by Zen Cho
She had never seen a djinn before, but she had a tolerably clear idea of what one ought to look like—eyes of flame in a bestial visage, accompanied by horns and claws and various other demonic appurtenances. Lurid red smoke fit perfectly with her expectations. But when the smoke dissipated it revealed a tiny woman.
If a djinn’s age could be judged from its features, this one was no longer in her first youth, but nor did she look old. In figure and countenance she was like any village woman to be seen in Janda Baik, respectably dressed in flowered Javanese cloth. Muna’s immediate impression was that she must have seen the djinn somewhere before—there was something so familiar about the small figure.
“Well met, O djinn!” stammered Muna.
The spirit squinted shortsightedly at Muna. “I am a polong, and no djinn,” she said.
Her accent was that of Janda Baik, a reassuring sound so far from home, but Muna recoiled, horrified. “A polong!”
She had heard of polong—undead helpers raised by wicked magicians to do their bidding. To create a polong was a very dark magic, for one was obliged to use the blood of the victim of a murder. Mak Genggang had always set her face against all such malevolent spells, but here was evidence that the witch had indulged in one herself.
It was a blow Muna had not expected. For a moment she felt herself at sea, abandoned by certainties she needed now more than ever. As she struggled to master her disappointment, the polong swept the room with a suspicious gaze.
“What an ugly room!” the spirit remarked. “This is England, I suppose, and you must be the witch’s apprentice—for what that is worth.” She looked Muna over disdainfully. “I have never heard a summoning charm so mangled. Did not That Woman teach you how to recite a spell?”
The hectoring voice was familiar. Muna’s eyes widened in incredulity as the realisation dawned upon her.
“I beg your pardon,” she blurted out, “but surely you are Mak Genggang!”
Now that she knew what to look for, Muna could trace the witch’s features in the polong’s countenance without the least difficulty. The polong lacked Mak Genggang’s grey hair and wrinkles, but the voice and bearing were unmistakable.
“No!” snapped the polong.
But Muna’s relief made her less respectful than she would otherwise have been, for using one’s own blood in a spell was perfectly acceptable. “You must be. Why, you look just like her—and sound like her too! I wondered why she gave us such a talisman, when—” When she has always had a disgust of spirits of your kind were the words on the tip of Muna’s tongue, but it struck her just in time that the remark was somewhat tactless.
“But this explains all,” she said instead. “She dispatched a part of herself to watch over us!”
“Pray do not confuse me with That Woman,” said the polong haughtily. “I may have sprung from her blood, but that does not mean I am a part of her, any more than you may be taken for your mother, because you were born of her. That Woman is a mere mortal, who will expire and be buried in the earth. Whereas I am a spirit—a being of pure magic!”
“But she did not harvest anyone else’s blood to make you,” Muna persisted, too glad to be troubled by the spirit’s pique. “And she did send you to watch over us?”
“That Woman seems to think I am some sort of nursemaid,” grumbled the polong. “She is always after me to work beneficent magics, when that is not my rightful purpose at all. A polong is nothing more than a fly-by-night, intended to steal trinkets and plague her master’s enemies.”
Muna took this for an affirmative. “Mak cik, I beg you will help us—”
“There is no need to call me aunt. That Woman was scarcely thirty when she created me.”
“Kak,” said Muna prudently, “I beg you will help us—”
The polong interrupted, frowning, “You say ‘us,’ but where is your sister—the one that has no magic?”
“I am the one that has no magic. Calamity befell us when we were travelling through the Unseen.” Muna’s brief gladness faded at the recollection, and her voice shook as she said, “My sister Sakti was captured!”
The polong frowned. “Captured? What do you mean?”
Muna explained what had happened to Sakti in the jungle.
“And I do not know what has become of her,” she concluded tearfully. “Not even whether she is dead or alive! The English magicians would not take me back to the Unseen; they have given up Sakti for lost. But there must be something that can be done!”
She dashed away her tears, gazing hopefully at the polong. The spirit’s brow was furrowed in thought.
“Strange,” murmured the polong. “That Woman will have hedged you around with protective charms before sending you off into the Unseen. This was a turn she did not predict. The curseworker’s hand was at work here.
“Come,” she added, not unkindly, “it will hardly help your sister for you to howl! I should not be surprised if she has been devoured by ghouls, but if that is the case you may as well know the worst at once.”
Muna gulped. “Can you find her?”
“I don’t propose to plunge into the bowels of the Unseen to track her path,” said the spirit. “But there are other ways.”
She rebound the batik cloth around her waist, squaring her shoulders with the air of one nerving herself to a challenge. “I shall need a pool of water. Blood would do as well,” she added as an afterthought.
Fortunately there was no need for blood, for there was a jug of water by the bed, along with a basin. At the spirit’s instruction Muna poured the water into the basin till the polong said, “That is enough! Stand back.”
The polong spoke no formula and performed no mystic gestures but merely hovered for a moment, staring at the water. The water started to glow with a red light. She beckoned at Muna. “Come and see. Is that your sister?”
Muna darted over to the polong’s side. The water was shining so brightly that she could hardly make out the image on the surface. Yet it only required a glance for Muna to say, disappointed, “No. Kak, surely that is a spirit?”
Muna could not see the woman’s countenance clearly through the glare, but that it belonged to no ordinary mortal was evident. It was a beautiful, impassive face, every lineament perfectly regular, and a splendid mass of hair was swept up above the forehead, between two curving horns extending from the temples. On the hair rested a crown.
The polong made an irritated noise.
“What are you about, showing me a djinn?” the polong demanded. Muna started, but the polong was not addressing her. The spirit continued, “I asked you to show me her sister, didn’t I? What do you mean, which sister? She only has the one. Sakti is the name. Show me where she is!”
There ensued such a long pause, while the water bubbled and the red light came and went, that Muna ventured to whisper, “Who were you speaking to, kak?”
“The fine ones,” said the polong, without raising her eyes from the water. “Lazy wretches! Did Mak Genggang not tell you of them?”
“It was my sister who was Mak Genggang’s apprentice,” Muna reminded her. “I worked in the kitchen.”
“The elements are peopled with the fine ones—invisible spirits, who are the stuff of which magic is made,” said the polong. “All enchantery is effected only with their aid, but they are of such exceeding fineness that no mortal can perceive them. Even in the Unseen they are given little consideration. They like to be spoken to, however.”
Muna doubted whether even such neglected creatures would enjoy conversation consisting of the sort of scoldings the polong had been giving them, but she kept these thoughts to herself. She bent over the murky water, longing to see Sakti.
“Do the English know you have no magic?” said the polong.
Muna blinked.
“They must,” she began, but even as she spoke it seemed to her that she lied. The Engl
ishwomen would hardly have begged her for a demonstration of Asiatic magics if they did not believe her to be a witch. Muna had been so taken up with Sakti’s disappearance that she had given little thought to the misunderstanding. “I—no, I do not think I ever explained it was Sakti who was Mak Genggang’s apprentice, not I.”
“Leave them ignorant,” said the polong. “Let them believe you are the apprentice who has come to learn magic. That Woman told the English sorceress she would be sending her a prodigy. If the Sorceress Royal were to discover that she has been cheated—that a mere laywoman was substituted for the magician she expected—I should not be surprised if she were to throw you out on the street. I hear she is an evil-tempered female who cares for nothing but her own interest.”
Muna had heard a rather different account from Mak Genggang, but what little she had seen of the Sorceress Royal did not tend to contradict what the polong said. Mrs. Wythe had not seemed unkind, but she would see no reason for Muna to remain at her Academy if she knew Muna was handier with a pestle and mortar than a wand.
“If the English sorceress comes to believe that Mak Genggang has tricked her on purpose, Janda Baik will lose a valuable friend,” added the polong. “Not that I care for that! But preserving the island is all That Woman cares for.”
The polong struck the water with her palm. The surface of the water rippled. “There! Is that your sister? The fine ones insist it is she.”
Muna leant over the basin. There was a girl in a doorway, half-turning to look back. It was only a glimpse, but Muna knew her at once.
Muna’s heart leapt. Till then she had not dared admit her worst fear to herself—that Sakti might be dead.
Sakti saw her too. Her eyes met Muna’s, widening, and her mouth opened.
“Adik!” cried Muna, but just then the polong struck the water again. Smoke billowed out of the basin. Muna stumbled back, coughing. When she had dried her streaming eyes and was able to see again, the basin was empty.
She whirled around, fixing a reproachful gaze on the polong. “It was Sakti! Why did you break the vision?”
The polong was pale. “What can have possessed you to call out in that reckless way? I can only hope no one heard you!”
Muna stared, the excitement of seeing Sakti ebbing away. She rubbed her arms, for suddenly the room seemed to have turned colder than ever. “Why? Kak, where was that? Where is my sister?”
“Your sister is in the Palace of the Unseen,” said the polong, “where lives the Queen of the Djinns—she whom the English call the Fairy Queen.”
She looked morose. “That Woman! She ought to have taken better care. Am I a miracle worker, to rescue a girl from the Queen of the Djinns? No one can say I have not behaved correctly. I offered to rob That Woman’s neighbours, or afflict her rivals with embarrassing diseases. If she desired an angel to assist her she ought to have studied her Qur’an, instead of raising a polong!”
Relief—even joy—still warmed Muna, for it was something to know her sister was alive. But this speech was scarcely calculated to reassure her.
“Is it so bad that she has found her way to the Palace of the Unseen? I had thought she might have been kidnapped by a weretiger, or taken by a ghoul.”
“I should have been happier to see her in a village of weretigers,” said the polong. “There are some decent gentlemanly creatures among those people, whereas one would need to search for many years before finding a true heart in the Queen’s Court!”
But Muna’s expression seemed to make her regret her candour. The polong said, “Come, child, I would not begin to despair quite yet. It is long past the days when the Queen of the Djinns devoured every mortal who had the ill judgment to enter her Palace. Your sister might be doing very well for herself. The Queen has been known to make favourites of certain mortal magicians, who enjoy great rewards—so long as they manage to retain her favour.”
The more the polong said, the less reassured Muna felt. “But are not spirits famously changeable?”
“I will have you know that is an offensive generalisation,” said the polong. “No one could accuse me of inconsistency. Even That Woman would allow that I know my mind and stick to it. Of course,” she added, “the Queen of the Djinns is a different matter. Her caprice is only equalled by her cruelty. But she is not to be taken as representative of the rest of us.”
“But my sister is in the Queen’s Palace,” pointed out Muna, “so it is the Queen’s character that concerns me. If Sakti were in your power, kak, I would not be concerned. I would know I could rely upon your forbearance!”
The polong raised an eyebrow. “This sister of yours demands forbearance, does she?”
Warmth rose in Muna’s cheeks. “She is clever, and she has a great magical gift,” she said defensively. “It is no wonder if she is bold and sometimes speaks out of turn. All witches are like that.”
“Well, take heart!” said the polong. “Such a sister will often have vexed you. It must be some comfort to know that she will likely never do so again.”
It was necessary for Muna to remind herself that the polong was no mortal, but a different order of being. It could not be expected that she should understand the ordinary feelings of a human being. Still, Muna was obliged to swallow an indignant retort before she was able to speak with anything like civility.
“I should much rather be vexed than sisterless,” she said. “Perhaps Sakti’s manners do not do her justice, but she is my sister. She is all I have in this world.” There was nothing more to be said; that must explain all. Muna folded her hands to still their trembling. “Kak, I ask no sacrifices of you, but could not you take me to her?”
“So that you can be devoured by the spirits as well?” said the polong. “I think not! I shall receive a scolding from That Woman as it is. Besides, you must know that the English have so aggrieved the Queen of the Djinns that they have been barred from entering her realm. To send you to the Hidden World from here would only risk attracting the Queen’s wrath.”
“Do you mean that even you could not enter the Unseen?”
“I am a different matter,” said the polong. “The distinctions between the worlds matter less to me than to you. But I could not bring you there. A great galumphing piece of flesh like you! I might as well try to smuggle a water buffalo across the border.”
“Then a message,” said Muna desperately. “Could not you take a message to her?”
“That Woman only charged me to look after you and your sister in England,” said the polong. “And that is what I shall do, no more and no less. The air of the Unseen is dangerous to spirits constituted as I am. I could have my memories and my freedom stolen from me, and end as a miserable slave, toiling in the Palace of the Unseen.”
A band seemed to draw tight around Muna’s chest, constricting her breath. She could not have travelled so far, only to fail now. “Will you do nothing to help me?”
“If there were anything sensible to be done . . .” The polong shook her head. “But there it is! Even the great spirits of the many worlds would hesitate to quarrel with the Queen of the Djinns. It is a pity, but you had best reconcile yourself to the loss of your sister.
“But there, do not look so upset!” she added. “I expect you will forget your sister in time, if you regulate your mind and do not allow yourself to dwell upon her fate. Mortals have short memories. Are you sure there is no more fitting service I could render? Perhaps I could steal a treasure from the Sorceress Royal—a jewel, perhaps, or a powerful enchantment?”
“No,” said Muna. “We were only brought to this point because we stole that wretched spell! And it was my idea. If I had not thought of it, none of this would have happened!” She buried her face in her hands.
“If thievery is not to your liking, I could possess a mortal for you,” said the polong hopefully. “I have never possessed a mortal before and I fancy I would enjoy it.”
When she lowered her hands, wiping her face, she saw that she had finally managed to give a command with which the polong would comply. The spirit had vanished. There was nothing to suggest that she had ever been there—save for the depleted jug, the empty basin, and the bottle, lying on the floor where Muna had dropped it.
Muna hid the bottle. Then she climbed into bed, for lack of anything better to do. Her head felt as though it were filled with cotton wool. It seemed an age since she had risen in the half-light of morning in Janda Baik and left Mak Genggang’s house.
The bed was not unlike a cage, with its canopy and four posters, and Muna lay in it like a captured animal, defeated for the moment by her fate. Weary as she was, her mind would not be quiet. The events of the past few days crowded out sleep.
If only she had preserved her silence, instead of suggesting that Mak Genggang send her and Sakti to England. If only she had not thought of going to the English king’s house in the first place . . .
Now Muna was alone, her sister abandoned to all the perils of the Unseen Realm. Perhaps it was fortunate that Muna had no magic. If she could, she would have sought to turn back time, despite all Mak Genggang might say about such spells resulting in disastrous confusion.
As it was, she was at a stand. She did not know what to do.
Muna rolled over, bedewing her pillow with tears.
8
THINGS SEEMED BETTER in the morning—as, even at the worst of times, they often do. Once unconsciousness seized Muna, it held her through the afternoon and night. She woke only when the first light of the new day broke through the curtains. She thought, I shall ask the Sorceress Royal how to tame the polong.
She would not tell Mrs. Wythe about the spirit—Muna doubted whether Mak Genggang would wish the English to know she had such creatures at her command. But the question might easily be put in general terms. With two familiars, the Sorceress Royal must know how such spirits were to be dealt with. Even on her brief acquaintance with Mrs. Wythe, Muna felt certain the Englishwoman would not countenance the least insubordination in the creatures who served her.
