The Skyfall Era Trilogy: Books 1-3

by Matt Larkin

  At last their elephant trod up the path through the gate. The rains had abated, at least partially, though great puddles still filled cracks and depressions in the stone floor of the complex. Much like the Astral Temple, the countless small temples here seemed arranged in a mandala, forming concentric circles. The temples varied in size and shape, but all were decorated with the faces of gods and spirits, carved right into the stone. Some had visages so terrible they might have been demons. Other statues were twenty-foot-tall guardians, kneeling before a temple in ceaseless vigil.

  The temples rose in tiers, with the peaks of some reaching thirty or forty feet in the air. Chandi turned about, almost losing her footing at the endless ranks of spires reaching into the misty sky. Mountains. The temples were modeled after mountains, rising like that. And what was at their heart?

  She continued to the center of the mandala. In the middle of the path, a statue rested. A woman whose features were long ago worn away by wind and rain, but who had clearly once been sleek and beautiful. Jonggrang herself? Turned to stone by her prince’s anger, or merely a replica of the famous princess? The statue wore only a slight skirt, and no top, although countless hanging necklaces covered her breasts. No features remained on the face, but the crest looked like it had been a crown.

  Chandi continued past the statue, but glanced back at it once more over her shoulder. A love scorned for pride had cost the woman everything. She shook her head, trying not to shudder.

  One temple nearby bore the crescent face of Chandra. She hurried toward it, skirting around a small crowd at the center of the complex. Twenty or so steps led up to the entrance to the temple. Chandi fought the urge to draw her Blessings as she trod up them. Patience.

  Inside was dark, lit only by streams of sunlight that broke through holes in the roof. She knelt in front of the altar, knees folded beneath her. Was Chandra in this place? Could he hear her?

  “I’m … failing.”

  No one answered.

  “I hurt him again … and I still can’t let go of … Why? Why would you give us this burden? This wondrous power and this terrible insatiable need for it?”

  Chandi shut her eyes and tried to control her breathing. It had become so ragged, like she was in a battle. Control. She just needed control.

  “Please help me,” she whispered. “I need him back …”

  And to do that, she had to find a way to leave the Amrita behind. Would she have to leave her Blessings behind, too? Perhaps that was the true test—to be granted the power of a god and told not to use it. For a long time she sat, trying to clear her mind.

  Was it easier here to find the stillness? Maybe. She pictured the full moon before her, so close she could touch it. Other images slipped into her mind, other thoughts. But she drove them out. Just the perfect, glowing roundness. Her heart slowed, but she almost didn’t notice.

  She couldn’t say how much time she spent inside the temple, but when she left, the sun had peeked through the clouds. For a time, she just walked the complex. Though many pilgrims were here, the place still seemed quiet.

  At last she found herself back at the heart of the complex. At the center of the concentric circles of temples someone had carved actual circles into the ground, great deep carvings, though a massive crack split those circles down the middle. Chandi knelt at the very center. Inside the inner ring were the same carvings she’d seen in the depths of the Astral Temple. Nine circles, each bearing a strange Glyph in the center.

  The Nine Spheres of Creation, Nyai Loro Kidul had called them. What did it mean? Had the builders of the Astral Temple built this place, as well?

  “Rumor says she’s already moved on Bukit,” someone was saying.

  Chandi glanced at a cluster of four pilgrims now sitting near the statue of Jonggrang.

  “At this rate, all of Swarnadvipa will be hers in a month.”

  “No—the Lunars have a lot of people spread out in the mountains. She could conquer the cities, but there’ll be resistance for a long, long time.”

  She rose and drifted over to the pilgrims.

  “And you think she’ll stop with Swarnadvipa? I heard she already rules half the rest of the South Sea with her foul black magic. We could be next.”

  “The Ratu Adil would stop her before that.”

  “Who are you talking about?” Chandi asked.

  The other pilgrims took her in, then one nodded at her. “The Witch-Queen of Malayadvipa. She’s assaulted Swarnadvipa. From the sound of it, she’s almost broken the island already.”

  Chandi bit her lip as she wandered away from the pilgrims. The Witch-Queen? Wasn’t she just a rumor, a legend? But then, Chandi had seen Rangda herself. And now a foreign power assaulted her homeland. Only it wasn’t her home any longer. She’d turned her back on her people for Naresh. Hadn’t she?

  She slumped against a temple, fighting down a shiver.

  She’d grown up in the mountains of Swarnadvipa. The beautiful, pristine wilds there had given rise to her countless adventures with Ratna and Mahesa. They were both dead now. Her father was dead. Maybe even Malin. And who was left to defend her people against such an invader? Rangguwani? But he’d made his home in Daha.

  And Chandi … She was the daughter of the late War King. Naresh might say she had a responsibility, a duty to her people, no matter what had happened. And Naresh might be the only one who could help her with this. He would help her, wouldn’t he? He was her husband. He had to help …

  But she had wronged him. Again. How could she face his anger? Worse, how could she let herself draw near the Amrita he carried? Taking that away from her might have been the best thing he could have done for her. Maybe, if she could admit that, she was already making progress.

  It was a pretty thought, at least.

  The boy who had brought her here lounged in the shade of a temple, but he sat up and stretched as she drew near. “Going already, my lady?”

  Yes. She was going.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SIXTY-FOUR

  It was by Chandra’s luck that Chandi was still in Daha. Of course, Pohaci could have found the girl anyway. She liked to think of herself as a damn good spy, so, sooner or later, she could find anyone in the Isles. But since Chandi had been kind enough to return to her old house in Daha, she’d saved Pohaci the trouble.

  Pohaci leaned against a stilt, out of the rain, watching the house. Being a spy meant she noticed things others overlooked. Like how most nervous people fidgeted, fixing their hair or clothes or doing things with their hands. Pohaci did none of those things as she took in Daha’s Cenrana District. Of course, she had no reason to be nervous, not really.

  Chandi was a Moon Scion of House Soma, which meant she might have some answers about why Rahu had wanted Pohaci, all those years ago. The War King had singled her out, added her to his personal retinue of spies, and then lent her out to another House. And Rahu never did anything without a reason, at least not before he went completely lunatic. In Malin now, he didn’t seem lunatic. He seemed alien, like a force slithering through the darkness, waiting to strike. It probably made sense. Time in Kahyangan would have to change a soul.

  And that soul was in Malin. It could be destroying him, like a poison within, for all she knew. It was taking him from her and she was going to be left alone again. Perhaps, in enough time, the spirit would merge with the body, just as the crocodile in her had. And then Malin, the person he had been, would be lost to her forever.

  And she was not going to let that happen.

  She wasn’t going to learn anything just standing here. She pushed off the stilt and made her way toward the house, taking the steps slowly. Inside, it sounded like the girl was tossing the place. But it had to be her—from this close, Pohaci could smell her.

  She peeked her head in the doorway. Chandi was holding a sketch on a single sheet, a picture of an old twisted tree. And she was crying, albeit without sound.

  “I need your help.”

  Chandi jerked, leaping to her feet
and grabbing a toyak. “You,” she said when she focused on Pohaci. “What are you doing here?”

  “One might think that question had already been answered …”

  Chandi pushed Pohaci out the doorway with one hand on her shoulder. “Get out of my house, crocodile.”

  Pohaci grabbed her wrist. A mistake, of course. Chandi reversed her grip and spun her around, bending her arm behind her back and shoving her against the doorframe.

  A shot of pain ran up her arm and into her neck. Chandi was so damn strong. There was no way Pohaci could compete with Chandi’s speed and strength, or, if she was honest with herself, even the other woman’s skill at Silat. Fortunately, she hadn’t come here to fight.

  “If I’ve done something to deserve such treatment,” she said, “it escapes me at the moment.”

  “Really.” Chandi pulled a little harder on her wrist, and Pohaci had to fight the instinct to cry out in pain. “I seem to recall you pouring the Amrita down my unwilling throat.”

  “You mean saving your life?”

  Chandi shoved her away, and Pohaci almost fell, only catching her balance on the rail around the balcony.

  “I didn’t ask for that!” Chandi advanced on her, fingers curled like claws.

  “Your husband did. And you’re still welcome.” Pohaci rose from the rail and walked back to stand right in front of Chandi, putting her face inches from the other woman’s. “You’d rather be dead? And leave Naresh alone?”

  Chandi spread her arms, taking in the house. “Do you see him here now?” Her voice had risen, almost to hysterics. Maybe she’d gone lunatic. If so, it would make getting anything useful from her much more difficult.

  “You still have the chance to go to him, though, don’t you? Someone took away my chance. They took him from me!” And Chandi was going to help with that, whether she wanted to or not.

  “You found Malin?” Chandi bit her lip, at last relaxing the visible tension in her muscles.

  “I found him. Rahu has him.”

  Chandi shook her head. “We killed him.”

  “His spirit is in Malin now.” A ghost that threatened to consume her whole world and turn it to ash. But not if she ripped Rahu to pieces first.

  “Cinders and chamber pots!” Chandi ran her fingers through her hair. “Please tell me this is a joke?”

  Oh, how she wished she could. Chandi glared at her a moment, before throwing her hands up. She sunk down and leaned against the house. “Malin is …?”

  “He’s still in there!” Pohaci knelt beside her. “And I need your help. Now.”

  Chandi shook her head. “I have to find Naresh … I have to …” She leaned her face into her palms.

  Damn it. So the Moon Scion had lost her beloved, too? Then how was she going to convince her to help?

  A throbbing began to build at her temples. They’d both been left alone … But she wasn’t going to wallow and moan like Chandi. “Rahu said something … Do you know why he wanted me for your House?”

  Chandi started, looking up from her hands. “You belonged to House Soma? I never even met you before Malayadvipa.”

  Buaya Jadian were not like the Macan Gadungan. They had served certain Houses, but they’d never been taken in, always kept at a distance. Pohaci had seen Chandi a few times in passing, but it wasn’t surprising the girl didn’t know her.

  “Malayadvipa …” Chandi said. “Their Witch-Queen is assaulting our home.”

  “Our home?”

  “You’re still a Lunar.”

  Moon Scions. They’d claim the Jadian were less than them, until they needed something. And then … then the Jadian were true Lunars. “It’s not my problem.” Of course, last she’d seen Rahu, he’d been with Tanjung. Maybe they were still together. “But I … I need to take Malin back. You understand. I need him.”

  “Yeah,” Chandi said, standing. “That I understand.” She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered, though Pohaci didn’t think it was cold out.

  “There’s something more … You told us you killed Rangda.”

  “Landorundun did, yes.”

  Pohaci shook her head, slowly, her eyes locked on Chandi’s face.

  Chandi’s mouth fell open. “Then,” she said after a moment, “Ratna?”

  “I don’t know … Rangda was in her body, but the body seemed … broken.”

  Chandi’s legs gave out beneath her, but Pohaci caught her arms and pulled the other woman back to her feet.

  “How could this happen?” Chandi asked. “Didn’t we accomplish anything?”

  Pohaci didn’t release her grip on the girl. She seemed to be all that held her up. “I don’t know. Come to Swarnadvipa with me. Help me find out what Rahu had planned for me back then … I have to know, and you’re a Moon Scion, you’re House Soma. You can find the answers.”

  Chandi pushed away, then, steadied herself. “If I do, you have to help me stop the Witch-Queen, save our people. Our people, Pohaci. You were born a Lunar.”

  Pohaci bowed, slightly. She had no problem killing Tanjung, if she could. It was a big if, of course, considering the woman’s apparent power. But destroying her could be the first step in getting Malin back.

  “I need to find Naresh first,” Chandi said. “We’ll need his help.”

  Pohaci shrugged. She’d certainly not turn away aid from the Arun Guard if it was offered. But then, why wasn’t the man with his wife now?

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SIXTY-FIVE

  The Tianxians had not objected to Kertajaya and his men going ashore, as long as they didn’t try to climb the cliffs to the Astral Temple. Naresh hadn’t fought at Astral Shore, of course, but the idea of making camp here still unnerved him. Once, he’d have put little stock in the stories of restless ghosts trapped on the beach after the slaughter that had ended the Fourth War. Now, it was hard to dispute the reality of ghosts, having had to fight one in the body of that poor boy, Mahesa.

  Still, it was nice to stay on dry ground a while. He loved the sea, but too long aboard a ship, and everything seemed to keep swaying, even on land. It took a while to get your bearings back.

  Kertajaya had erected a large tent as his command post. Admiral Tua Pek Kong sat there now, looking over the treaty before him. In it, Kertajaya had kingship over all the Skyfall Isles as the Ratu Adil, but still subject to the authority of the Tianxian emperor. The emperor could garrison the Astral Temple as he saw fit, but would allow his ships to aid Kertajaya against the “rebels.”

  “The Son of Heaven must review this himself,” Tua Pek Kong said. “I suspect he will sign these papers. Messengers need time to reach the emperor, though. Before that, I cannot help you.”

  “Thank you, Admiral,” Kertajaya said. The king had referred to the Tianxian as Pak Tua Pek Kong only a few times before apparently deciding it was too tedious. Now, he just called him Admiral.

  Naresh rose with the Tianxian and walked him out of the tent. The man’s own soldiers waited nearby, an elite bodyguard of six men. As near as Naresh could tell, none of them understood the Skyfall tongue.

  “We truly wish peace,” Naresh said.

  Tua Pek Kong turned to him. “Your king wishes peace with Tianxia. Very wise. But not just peace—he wishes war with other Skyfallers. This is not peace.”

  All too true. Naresh bowed, and the admiral returned the gesture.

  He watched the foreigners leave, returning to their own camp further up the beach. If they had any fear of Astral Shore, they didn’t show it.

  Naresh turned to watch the sea. Clean and clear as sapphires, without any memory of war. He walked down to the edge of the water and let the tide wash over his sandals, then shut his eyes and felt its rhythm around him. It was balance. Like breathing. Like Kebatinan.

  Out there, in the clear waters, he could see a pair of dugongs. To see a pair away from their herd was odd, but at least they had each other. Naresh had lost even Chandi. Lunacy had taken her, and try as he might to avoid it, he’d begun to doubt she’d ever be the s
ame.

  Someone running down the beach disrupted his trance. A messenger, based on the missive in his hand, running toward Kertajaya’s command tent. Whatever it was, Naresh needed to hear it too. He could Sun Stride back, but if trouble came, it was better he saved every last bit of sunlight. Instead, he ran toward the tent himself. He still couldn’t run as he once had, not with the leg Malin had savaged, but he could manage a decent gait.

  “What is it?” he asked as soon as he reached the tent.

  “Rumors. Nonsense,” Lang said.

  But Kertajaya stared at the missive, reading it and rereading it. At last he looked up. “Leyaks have been spotted attacking people on Yawadvipa.”

  “Leyaks?” Naresh said. “As in demons? You’re not serious.” For once, he agreed with Lang. Such things didn’t exist, or if they did, they didn’t come out of Kahyangan.

  Like Rangda. Naresh shut his eyes. Oh, Surya. If Chandi was right and Rangda had escaped the underworld last year … maybe she hadn’t come alone. “Are you certain of this?”

  “No,” Lang said.

  “These aren’t just reports from one or two small villages,” Kertajaya said. “The messenger says there have been dozens of attacks. Hundreds of people are dead—maybe more we’re not even aware of.”

  Surya’s glare! If this was true, his homeland had never faced such horrors before. “Then we have to go and stop this.”

  Lang scoffed and threw up his hands. “Not you, too.”

  Kertajaya sank back into the makeshift throne he’d brought from his ship. “We can’t afford to throw away lives on Yawadvipa, whatever is going on. But our resources are limited, especially until the Tianxians sign the treaty.”

  Naresh advanced on the king. “You cannot ignore this, Pak Kertajaya. You can’t leave our people to the mercy of leyaks!”

  “If Rangda’s servants are there, what would you have me do, Pak Naresh?”

  “Fight like the Ratu Adil you claim to be! Save them from this nightmare.”

  Kertajaya slumped down in throne, head in his hands. “How could we take such a risk?”