I know Alunijo died without me. I know the alliances broke and the hybrids disappeared into the mainland and the Wong Jeru slipped back into the ocean and Father Dagon produced no more gold, and eventually, the tiny ships of Europe came whistling around the Cape and enslaved everything that had been mine. When I see Java floating on that glassy sea, I do worry that I have disappointed my parents — my birth-mother Dyah, that is, and my birth-father Sora. They loved that island so, wanted only greatness for it, and now look. But Truth was waiting for me in the South Pacific and I had to heed that call.
“Homesick” my mother was and I am, too, sometimes. I’m sure the pain gnaws because I haven’t found R’lyeh. The High Priest is not ready. The stars don’t yet align. Every now and then, while I float on still waters and wait for Cthulhu’s call, I go to my old southern shore and walk amongst the ruins. The brick split gate still stands, and although my banyans died, new banyans grew in their place. I haunt whatever kingdom has taken root on my mother’s bones. The Muslim sultans gave me new names; that is probably how you know me. Nyai Roro Kidul. Queen of the South Sea. Spirit-Queen.
When the light is right, I can see in their eyes the awed devotion of my very first legion, but they claim to worship other gods now. Everything is veiled. I know you feel it, too. Only the humming promise of Cthulhu remains, a final signal of Truth emitted from some deep crevasse of the world. Listen.
SPIRIT FORMS OF THE SEA
BY BOGI TAKÁCS
I.
The newcomer strides across our camp. I see people halt for a moment, sensing the power, and turn their heads. He flaunts the strength within him, spreading it across the tops of the yurts, making a cold wind blow.
Hajna is the first to snicker. She smooths her hair back and chuckles, not even noticing she’d just smeared her head with flour. A spectacle is brewing. I step into the shade — I cannot share in the general cheer.
The stranger walks up to the chief’s tent and declares he’s come to fight our táltos. The chief’s guards pass a glance between them and I know they are struggling to hold back a laugh. Declarations like this never fail to amuse.
At least the newcomer has the forthrightness to declare a fight. There are those who sneak around, attack our horses, attempt to weaken our livestock. These days, Réka notices them before we do. Sometimes, we even miss the beginning of a battle and have to come running.
The guards do not even bother to lift the flap and ask for approval from the chief; one of them simply walks away to find Réka. The stranger is beginning to realize something’s wrong. He shifts his weight from one leg to another, looking orphaned without a horse. The cold wind dissipates.
People gather around the space before the chief’s tent, silently, nodding to each other. This is their regular entertainment now, more exciting than the wrestling matches, more frequent than the annual köböre. Everyone thinks our táltos is easily bested because Réka is so young, but the spirits choose whom they choose, whenever they please.
I think that in a few years, people will wise up; word will spread. For now, we watch. I watch, too, though for entirely different reasons than most of the crowd. I hope the shade hides my face.
Réka steps forward from between two tents. She looks dazed and one of her braids is partly undone; the guard must’ve found her asleep.
She frowns at the stranger and her eyes narrow even further in the morning sunlight.
He smiles at her the way he would smile at one of his younger sisters, or even one of his own children. My stomach turns. Then he lets loose his spirit form and it ascends to the sky, a majestic white horse not matching his pedestrian self.
Horse forms are very common, but he seems to be good at guiding his, making the horse gallop around the sky, bringing in storm clouds and distant thunder. It’s almost as if night has returned once again. Réka watches without much emotion.
This one seems to be good at the rules, at least. Parading around his form in the right way, for the right amount of time. Réka nods, just barely, her face grim — most of the other onlookers probably fail to notice this. They aren’t close to her. More importantly, they weren’t there to see what I saw barely a few seasons ago ….
II.
“Oh!” Her eyes grew large. She ran up to me and hugged me fiercely. “Delin! I’m so glad it’s you!”
I felt slightly embarrassed as I hugged her back and shared in her happiness. “Chief Ajtony picked me, is all.”
She pushed herself out to arm’s length and beamed at me, so much like a child. “Dad promised me he’d pick the best! I’m so happy!”
I nodded and liberated myself from her embrace. “Well, then, let’s start packing.” I never liked it when people praised me for my martial prowess, even though I knew that most seasoned warriors struggled to match my feats. Maybe it was just a dislike of praise — I never liked when people complimented me on my thick braids or my raven-black eyes, either.
Réka danced around as she gathered her items. I sat by the entrance of their yurt, barely inside — the place of a stranger. Her father sat in his seat and eyed us dispassionately all the while. He only spoke when Réka finished.
“Delin, I trust you’ll take good care of her.”
I wouldn’t dare to do otherwise, I thought, but remained silent and only bowed my head.
Farkas the elder táltos came up to me just as I parted from Réka, heading out to say goodbye to her mother and her younger brothers. He sneaked up to me. Even with my keen hearing, I hadn’t heard him move — I shuddered when he spoke up right by my left ear. He always enjoyed doing this, showing how far the spirits’ power extended, demonstrating that with their aid, he could hide in plain sight.
“The spirits have called out to her, but something’s still missing. No one’s claimed her as their own and she still doesn’t have a spirit form. She knows, but it’s best you don’t raise the issue with her,” Farkas said.
I nodded. Chief Ajtony had already explained the situation to me.
“My friend at the farthest reaches of the world might know what to do. Don’t forget to tell him I sent you.” He looked around, grinned at me, then added, “And bring back a bag of seashells — you know, for decoration.”
I wasn’t really sure what seashells were, but I trusted him that they weren’t overly heavy.
We rode along the western border region, all the way down south. After a while, we left our tribal settlements and reached the land of the Croats — a decent folk with a language entirely impenetrable to most of us. I belatedly realized that the reason Ajtony chose me was probably not because of my skill at horse archery — though that must have played a part, too — but my knowledge of the language. I used to fight Croats at the borderlands, but the area was peaceful now and we could find lodgings with ease. We even made our way through the rocky mountains without any issues, but the sea only appeared in front of us after the very last turns.
“This isn’t the end of the world,” Réka pouted, looking at the small town from afar. “It’s not even Venice.”
I wanted to slap her. “This is as far as our influence extends.” Hardly much influence, at that. Just a network of friendships. Would our might ever grow so strong as to reach here, invade these lands?” I thought invasions distasteful, but many did not share my opinions. And what was wrong with not being Venice, anyway? Venice was our enemy!
She must’ve been aware of my thoughts the way her kind often are, because she sighed softly and apologized.
We rode into the city and found an inn, took care of our horses. People were talking about the tax the Venetians had recently imposed, the Istrian pirates haranguing fishermen, and the boxes of odd-looking, but sweet-tasting, fruit that traders had brought in from afar and were selling at the market for what was unanimously deemed an exorbitant price.
When we’d passed through Croat country, the land changed ever so slowly, but here by the coast, everything had abruptly become different — new sights, new smells and tastes. E
ven the air felt unusual. We were out of our element here, land-dwellers, horse people. Some of the peasants who had come into town to sell their produce stared at us, marked by our unfamiliar clothing, our Eastern features ... but no one outright glared. The borderlands weren’t close enough for open animosity to surface here and I was relieved I wouldn’t have to use the dagger in my belt.
There was only one problem: I had no idea how to find the táltos Jutos, friend of Farkas. I was sure he’d stand out in any local crowd and yet, no one seemed to have heard of him. I’d inquired after him at the inn, at the market stalls. I even asked a city official. After our second round of tries at the market, Réka pulled me aside and said, “Maybe he doesn’t want to be found.”
“Can that be done?” In a place where you are a stranger, your difference obvious at first sight?
“Sure,” Réka nodded. “It’s one of the more common arts.”
I sighed. “Then we’re lost. Farkas didn’t tell me anything about how to find him.”
Réka frowned, concentration on her still-childlike face. “Maybe ... he only wants the right kind of people to find him?” I was about to interrupt her and ask whom that might be, and whether we qualified, but she lifted one hand. “Psst! I think I can —”
She fell silent and moved around her hand. Was this the method they used for finding lost objects, livestock that had wandered off? Could that method be used to locate a person — not just any person but an experienced táltos who might not want to be found?
Found by the right kind of people ... It suddenly made sense to me.
Réka broke into a fast-paced walk, not a run outright but close. She kept on frowning, her right hand palm up in front of her. We walked past the large well of the marketplace and she stopped for a moment, stared at a fish stand selling octopus — or squid? I wasn’t sure — shook her head, and moved on. We turned this way and that, away from the sea. She came to a sudden halt, closed her eyes, moved her hand around, then set off again, nodding.
She stopped in front of a small, crooked door in a side alley, hesitating. I reached over her shoulder and knocked.
A stout, long-mustached man opened the door right away. “Well met, well met,” he nodded at us without smiling. “Do come in. I’ve been waiting for you.”
It was one of their arts, I understood. When this man said he’d been expecting us, he was telling the truth. He closed the door behind us and switched to Magyar without any prompting. “I’m Jutos son of Bulcsú. And you are ...?”
I got the impression he knew exactly who we were, but I explained it to him, nonetheless. Réka fidgeted on a creaky wooden stool while I paced the room. Jutos was looking increasingly gloomy.
“I have little to offer you,” he finally said. “But there is much crossing these ports from far-off lands and many discoveries to be made. Perhaps the spirits will give a sign.”
Meaning the spirits hadn’t yet given a sign. I nodded, a sour taste in my mouth that felt similar to the salt in the air.
Jutos sent us away with a bundle of food, the flavors of home; he couldn’t bring himself to apologize in words for the lack of advice.
III.
I listened to the rumors, hoping they would be telling. I shared the day’s harvest with Réka as I would a basket of fruit. The pirate ship marooned off the coast. The noble ladies from Venice visiting the town on a frivolous outing. The official making off with a chest full of gold, in broad daylight.
Nothing.
“Everything tastes of olives,” Réka complained.
We were sitting by the seaside, looking at the gently lapping waves tinted orange by the setting sun.
“I like the taste of olives,” I said and shrugged.
She huffed. Her further complaints remained unspoken.
“It’s because they cook with olive oil,” I added after a while. I had complaints of my own. However amicable I tried to be with her, the fact still remained that I was her guardian here, more than twice her age and a warrior of many battles. Her mother instead of her own back home. Our funds were running out and the only thing that had occurred to me as a solution was to rent myself out as a sword for hire. Or, preferably, a bow.
After another long silence, I decided I might as well break the news to her.
She nodded. “I expected as much. I’m sorry.”
She didn’t say, We should return to our land. Oddly enough, at that point, it felt like a good sign — perhaps the spirits were finally compelling her to do something about her predicament. What good was a táltos without a spirit form?
I nodded gravely. I had little idea the spirits were compelling her to do something else altogether.
“I’ll go with you,” she said.
I gasped. “You what?”
“I, I —” She stammered. I’d never before heard her stammer. “I can make myself useful. I can ride a horse. I’m good with bow and arrow. I have táltos blood …”
“And no spirit form,” I mentioned with forced nonchalance.
She was close to tears. “I’m working on it, all right? But I can’t respond to a call if there is none!”
“I can’t take you with me. I’m supposed to guard you!”
She stood, trembling. “That’s exactly why you need to take me with you! You can’t just leave me alone!”
“I can leave you with Jutos.” That wasn’t a real offer; Jutos hadn’t seemed like the kind of man able to take good care of her. Morose, occasionally hostile … Nothing like the friendly coastal Croats.
“You’re not going to do that.”
I also stood. “No, I’m not. And I can hardly leave you with a stranger.”
“I can fight, I can —”
“Have you ever been on a ship?”
Her face told me all I needed to know. I sighed. “Maybe we can find a job on land ...”
Réka whispered to me in Magyar. “But Delin, he thinks we’re all going to die!”
“Very promising,” I whispered back, grinning.
“But Delin!”
“Sshh.”
The man was standing on top of an upturned wine-barrel, giving his recruiting speech. Finally, a warrior’s job on land! I didn’t want to tell Réka that I was made just as uncomfortable by the thought of serving on a ship as she herself had been.
A nearby harbor was haunted by a monster of confusing and contradictory description. It apparently had tentacles, claws, wings — all manner of monsterly paraphernalia. It sounded like an octopus crossed with the dragon of Western lore. Or was that a squid?
The dragon-octopus sounded imaginary, but Réka had said the man was sure we’d be killed. I signed us up, despite her protestations, finally quelling her with: “We don’t need to come back to the gathering tomorrow if you want out.”
Long, thin clouds striped the evening sky. Réka kicked at a rock, played with it. She tried to hide her anxiety, but I’d seen scores of people before a decisive battle and knew better.
“Do you think it’s a real monster?” I asked. “It sounds like something conjured by an enterprising táltos.”
“It’s hard to hold a form that doesn’t exist in nature,” Réka said, not looking up from the rock.
“Maybe that’s why it sounded confusing.” I shrugged. “Or maybe it’s just that I don’t speak the language that well.”
“If the táltos is not bound to the spirit, it’s hard to hold even the shape of a real animal,” she said. “And I don’t think it’s a real animal, from what you’re saying.”
“For all I know about sea animals, it could well be one!”
“Then why was the man so afraid? Surely, they know what lives in their seas,” Réka retorted. I had to acknowledge she was right. She was sharp, quick-witted — she’d make for a great táltos to succeed the elderly Farkas. If only we could ….
I shrugged, banishing the despair. “We’re going to fight it, either way.”
She turned around, peered up at me. “You’re not going to change your mind,
right?”
I shook my head. Combat was what I did best.
“Care for a round of practice shooting before the sun sets?” I asked and began to walk away from the sea without looking back.
IV.
There were about a dozen of us, mostly swordfighters. Réka and I were instructed to stay back. The single remaining eyewitness had told us the monster would rear up when assaulted and that it had many large eyes, clear spots of vulnerability. Of course, the eyewitness had also said it had flimsy wings and that sounded blatantly wrong — what use would a sea animal have for wings?
In any case, I hoped we’d be able to aim our arrows at the eyes, blind the hostile creature to help the swordfighters cut it down. I was relieved we’d be able to stay out of trouble for the most part — what would Chief Ajtony say if I lost his eldest daughter, the future táltos of the settlement?
I resolved to guard her with my own body if need be, but I knew she could hold her own — the previous evening she’d demonstrated to me that she indeed had skill with the bow. I only had to take care she wouldn’t panic at the most inopportune moment.
“I cheated,” she told me out of the blue.
“Eh?” I glanced up — she was sitting across from me in the open carriage.
“The arrows. I made them hit.” She bit her lower lip. “I can’t aim worth a farthing.”
“What do you mean you made them hit?” I was confused.
“With ...” She made a vague gesture. “You know.”
Ah. I understood. “Look, I don’t care if the spirits help you hit the target, or your táltos blood, or your skill at handling the bow. As long as it hits.”
She looked dubious.
“Trust me, I’ve fought many battles. What matters is not how you fought, but whether you won and won with honor.”
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