Snow, Fire, Sword

by Sophie Masson

  There was a gurgle in Sadik’s throat.

  “Don’t try to speak, Sadik.” Adi held one of the young man’s hands. “Don’t speak. You will only become weaker.”

  “Fool,” came Ibrahim’s voice. “Fool, now you will die.” Adi rolled away, but not quite in time. A stinging pain jolted through him as Ibrahim stabbed him hard in the arm. Clutching his arm, he continued rolling away as swiftly as he could. He heard Ibrahim coming after him, not quickly, because he couldn’t see, but relentlessly. Adi felt his way as fast as he could. Where were the stairs? Where was Dewi?

  Dizzy now with loss of blood, he stretched out a hand cautiously. He felt something wet. Water! He must be by the pool. He groped a bit farther, away from the water, trying to find Dewi—and nearly screamed as something brushed his ear and someone whispered, “Quiet. Beware. Do not move, my son.” It was the Sultan’s voice. “Wait until he gets close.”

  They waited. They could hear Ibrahim moving around, somewhere not very far away. Then all of a sudden, Adi’s skin crawled. He could see a small light, faint, like a tiny candle. In that faint light, he could see what looked like a long finger, and on it, a ring set with a glittering white stone. Adi could not speak. The finger gently touched his wound, and he could feel the pain easing, then disappearing. Blood ceased to pump from the gash; his head began to clear.

  A voice said softly but clearly into his mind, “My child, you have been angry with me.”

  “Queen Rorokidul, I am sorry,” began Adi nervously.

  “No, do not excuse yourself. There is no need to. You did as you thought best—and you could not know how helpless I felt, how angry I was that I and my fellow spirits could not help you more, how powerless we felt. You see, Adi, we spirits could not see the Sorcerer’s face because he is not like other Sorcerers, who at least know that they are driven by their own lust for power. This man lied not only to everyone else but even to himself. He said he was in the service of the Light, but he was only in the service of the unholy fire that burned in him. Fire and Sword could fight him, but only Snow could make him show his true face to all. The evil has lifted from Jayangan now because of your bravery, and that of your friends—and the sacrifice of Snow. And so the healing water can flow again in this land.”

  Adi said, his throat choked with emotion, “Will you, my Lady, heal my friend Sadik, who, in his purity of heart, was Snow?”

  Rorokidul’s voice was regretful. “My child, I cannot save him. He is dying; his wound is far greater than yours, for he has been struck in his heart and his mind. I cannot undo what the afreet has done, just as I could not undo what it did to my friend Anda Mangil. I wish it were otherwise, but it cannot be. And so it is accomplished.”

  Before Adi could reply, Ibrahim’s rough voice broke in, very close now. “Talking to demons, are you, boy?” And all at once, in the growing light that was pooling around the risen Queen of the Southern Sea, Adi saw the man’s face: streaked with blood and sweat, viciously twisted with hatred and rage. Ibrahim’s sword flashed—but it never came down, for Rorokidul’s finger shot into the air and he fell with a great gurgling cry, right into the pool behind him. Then Adi heard a sound that he would never forget, a sound that would occasionally wake him up at night, sweating, in years to come. It was a sound as if of a great maw, crunching, grinding, cutting short Ibrahim’s terrified scream, as the water devoured him whole.

  “Thus die the evildoers,” said the Sultan with satisfaction. But Adi had had enough. He stood up and walked away from the pool. And there was Dewi, disheveled and bruised, but unmistakably whole and alive.

  He had no words to say to her—he could not speak, he had such a lump in his throat—but he walked over to her, held her tightly for a heartbeat, then released her. She colored slightly and murmured, “Oh, Adi, I am so glad you are here.”

  “And I you,” he managed to say. “You…you saved my life back there, Dewi, when they were going to throw me into the…” He gulped and looked over his shoulder. The Sultan was still sitting by the pool, looking into it, but Rorokidul was gone.

  “And you saved me,” said Dewi. “The Sorcerer would have killed me if it hadn’t been for you springing up with your kris.” Adi gripped Dewi’s hands without speaking, feeling the warmth of them in his own cold ones. Their eyes met; then they turned away and saw a man coming toward them: a tall, black-garbed old man with the face of a hawk, holding a bloody sword.

  “You must be Adi,” he said quietly. “And I am Husam al-Din.”

  Sword, thought Adi dully, and he acknowledged Husam’s greeting courteously. The four of them were alone now; all the surviving hantumu had fled, and only the dead remained. And Sadik. Sadik, the purest of heart of all, the true Snow, who was dying.

  Adi left Dewi and Husam and returned to his friend’s side, to kneel by him and hold his hand. It would be lonely for poor Sadik, setting off into the night without anyone he loved. No parents, no siblings, no family, no members of his beloved community. And his master gone forever, lost to him, lost to the world, lost to God Himself. Oh, how bitter it must be, to set out like this to the House of Dust, knowing everything you had thought and believed in and loved was a terrible, terrible lie. Tears rolled unchecked down Adi’s face and onto the young man’s skin.

  Sadik’s eyes were closed but he still breathed, very faintly. Dewi and Husam and the Sultan came to sit by him too, sorrow written on all their faces. No one spoke for a moment. Then Adi said, very softly, “She said it was accomplished, as if that should be enough, when he lies dying. She said…”

  He could not continue. Dewi said, “We know, Adi. We know. And it is a bitter, bitter thing to say, that the spirits know some have to die so their sacrifice can save others. But they choose their path, Adi, and freely. The spirits cannot force them into it. Snow is the path of the pure, truthful heart. Those who choose that path know the truth when they see it; they are not afraid of it; and they act for it, even if it costs them their lives.” She paused, and added with tears in her voice, “Sadik, Anda Mangil, and too many others die not because of any foretelling of spirits, but because of those fanatical killers who say they follow the Light, yet who in their blind, cruel arrogance mistake the livid flames of Jehannem for the gentle glow of Heaven.”

  Adi nodded without speaking. Dewi placed her hand on Adi’s, which held Sadik’s; and then Husam quietly placed his hand on hers. Sadik suddenly opened his eyes and said, very distinctly, “I am glad you are with me, my friends.” He looked at Adi. “We are friends of the heart, aren’t we, Adi? I always knew we would be. And such friends never forget each other, no matter where they are.” Adi could not speak, he was crying too hard. “Don’t weep, Adi. I can see such a light coming, such a beautiful country, just beyond the edge of my vision. And there is so much love there, so much peace. Oh, it would delight you to see it! There is just one thing, before I go. Do any of you know the words for the dying, in the Mujisal way? I would like to go to meet God with the right preparation.”

  “Yes, my friend,” said Husam, with much emotion, and Dewi and the Sultan echoed him. Together, the three of them began to murmur the sacred words of farewell, the words before death, that might lead a flying soul on the path to Paradise. As the ancient words washed gently over Sadik, his eyes closed again. There was a smile of mixed joy and melancholy on his face, the smile of someone who saw a new life both wondrous and beautiful opening before him, but who was also taking leave of his old life and friends. The breath left his body as he smiled, and so gentle was his soul’s leave-taking of earth that they did not even know the precise moment when he died.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  “IT IS NOT over yet,” said the Sultan, a while later. He, Husam, and Dewi were conferring in low voices, while Adi sat quietly beside the body of his friend Sadik. “The Shayk still holds my son.”

  “I do not think the Shayk holds anyone anymore,” said Husam. “Not after what happened in this place.”

  “His men will be running for their liv
es now. And I know where your son is likely to have been held, Sire,” said Dewi. “A pit, near Old Mountain.”

  “Old Mountain! That is the other side of the country, around Gunungbatu,” said the Sultan, brightening. “Of course, that is where the Shayk had his wretched community. Once Yanto is safe, I will destroy the whole place!”

  “No,” said Adi, coming up to them at that moment. “I mean, please, no, Your Majesty. Good people live there, as well as bad ones. They should be given a chance to do good work. There is much need in our country, Sire.”

  The Sultan raised an eyebrow. “Well, we’ll see. We’ll clean the place out anyway, get rid of the fanatics. And we’ll hunt down all those hantumu and put them on trial. Now then, I need to get back to the palace at once, send a rescue team to Old Mountain.” He started off up the stairs, then stopped and turned back to face them. “Thank you very dearly, my friends. You have saved us all. I will never forget what you have done. Never. You will be given every honor and every reward you might want to ask for. The Sultan of Jayangan always keeps his word.”

  “Sire,” said Dewi, “there is one thing that must be done: When the rescue team is sent to Old Mountain, please make sure enough food and drink and transport is sent for many men and women, not just one.”

  “Ah, your father, Dewi, and your master, Adi, are there too, are they not? Of course it shall be done. Of course. And when all are well and recovered, we will hold great ceremonies on Old Mountain and in this very atrium, to heal the land, and thank God for our deliverance, and repair all our links to the world of the spirits. And the ones who will conduct those ceremonies will be all those great and wise men and women whom the Shayk sought to destroy. The fool! Perhaps it was because he was a foreigner that he thought my country would fall at his wicked feet.”

  Husam replied, “It is not his foreign blood but his nature, Sire, which matters in the case of Rasheed al-Jabal. Evil calls to evil, wherever in the world it is found, and he found enough free men here happy enough to carry out his tasks, as well as the enslaved afreet. Shayk Rasheed al-Jabal always thought himself so clever, Sire. And he was a master deceiver and a clever trickster indeed. He may well have spun his last deception and played his last trick, but still, he’s not the only one of his kind.”

  Dewi looked quickly at him. There had been an uncertainty in his voice that chilled her momentarily. Surely no one could escape from Iblis? Surely Jehannem was not a place that had an exit? Of course, there were others—others who had heard him, who had become emmeshed in his seductive lies, and who were now at large. Nothing compared to the Shayk, but their power could grow, if they were not found and stopped.

  “Did you know him before?” the Sultan said.

  Husam nodded. “Not long after your father the Sultan employed me, there was talk of this man, who had recently arrived in Jayangan. In my home country of Al Aksara, he had stirred up a great deal of trouble; he was known as a dangerous manipulator and deceiver, though he had always managed to avoid justice. I advised your father of his true nature and that he should get rid of him. Indeed, I thought it best to imprison or execute him, but your father was as kind as yourself and thought it wrong not to give a man a chance. After all, he said, no witnesses had dared to implicate Rasheed al-Jabal, and his crimes had been committed in a far-off country long ago. I said the tiger never changes his stripes, but of course I accepted your father’s ruling, Sire. Besides, al-Jabal was banished, and we were well rid of him for a time. I had not heard he had come back.”

  “Oh,” said the Sultan, looking rather embarassed. “My father never said why the man was banished, and so when my son petitioned me to—”

  “Yes,” said Husam. “Your father, Sire, had wanted to give the man a chance. Fair enough. Most people deserve a chance. But some—well, they don’t. You can’t believe a word they say.”

  The Sultan sighed. “I wish I had known this, Husam. Well! Now it is done. And it is time we should go.” Briskly, he started up the stairs.

  “We cannot leave Sadik here,” said Adi. “We will need to carry him out into the sunlight.”

  “Of course,” said Husam and Dewi, and together, the three of them carried Sadik’s body gently between them, making their way up the stone staircase, their steps heavy and respectful.

  When they got to the top of the stairs, they stepped into a transfigured garden. New flowers and leaves had sprouted on every tree and bush, and from them came the murmur of many voices. Dewi, looking down the path toward the garden wall, saw, in the blink of an eye, forms made of twilight and shadow and patches of sun, faces she recognized: a tall green woman; a lovely old Radenteng lady with an agelessly beautiful face; a silver-haired woman with stormy dark eyes; a yellow-eyed tiger-man with a white turban; and many, many more. But no flame-haired Jinn, no Kareen Amar. The faces were all smiling. She looked at them, then at Adi and Husam, and a mixture of tears and joy came welling up into her throat. She could not know yet if the price so many had paid would not be in vain, if evil had been dealt a decisive blow, and if the forces of dharma, of good, had now fully regained the upper hand. All she knew for sure was that her world had changed, both for good and for ill, and nothing would turn the clock back. She had passed from childhood into knowledge—knowledge of things she had never even imagined before, not in her sweetest dream or worst nightmare. She would have to pass on that knowledge, not just to her family, or even her country, but in all places in the world where it might be needed.

  She looked across at Adi. The young Nashranee’s eyes were heavy lidded with grief. Adi, too, was no longer the same; his whole life had been turned off its course. What it would turn into, what her own life would turn into, she had no real idea, but she knew that fear and hope, sorrow and happiness, lay ahead. And friendship, deep and strong, with Adi and Husam. Only of that could she be sure.

  They were nearly at the gate when into the solemn, golden stillness came a long blast on a car horn, then the thump thump thump of a car radio. And in the gateway appeared a big, beautiful dark-red car, which trundled sedately into the garden and right up to the mourners, while all the plants bent back to let it pass.

  A familiar face was peering anxiously through the driver’s windshield—a red-and-white, blotchy face with red hair a little the worse for wear, scorched and scraped bald in places, but still bright as flame. When Kareen Amar saw them, she beamed, waved, and wound the side window all the way down. The haunting strains of “Beloved” wafted softly through into the evening garden, surrounding Sadik’s body, his friends, and the green beauty around them with the joy and sadness, the passing and the immortality, of love itself.

  GLOSSARY

  adhubilah—a sacred formula in the language of Al Aksara giving protection against evil spirits such as afreets. Usually written above doors.

  afreet—a powerful evil Jinn, usually living in Jehannem under the rule of Iblis. May also be enslaved by human sorcerers and used to accomplish difficult tasks.

  Al Aksara—the Great Desert, far away across the sea, west of Jayangan. The Mujisal religion began in Al Aksara, and its holiest shrine is the House of Light, deep in the desert. It is the spiritual center of Dawtarn el ’Jisal, the Lands of the Mujisal.

  Balian Besakih—the island kingdom to the east of Jayangan. Dominated by the Dharbudsu religion.

  Bapar—an honorific title meaning “Mister” and also “Father” in Jayanganese.

  Baratja—the western province of Jayangan.

  betchar—a vehicle comprising a bicycle attached behind a two-wheeled carriage.

  Bumi Macan—Dewi’s home village.

  Chandi Maya—an ancient complex of Dharbudsu temples not far from Kotabunga. Was once the major temple complex of Jayangan.

  Demityangan—the mysterious mountain forest in the east of Jayangan, home of forest spirits and bird witches.

  Dharbudsu—one of the three main religions of Jayangan. Was once the majority religion, until the advent of the Mujisal faith. Still has many adhere
nts in Jayangan, and is the majority religion in the island kingdom of Balian Besakih. Its sacred writings are contained within the Book of Life. Some countries in the world are still dominated by the Dharbudsu religion; these are known collectively as Dawtarn el ’Budsu, or Lands of Dharbudsu.

  dukun—a traditional village healer/magician/shaman.

  Empu—an honorific title meaning “Master” in Jayanganese.

  Gunungbatu—the rocky, infertile region to the south of Kotabunga.

  hantumu—in modern times, the hantumu are masked, black-clad human assassins, mounted on motorbikes and carrying long swords. In the past, the hantumu were heard of only in stories; they were described as shadowy evil spirits who preyed on lone villagers and stragglers on roads.

  Harimauroh—the tiger-people, spirits who live in the forest near Bumi Macan.

  Iblis—the Demon King, Lord of the evil Jinn. His realm is Jehannem.

  Jatimur—the eastern province of Jayangan.

  Jayangan—the island where this book is set. In Jayanganese, the name of the island means “Dwelling Place of the Gods.”

  Jehannem—the realm of Iblis, Demon King and Lord of the evil Jinn.

  Jinn—one of the Hidden People or spirit people of Al Aksara and many other places in the Dawtarn el’ Jisal. Jinns can be good or bad or in between, male or female in appearance, or even present as animals. They can metamorphose at will and have various magical powers. They were created from fire and are immortal. Some live in tribes and clans, others are lone spirits.

  Kejawen—the central province of Jayangan. Kotabunga, the capital of Jayangan and seat of the Sultan of Jayangan, is there.

  Kotabunga—the “City of Flowers,” the capital city of Jayangan and seat of the Sultan.

  kris—a sword or long dagger with a wiggly-shaped blade. It is not only a weapon but also an important symbol for people in Jayangan.