his tutelage too, a whole army of demons!” He paused, and said softly, regretfully, “The Sultan should have done something long ago.”
“Ha,” said Ibrahim bitterly. “The Sultan cares a great deal for his own position and a peaceful life, and not much else. He has hidden from the truth because he is afraid of the reaction of his own people. And he’s afraid of making decisions; he has held things off till it’s nearly too late. It would be different if his son were in power. He understands the truth, and always has.”
Adi stared at him. Such talk was sheer treason. It annoyed Adi deeply that an arrogant foreigner like Ibrahim should judge the Sultan of Jayangan and find him wanting, and all his pride boiled up at the insult. Yet Adi could find nothing to say to the fierce-eyed swordsman. How could he? Ibrahim looked quite capable of literally knocking his block off. Besides—he gazed despairingly around him at the running, shouting, shoving guards—he could not find it in his heart to wholeheartedly defend the Sultan, who had indeed been too slow in reacting to the signs, and too whim
sical at a time of gathering danger.
Ibrahim glared at him. “You people are all the same,” he said. “Bound by your foolish respect for human laws, you don’t even see the nose in front of your face! You’ve forgotten what it means to be a warrior of the Light. You think you can make deals with the demons and they’ll leave you alone. Well, the Shayk has always known that to be wrong. He was exiled for speaking the truth, and now the truth has come back to bite the complacent people of Jayangan!”
Adi’s hand leaped to the kris at his side. He said hotly, “We fought evil in Jayangan long before your people ever deigned to set foot on our soil. How dare you think yourself better than us, just because you are from Al Aksara, as if there had never been any such troubles in your own lands? I have a hunch your master would not like what you are saying, and punish you for it.”
Sadik gasped, but Ibrahim smiled thinly. “You are a fool, Jayangan boy, and you will pay dearly for it when this is finished and my master no longer needs you,” he said coldly. Turning on his heel, he walked away from Sadik and Adi, toward the courtyard that led to the inner palace. Guards rushing toward the various entrances to the palace streamed around him, but his tall figure easily parted the crowds.
“Adi,” said Sadik. “Adi, you shouldn’t have said that. Ibrahim will—”
“I don’t care,” said Adi angrily. “How can you stand there listening to him? You are from Jayangan yourself. Did you like what he said?”
“No…no…but…”
“But nothing! It’s all very well for him to criticize the Sultan and what he should or shouldn’t have done,” hissed Adi. “He didn’t know anything himself, before, and neither did the Shayk,” he went on, sharply, ignoring Sadik’s obvious distress. “We have to be united in this, Sadik, not criticize one another when we are facing a common enemy. The Demon King has always used such dissension to further his own aims. Surely you know that!”
Snow, Fire, Sword Page 18
