The Skyfall Era Trilogy: Books 1-3

by Matt Larkin

  “Get to the point, Semar. No more circles.” Damn priest tried to twist his mind. “What do you want?”

  “An interesting question. I could say I want what all men want.” The priest leaned forward, the fire illuminating his face. His blue eyes almost sparkled. “Love and life. A reason to go on. Peace. I’d like those things.”

  Malin snarled. “What do you want from me? What will it take to secure your aid against Ketu’s forces? I’m taking down the Moon Scions. Help me break their hold on the Lunars, and you can name your price.”

  “What a dangerous offer. Name my price. But I’ve no interest in fighting Ketu with you. What makes you think you can offer me anything better than what he does?”

  Malin shifted. Damn stone dug into his haunches. “What would it take to get you to walk away from Ketu? At least don’t support him.”

  “In theory, if you recognize the Ignis as an independent nation, that might be a start. With favorable trade terms. Very favorable.”

  Malin started to rise. “Very well.”

  “Hypothetically, if I agreed, that wouldn’t be all.”

  “What else?” Malin sunk back to the ground, glowering. “You’ve already asked me to grant you boons for not fighting.”

  “In asking the Ignis to walk away from Ketu, you ask them to risk his wrath if you fail. To take that risk, do you not think the potential gain must be high, indeed? Do not go after Naresh. Do not try to kill him.”

  Malin snarled. The priest was mad. If the Guardsman came for Malin, he’d have no choice. And Naresh would want vengeance.

  “What do you care about the Solar?”

  “I have my reasons. And you have my terms.”

  Malin sat there, watching the man’s face. Semar’s crystal blue eyes bored into Malin. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear the tiger spirit in his soul squirmed under that gaze.

  “Done.”

  Malin left the shrine, surprised how unsteady his feet felt. He’d just started a civil war.

  PART TWO

  1196 AP

  (Five Months Later)

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FIVE

  The rains had gone at last, and still Naresh’s wife had not returned to him. Four months, almost five, and little word of the Queen of the South Sea. She’d been in the Spice Islands, some said. But that was months ago.

  Rumor had come of a new king rising in those islands. Perhaps she had met this supposed Spice King. Perhaps she had found no answers there and moved on.

  He’d passed the new year without her, unable to join in the festivities throughout Daha. There was no celebration without her. In Kasusthali, they had danced at the Harvest Festival. Shadows and firelight had played over her lithe body, entrancing him more than he’d realized at the time. The celebration here, vibrant though it was, seemed pale in comparison. In the early morning, the first morning of the new year, he’d seen a pair of kingfishers walking the streets, searching for scraps left by the revelry. Chandi would have loved them, and for one moment, he’d thought to call out to her, had forgotten.

  Malin’s civil war against the Lunars had brought reprieve to Suladvipa, for the moment, at least. Too bad the same couldn’t be said for the rest of the Skyfall Isles. Ketu, perhaps lunatic, had even thrown a cyclone at Malin’s forces on Puradvipa. What desperation must have prompted the Moon Scion to assault an island that housed as many of his own people, Naresh couldn’t guess. Word said that all the werebeasts had risen against their masters and abandoned Bukit. Sailors claimed fires had burned all night in the Lunar capital. Even still, it was madness for Ketu to turn a cyclone on his own people.

  Now, in the midday heat, Naresh stood outside the gates of the Iron Palace, staring at a steward sweating even more profusely than he was. “I’m sorry, Pak Naresh. The king is in meetings with his nephew.”

  Naresh folded his arms. “Yes. I’m just as eager to see Pak Lang.” Three times he’d demanded the man return from Pottala with reports about the meetings. Once, he’d even gone himself, but the Ignis had rebuffed him, claimed it was a religious rite and he’d have to come again later.

  “I’m Second of the Arun Guard,” Naresh said. “He can’t make time for me? What remains of the Solar Empire, of all the Isles, is crumbling around us. Does King Kertajaya think that worth his time?”

  “I’m certain the king knows best.”

  Naresh clenched his fists and took a step toward the steward. The man blanched and backed into the iron gate. Guards bristled, their hands drifting toward keris swords.

  Naresh kept his gaze on the steward. “Did he order you not to let me inside?” Every attempt he’d made to aid Kertajaya, to keep the man from destroying what remained of the Empire, met with this blind arrogance.

  The man pressed himself further back into the gate. “Not specifically, you—”

  “Good.” Naresh Sun Strode past the gate and appeared in front of the palace’s double doors.

  Another pair of guards at the entrance jerked at his sudden appearance, then waved their arbirs at him. Naresh glanced at the polearms, then up at the guards.

  “I am Arun Guard. Open the doors.”

  The pair looked at each other, back at Naresh, and then each other again. One moved to open his door, then the other followed. Good. Wouldn’t want to hurt them.

  Inside, servants stood in long rows, applying fresh paint to the entry hall. Auburn, with gold trim. Because Kertajaya had to remind everyone he was in charge on Suladvipa. At least, until Malin or Ketu or Semar decided to take the island.

  Even the Fourth War, bloody as it was, had been better than this chaos.

  Other guards stared at him, some looking bemused, some relieved, to see him wandering the palace alone. He could almost hide the damn limp now. Probably as good as it would ever get.

  The king had only deigned to receive him twice before in the time since Chandi had left, but Naresh remembered the way to the throne room. He threw open the doors and stepped into the great hall.

  A high, arched ceiling with massive open windows let in plenty of light. Purple velvet carpet ran from the entryway to the throne. Everyone stopped when he entered, even the servant fanning the king with a palm leaf.

  The king sat on an Igni-carved throne, hands folded in his lap. No doubt trying to figure out a way to use Naresh for his own ends. As he had probably done to everyone that stood in this spot, Landi included.

  Ken Arok should have killed the man. Kertajaya, a cousin of the imperial family, had used the advent of the Fourth War to make a claim for the throne. But occupied with Rahu, Ken Arok had found it easier to place his defeated cousin on the throne of Suladvipa than risk a protracted civil war. Of course, even when peace came, Kakudmi had done nothing.

  Now, the king glared at the servant until he resumed fanning. Lang left the king’s side to meet Naresh halfway to the throne.

  “Welcome back from Pottala, Pak Lang.” Naresh glanced at him, then looked past him at the king.

  Kertajaya watched him, not moving, except for his eyes. An old man now, but still his eyes were alert, fierce even.

  Lang pointed a finger at Naresh’s chest. “Not even you can just barge in here, Pak Naresh. My uncle and I are discussing the future of our island.”

  Naresh continued to look at the king, addressing him. Probably infuriating Lang. “And you don’t think the Arun Guard should be at such a meeting?”

  “Indeed. As bodyguards.” Kertajaya rubbed his face. “Being the son of the Radiant Queen may impress the common people, Pak Naresh. But you’ll have to do something more to earn my trust. Thus far all you’ve done for my kingdom is help refugees from Cenrana into Daha, and train them in Silat. We appreciate the service—” Naresh doubted it, “—but that hardly justifies taking you into my council.”

  No more than Naresh wanted to take council from the traitor. “Now is our one chance to unite our people. While the Lunars wage their civil war, they are weak. Strike at Ketu and destroy him. Join with Semar if you can.” As N
aresh had tried to tell him before.

  “We already have,” Lang said.

  Now Naresh looked at the failed potential. Looked him up and down. Arrogant as ever. Strange, his feet looked scarred over. “Why wasn’t I informed if you’ve made headway with Semar? For that matter, why didn’t you respond to any of the inquiries I sent you?”

  “Because you are a servant,” Kertajaya said. “My nephew, my heir, has done as I have commanded. You’re being informed now. The Ignis, the Firewalkers, have come to realize the lessons of history. In another age, three dynasties were one. Before the Lunars murdered our high priestess, we had the Pact. And once, long before that murder, all three dynasties were united under one great king. A Just King. The Ratu Adil. Now, from the ashes of these wars, the Ratu Adil must rise again, to lead all dynasties into the future. Bow before your new high king, Guardsman. Reaffirm your oath.”

  This was a joke. The Ratu Adil? Kertajaya? The man who had tried to overthrow his own cousin. Ken Arok had been one of the greatest emperors in Solar history, and this man had betrayed him for personal power.

  It shouldn’t surprise him. Naresh clenched his fists. It didn’t surprise him. He caught himself drifting toward the throne.

  “The Firewalkers have joined us. Swear the Arun Guard to my service, Pak Naresh.” The king slapped the arm of his throne. “Swear it for all time, and we will force the Lunars to join us. We will sweep away the corruption of Ketu and Malin, and usher in a new age of peace for all.”

  “You think you can restore the Solar Empire?”

  “Not the Solar Empire. The Skyfall Empire.”

  Beautiful, if it was possible. And if it wasn’t under a man who had betrayed his own family. But to call such a man the Just King, the Ratu Adil, was to build an empire on a foundation of lies.

  Lang put his hand on Naresh’s shoulder and pushed, guiding him toward his knees.

  But then, wasn’t it his duty, either way? Naresh had sworn the oath of the Arun Guard. He was the servant of the emperor. But the emperor was dead. If his cousin claimed that throne, was that not his right? Kertajaya probably was next in line now, with Kakudmi dead and Revati gone.

  And so Naresh would bow before him. More than twenty years delayed, but Kertajaya would have the throne he’d tried to steal from Ken Arok. And they could avoid the chaos, end it. Save these people.

  He looked at Lang. The man nodded at him, eased him down. Together, with Semar, they really could destroy Ketu and bring Malin to heel.

  But the price was too high.

  Naresh shoved Lang away and stood to his full height. “The Arun Guard are not yours to claim.”

  Kertajaya sighed and looked down on Naresh like he wanted to step on him. Naresh wouldn’t have minded crushing the king beneath his sandal, either. The king motioned toward his guards. A pair at the entrance to the throne room moved in on Naresh. Lang got there first.

  He swung. Naresh blocked, then struck back. Lang knocked his punch aside. And then the dance started. Hands and grabs and kicks, each blocked the others’ blows.

  Back and forth. Every time Naresh got a grip on Lang, the man escaped. The Suladvipan had been practicing.

  The guards with the arbirs closed in. More were rushing in through the halls, Naresh could hear it. Naresh swept Lang’s feet from beneath him. Then he Strode to the open window above the great hall.

  From fifteen feet below, Lang cursed him.

  Naresh Strode to the ground behind the palace wall. He ran, then, as best he could. Rangda take this leg. He forced himself to keep moving. He could walk and balance without much pain, but an outright run always evoked a gasp from him.

  No choice, really. He Strode into the Cenrana District as soon as it came into sight. The last half-year had turned it into a true district, if a poor one.

  Two dozen of the refugees stood in the district heart, working through the Silat forms he’d taught them. Months of practice had created a people of strong minds and bodies. A people who would no longer be easy prey to Lunars or Firewalkers.

  As soon as someone spotted him, a shout went up, and all the people turned and bowed to him. Not again.

  And Kertajaya knew he’d been training them. Well, maybe it would keep them safe.

  As if one madman trying to conquer all the Skyfall Isles wasn’t enough. Ketu wielded the Astral Temple. Malin ran about slaughtering anyone in his way. And now Kertajaya had declared himself the rightful king of three dynasties. Naresh’s head hurt.

  He Strode again, to the porch of his house. He tried not to spend much time here. It no longer smelled of Chandi, but her touch was everywhere. He stumbled into the house and grabbed his keris. Kertajaya’s men would be on him in moments. And he’d never see their home again. He paused at the doorway.

  One more thing he couldn’t leave without. Naresh dropped to the floor and hurled the tea table aside, then flung open the footlocker beside it. Blankets and books and bottles. It was here. He tossed each item until he found his sketchpad. It was still open to the last one.

  He’d tried to draw her from memory. Some detail was never quite right. Never would he have thought he’d have trouble picturing her face. He was trying too hard, of course. Memory, like a dream, slipped away if he tried to hold it too tightly.

  Pad tucked under his arm, he hurried from the house. There, in the distance, Kertajaya’s men ran toward Cenrana District.

  Naresh pulled back his baju to check the sunburst tattoo on his shoulder. Not much sunlight left. He Strode down to the pier and climbed onto his jukung.

  Kertajaya’s men might chase him. If they did, they probably didn’t really want to catch him.

  He shoved the outrigger away from the dock and away from Daha. If he fled, Chandi couldn’t find him. It could be months more until they were together again. But he had no choice left now.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SIX

  The maze of waterways cutting across Suladvipa meant Naresh could sail his jukung to Pottala without returning to Daha. A fool’s mission, probably, but he had to try.

  Alliance with Semar was his last chance, and Lang had failed him. Or betrayed him, rather.

  He slapped another mosquito. Crocodiles left him alone as long as he gave them a wide berth. The mosquitoes were relentless, though.

  One hand on the tiller, he glanced again at his sketchpad. His every attempt to capture Chandi had been close, but off. He forced himself to focus only on her crooked smile. The way her hair fell about her face, just above her shoulders. Her sweet face that made her look even younger than her twenty-four years. Or it would be twenty-five now, wouldn’t it?

  Damn it. Naresh shut the pad.

  He needed focus now.

  Maybe Semar would listen to him. In Kasusthali, he’d thought they had a connection. The priest spoke wisdom, and Naresh had welcomed it.

  Chandi had felt that way, too. Maybe Semar had used her to destroy Kasusthali. But maybe it was more complicated than that. Perhaps the situation had grown out of his control, as much as it had hers. Perhaps the priest had never wanted so many people to die.

  Something slithered past his boat in the water. Naresh watched the ripples. Actually, the mosquitoes probably were the most dangerous thing to him in these wetlands. He slapped another one, then wiped the bloody mess on his sarong.

  Damn, he missed Kasusthali. Maybe he even missed Cenrana.

  For a long time, he sailed toward Pottala. Save for a few fish caught in the river, he hadn’t eaten much the last two days, as his complaining stomach reminded him. Constantly. Having to avoid Daha made this trip a lot longer than he remembered.

  Armed townsfolk greeted him when he neared Pottala, but they didn’t attack. Good sign. Naresh tied the jukung to the dock and jumped off. The townsfolk followed him as he headed into town, but hung back at least ten feet.

  And there, in the center of town, outside the Shrine of Sacred Flame, stood Lang.

  “We thought you might come here,” the man said. He reached toward the braz
ier burning in front of the Shrine. Flames leapt from it and surrounded his arms.

  Lang was a swirling inferno. He laughed, his voice muffled by the flames. “You can’t stand against what I’ve become, Naresh. Not even the mighty Arun Guard can match an experienced Firewalker. I have become the new god of war, emissary of the Ratu Adil.”

  Naresh drew his keris, but he couldn’t get close to the man. If he Strode in, the flames would engulf him before he could strike.

  What in Surya’s name had possessed Semar to give Lang the power of the Firewalkers? But it did tell Naresh something. The power was not something inherent to the Ignis. Like the Sun Brand, or even the Moon Scion’s Amrita, it was something granted to them. Probably derived from the Astral Temple.

  “Come and face me, if you wish, war god,” Naresh said. “Leave the flames and show me your swordplay.”

  Lang snorted. “You were all too quick to use the Sun Brand on me when you had power and I did not. Now, when the scales have shifted, you want to forgo our powers?”

  “Enough.” Semar’s voice wasn’t loud, but it carried across the entire square. The man stood in the shadows of the Shrine’s doorway. Others crowded behind him, but Naresh couldn’t make out their faces. “You have both come here seeking me. Which makes both of you my guests. It would be a poor host who allowed his guests to slaughter one another on his doorstep.”

  Lang grimaced, glanced at Semar, and let the flames dwindle from his hands. Well, then, Lang could wait. Naresh sheathed his keris.

  A big man stepped from the shadows behind Semar. Naresh had never seen Lembu Ampal so haggard. If the Ignis had mistreated him, they’d answer for it.

  “Pak Lang?” Naresh said.

  “Pak Lembu Ampal was fighting here when Kasusthali fell. The Ignis captured him when he used up his Sun Brand. They’ve held him almost a year in the darkness.”