The Skyfall Era Trilogy: Books 1-3

by Matt Larkin

  Ratna said nothing for a long time. “That’s it? I lost my father and my daughter on the same day. My cousin and husband, too. And you tell me to just move on? Is that how your kind do things, tiger?”

  Malin grabbed her other shoulder. He squeezed until she yelped, then yanked her to her feet as he stood. “My kind? The Macan Gadungan deal with loss the same as everyone else—poorly. But we do face it. Revati is gone. You will never find her again.”

  Perhaps he should have stopped Kala from leaving with the child. Or tried. Either way, Ratna would never know where to follow the man. And Malin could never tell her.

  Ratna’s slap spun Malin’s head half around. He rubbed his jaw. Must have taken every drop of her Potency Blessing to move that fast or hit that hard.

  “I will find my daughter, tiger.” Her voice rumbled like a volcano. “Chandra have mercy on anyone that stands in my way. My father would have understood. If he were here, he’d have made damn certain you found Revati.”

  Malin grabbed her arms. “Rahu’s gone, too, may Rangda feast on his soul.”

  Ratna struggled in his grasp. “He was my father, tiger.”

  It took no effort to force her arms to stillness. Her Blessings were too weak to compete with weretiger strength. “Rahu was a lunatic. You need to face that, too.”

  “You grow too bold.”

  Or not bold enough. Maybe he should have killed Ketu, despite Chandi. Maybe they’d all be better off with the zealot gone.

  “Despite your father, you have Ketu’s good graces. Count your blessings. Send away the witches, Ratna.”

  He allowed her to struggle free from his grasp.

  “How dare you presume to command me, Macan Gadungan?”

  Malin snarled. “There may come a time you regret using that name as a curse. Between now and then, you’ll either grow up, or we’ll reevaluate which of us gives the orders.”

  Ratna stormed over to her door, then held it open with a trembling hand. “Out! Or we’ll see how much of the War King’s graces I have, tiger.”

  Malin glared at the girl as he passed her.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY

  Embers of the festival lingered well after sunrise. Sleep had eluded Malin, so he’d sat on his porch watching the Lunars dance away the night. Once, he might have thought to celebrate the fall of Kasusthali. But Chandi was right. It was too much, and too high a cost. So much destruction, and his people were no better off.

  His house sat high enough in the hills it didn’t need stilts to keep it above flood level. Made it easier to build. The most honest work Malin had ever done.

  When the sunrise stung his eyes, he walked. Beyond the market, in the lowlands, he passed by the Loghouses. Communal homes, high on stilts, because of the marshes. Poor families lived here, though few crowded the narrow, dusty streets this early. Moon Scions only came into these parts when absolutely necessary. Liked to pretend they were above the wretched city filth.

  Outside Bukit, he tromped down into the marshlands the werecrocodiles had claimed as their own. The Buaya Jadian had limited dealings with the Macan Gadungan, at least after their training was complete. They saw him now, he suspected. The spies liked to watch from hiding, holding so still you’d never know they were there.

  Humans feared the mosquitoes in the lowlands for the diseases they carried. Malaria had taken many lives. Had almost taken Chandi when she was five. But the mosquitoes didn’t like the taste of the spirit in Malin, and even if they did, their diseases held little fear for him.

  Malin could send the Buaya Jadian after Tanjung. They wouldn’t normally assassinate a Moon Scion, but Malin could be persuasive. If he waited here long enough they would come.

  So tempting. Tanjung had done enough to deserve it. Malin had tasted her foul work on Calon. Ratna’s mother may have been a witch before she met Tanjung, but the woman twisted her.

  No. The problem was Ratna. She needed protection from herself. From losing herself in her mother’s shadow.

  But she wouldn’t listen. Hadn’t listened to Malin since she was a child. She might have listened to Chandi. They had always been together as girls. Them and Mahesa.

  Malin grunted. The one other person she might listen to.

  He slogged through the marshland, pushing ferns and brush aside on his way to the beach. Malin never knew why House Indu insisted on keeping their palace on the shore, beyond the docks, instead of in the city proper. The palace needed oversized stilts to keep it above flood level.

  A drizzle of rain fell as he walked on the sand. Refreshing, after the muck. Clean.

  The rain muffled scents. Malin didn’t catch this one until he stood beneath the tree. Up, nestled between the crook of two branches, the boy sat. Short hair still wily as ever. Not a boy anymore, Malin supposed. Mahesa would probably be twenty-two now. He’d fought at Astral Shore. No one who survived that was a child anymore. Still dozing away in tree branches, though.

  “Mahesa.”

  The Moon Scion jerked, slipped from the branches. He caught one as he fell, swung down like a monkey.

  “Malin!” He grinned like a sun bear with a fish.

  “Little Mahesa. Still napping in trees to avoid work.”

  Mahesa smiled wider and punched Malin in the arm. “Nobody calls me ‘Little Mahesa’ anymore, Malin.”

  Malin scowled, looked down at his arm where Mahesa had punched him, then looked back at the boy. Mahesa’s eyes widened. “Malin, I didn’t mean …”

  Malin couldn’t stop himself from chuckling at Mahesa’s expression, then more at his sigh of relief. But now wasn’t the time for mirth. “Walk with me.”

  Mahesa yawned and stretched as Malin led him down to the seashore. “You realize I was up late last night? There was a festival, if you didn’t notice. Drums, dancing, girls, dancing girls.”

  “I noticed. Speaking of girls, have you seen Ratna?”

  Mahesa blew out a long breath. “I thought maybe I should wait for her to come and see me.”

  Malin rolled his eyes. That would have nothing to do with Mahesa’s shyness, or the crush he’d had on the girl since they were children. “And did she?”

  “Not yet.”

  “She’s been back a year.”

  “Yeah.”

  Malin pointed at the sea. “You used to like stories of when I was a sailor. Dashing off from one adventure to the next, you’d said.”

  “We all liked your stories. Chandi was big on adventure, too.”

  Malin nodded. “Yes. But not Ratna. Still, she had her fair share of adventure. She’s not well, Mahesa. Do you remember Tanjung?”

  Mahesa shrugged, then sat on the sand. “Not really. She’s the woman who moved away right after … Didn’t she get married, a few years back? I thought I heard that.”

  Married? Malin snorted, then knelt beside Mahesa. Poor bastard that married that witch. “I sent her away after the Battle of Bangdvipa, yes. Do you know why?” The Moon Scion shook his head without looking at Malin. “She encouraged Calon’s witchcraft. Summoned a leyak.”

  Mahesa’s chuckle sounded forced. “Demons? More of your stories, Malin? I’m not a child anymore.”

  He grabbed Mahesa’s shoulder. “It’s not a story. Empu Baradah murdered Calon and Simhika because of that witchcraft.” Malin had avenged them after all these years. And look what chaos that had wrought. “You have no idea of the horrors of Kahyangan. The Spirit World is not for mortals. And Tanjung is dragging Ratna along Calon’s path. If Ratna opens this door, she won’t be able to shut it.”

  Mahesa turned to him, smiled wide, shaking his head. “Not going to put any pressure on me, huh, Malin?”

  Malin’s grip tightened. He leaned in. “I swore I would protect those girls. Chandi’s lost to me, now. I failed her, despite all my efforts. She’s with a Solar. I’m not going to see her cousin dragged down into Rangda’s frozen underworld by her arrogance or ignorance.”

  He’d held Ratna’s mother as she died. Felt her breath leave her. Promised her
to protect those girls.

  Protect and avenge. The purpose of the Macan Gadungan. A purpose Rahu had driven into his soul the moment he bound the tiger spirit to Malin.

  Something popped in Mahesa’s shoulder and the boy yelped. Malin grunted. Hadn’t meant to hurt him.

  After a moment, he pointed up towards the cliffs. Towards Bukit. “The girl you knew is still in there, somewhere. Losing herself. You always wanted to hear about heroes, fantasize about being one? Go play hero. Save the girl.”

  Mahesa grinned again. “Hard to resist a chance like that, isn’t it?”

  Yes. Hard to resist trying.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE

  From the cliff outside Bukit, Ratna could see the harbor. Beyond, in the distance, she could even make out House Indu, Mahesa’s family estate. One day she’d walk that path and see him. She’d hold Revati in her arms, then, and they could all be together—a real family.

  And why shouldn’t she go see him? She was widowed now, after all. And she didn’t miss Kakudmi. She wouldn’t let herself miss her late husband. He wouldn’t have missed her if their places were reversed.

  She used to come here with Chandi and watch the moon. Now she came alone and watched nothing and everything, while she brushed her hair. She could have had slaves do that, of course, but her mother’s brush was the one thing she’d saved from Kasusthali. Calon had died so long ago Ratna couldn’t quite picture her, but when she brushed her hair, she could feel her mother’s hands.

  She saw the sea, but she didn’t watch it. She had seen more than enough of that from her window in Kasusthali. That room had become her prison, trapped her in isolation while surrounded by Solars, until all she could think of was escape.

  And after a year back in Bukit, she’d somehow let it become another prison. But the tiger was right about one thing he’d said last night. If she wanted a different future, she had to see to it herself.

  Malin, her family servant, should have been the first to hunt for Revati. Maybe he had, but now he said her daughter was beyond her reach. Well, her reach was longer than Malin gave her credit for. She was her mother’s daughter, and Calon had the power of Kahyangan behind her.

  This morning, she’d met with another of the sailors she’d sent out. No word.

  The man, an Igni privateer—hard to believe so much had changed that the Ignis had their own ships now—claimed to have gone to every city on Suladvipa asking after Kala, that auburn-haired foreigner who had taken her daughter.

  “Please,” Ratna had said, “I’ll pay anything.” Swarnadvipa was rich in gold and lumber, and the War King’s heir could easily gather a fortune to set this man up for life.

  But the Igni shook his head. “Nothing to find. He never went there.”

  The men she’d sent to Irian said the same. The Spice Islands. Malayadvipa. She’d even sent men to bribe the Solars left in villages on Yawadvipa. None knew where the man had gone. Of the four great islands of the Skyfall Isles—Swarnadvipa, Yawadvipa, Suladvipa, and Puradvipa—only Puradvipa had offered any leads. But those had dried up long ago.

  Ratna rose, then brushed the brambles from her crimson sarong. Pain shot through her chest and her breath came in ragged gasps. She clutched her hands over her heart. It wasn’t a heart attack, this time she knew for sure. She had to relax, had to breathe. She was the War King’s daughter. Now she was even heir to the next War King. Her future was in her own hands.

  Breathe. She’d find Revati, no matter what. A few deep breaths, and the pain faded.

  Head high, she made her way through Bukit, off to the northern outskirts. The city itself sat south of the hills, north of the marshlands.

  Once, as a child, she’d loved the Anuradha Theater in these highlands. The theater sat nestled in a valley between two hills. As children, she and Chandi and Mahesa would climb the hills and watch the dancers practice the Radnai.

  It was beauty and music and hope. It was Silat and dance and acting. Before she understood what being the War King’s daughter meant, Ratna had dreamed of dancing the Radnai. Maybe studying the dance had made Chandi better at Silat. For the rest of them, it was an art. For Chandi, it had become a part of her.

  Though the theater had no walls, its high-sloping roof kept all but the worst of the rainy season’s weather off the players. For a moment, Ratna stood and watched them there. “They were better when we were children,” she told Chandi. Not that Chandi would ever hear her. And now, her cousin would never see this new generation of dancers, either, would she? Ratna sighed. Had Chandi done it all for Naresh? A Solar.

  Beyond Anuradha Theater lay the battered palace of House Nishadipathi. Ratna had once heard a rumor that before Tanjung’s father died, before Rahu and Ketu had come to Bukit, House Nishadipathi had thrown fine dances to celebrate the end of the rainy season. No one came here now, except for Ratna. The servants called Tanjung a witch and said her land was cursed with the spirits of the restless dead. Ratna snorted.

  Much like House Soma had the Hill Palace, House Nishadipathi had a small palace in the hills. What was left of House Nishadipathi, at least, which was now just Tanjung.

  This rundown home must have once been glorious. Now the peaks had broken off the roof and the shutters had fallen from the windows.

  Despite the slight rain, Tanjung knelt in the garden behind the house, pulling weeds. The witch didn’t turn as Ratna approached, but her shoulders tensed. “Come to chase me out of town again?”

  Ratna slipped her hands under the woman’s arms and eased her to her feet, then turned her around. Her mother had befriended this woman, this witch. And if she had the power to find Revati, Ratna needed to gain that power. “I want to know about my mother. I want to know the things she knew.”

  Tanjung smirked, then waved Ratna inside. “Perhaps some tea?”

  Ratna followed the woman, then waited while she made tea. Tanjung used just enough palm sugar. So many Lunars overdid the sugar in their tea. Ratna nodded her approval.

  Tanjung reclined on a mat beside her, sipping her tea without taking her eyes from Ratna. Her strange intensity could captivate and unnerve. Perhaps it was a trick Ratna would have to remember.

  “My mother understood Kahyangan. Could she really question the spirits?”

  Tanjung set her empty teacup on the low table. “Another cup? No?” She leaned back again. “Spirits lack physical form in this reality. But they know things. And you can ask them, if you know their names. We tried, last night.”

  “And did they tell you anything before Malin interrupted us?”

  “No. What we began, it was only a first step. Spirit names are not just names. They’re represented by Glyphs.”

  Ratna watched the witch. Fascinating as this was, it didn’t bring her any closer to Revati. “Why would a being with no body care about writing?”

  Tanjung shrugged. “The mysteries of Kahyangan don’t unfold easily, child. Your mother had a book with many names and Glyphs. Many answers and many secrets. It was taken from us by the Solars. Find it, and I can teach you so much more about your mother than mere words.”

  But a question lingered, caught in Ratna’s throat. The whispers about Tanjung, sometimes even about Calon, they spoke of darker things. “Do you …” Ratna set down her teacup. “Do you really worship the Demon Queen?”

  Tanjung leaned close. “Your mother did. Does it frighten you, child?”

  Not as much as it should, probably. Ratna shook her head. “I want my daughter back.” She rose. “Nothing else matters.”

  Tanjung’s smile stretched her face. It stuck in Ratna’s mind even as she left the witch’s house and made her way back to the Hill Palace.

  And there he was, sitting beneath a tree, stupid grin on his face like nothing had changed. Little Mahesa. Well, maybe he’d put on a bit of muscle since she’d last seen him, but at least the boyish grin remained. And he still wore that gold earring, too.

  Ratna put her hands on her hips, tried to hide her smile.

  �
��Did you miss me?” he said as he rolled to his feet and swept a bow. “I bet you did.”

  Oh yes, she had, but it wouldn’t do to let him know how much. “I suppose we could take a walk.”

  Mahesa tromped over and slipped his hand in hers, like he had as a child. “Lovely idea.” Though two years younger than Ratna and Chandi, Mahesa had liked to tag along with them. He led her back to the cliff.

  The rain had stopped and the sun peeked from behind the clouds. The edge of the rainforest crept onto the cliff. Mahesa dashed over and plucked a sprig of jasmine, then handed it to her.

  “Come on,” he said, pulling her by the hand. He edged his way down the narrow path to the beach.

  Ratna had to clutch Mahesa’s hand tighter and steady herself against him as she almost lost her balance. Rangda damn him and his surefooted gait.

  Mahesa took off as they hit the beach, almost running, yanking her along behind him. Before she knew it, they were running. Ratna ran after him. It was that or be pulled to the ground. She laughed. When was the last time she’d laughed?

  “Stop. Stop, please,” she said, panting.

  He did, and she collapsed to her knees on the sand. Rested on the beach they had walked so many times as children.

  “Why now, Mahesa?” she said after she’d caught her breath. “I’ve been back a year.”

  “Why didn’t you come to see me?”

  She sighed. “I lost my daughter, Mahesa. I lost Revati. Someone took her from me. I have to get her back. I have to.”

  “I heard about it.” He plopped down on the sand beside her. “I’m so sorry.” He ran a hand through his wily hair, seeming unmindful of the mess of grit he left in it.

  Ratna reached up to brush it away, but hesitated. They weren’t children anymore, were they? Well, with that silly grin, maybe he was. She smoothed the sand from his hair.

  “Good thing you’re here to take care of me,” he said, then leaned onto his back. “Naughty boys need someone to keep them in line, huh? My father lets me have my run of the place.”