| |
AZMAN’S FACE IS PINCHED. He draws his hands down across his face, groaning. He shakes his head once, twice.
The army whispers among themselves. Small factions start leaving, aligning themselves with the villagers, but many stay in their ranks, faces confused and unhappy.
“Isn’t this clear enough?” Frustration seeps out in my words and I want to take them back. “Jeffett has blatantly admitted his guilt. Proudly, even.”
Why do they still side him?
“To us, maybe,” Han mutters beside me. “But we’ve had months to come to terms with this. They have had minutes. Don’t forget, this is not just a rational decision. It’s also an emotional one. Many of them have grown up with Jeffett as a kind, fatherly regent, who rebuilt Bayangan when it was decimated after the war. They have a festival named after him. Even though he’s admitted to the crime, there’s enough reasoning and method to his madness that might actually sway them to his thinking.”
Seeing their hesitance, Jeffett pushes on. “I have long been your Regent and am now your rightful Raja. If you follow me, if you are loyal to me, you will execute this young upstart right where he stands. He is a traitor to the throne and all that Bayangan stands for.”
I open my mouth to counter him, but Han’s hand on my shoulder stops me. Azman has his hand up again, fist clenched, telling the army to stand their ground. Across the field, the troupe members are all signalling the same thing.
Hold. Hold. Hold.
I don’t know what they are waiting for, but I wait. These troupe members are experts at reading the crowd, able to read their mood instinctively. I know something is changing in the atmosphere, but I cannot tell what. I don’t have the same kind of instinct; I haven’t honed it quite well enough yet. Han nudges me and I glance down at his hands.
Strength.
I look up at his face. His head dips in a shallow nod.
‘Strength,’ he insists. ‘Amok Strength.’
Jeffett is still saying something, demanding something, but I can’t quite catch it. The voices around me edge louder and louder, drowning him out. I look at Han’s hands again. His fingers flicker.
‘Trust me. Strength,’ they say.
Something rustles in the crowd. Jeffett’s face is getting redder and redder the more he shouts.
O Kudus, Maha Esa, I begin, berkatilah hamba-Mu...
The words feel wrong in my head. While the Amok Strength provides me comfort, it has never felt quite right for me to use it on Bayangan’s behalf. I tried it once to save my life—and Jeffett used it to exile me. I cannot make that mistake again. This is Bayangan’s war to fight. I will not use Maha’s Amok Strength, not here, not now. It is a part of my identity, yes, but I have no use for it here.
O Kudus, Maha Esa, tell me what to do, I pray instead, berkatilah hamba-Mu dengan hikmah-Mu. It’s not the Amok Strength I need, but Kudus’ wisdom.
Han glances at me sideways, but I shake my head.
“No,” I whisper. “Not here.”
‘Faith,’ my fingers form. ‘Trust,’ they say. And then, without faltering, they form of their own accord, ‘Kudus.’
Han narrows his eyes, but then dips his head in a firm nod. His fingers relax, pressed against his thighs, saying nothing.
“Will you do nothing against this traitor?” Jeffett’s shout registers in my head, before he suddenly springs at me, keris unsheathed.
I dodge aside, my dancer’s reflexes the only thing that saves me from being skewered on the spot. I flick my keris out, stepping warily as we circle each other. He lunges several times and I step aside each time, on the defensive but not attacking him. He’s a trained warrior—I’ve trained with Mikal, but I’m not as skilled, not as honed.
I also do not want to kill him.
Jeffett has no compunction about killing me; it’s his sole focus.
“Fight me, coward!” he spits.
“I am no kin-slayer.”
“Weak! Weak like your father. How could you have lived instead of Layla?”
Because Mikal fought her, not me.
“Stop, Jeffett. Lay down your weapons!” Azman calls as he approaches, his parang held ready.
“Stay out of this,” Jeffett snarls, “or I’ll have you strung up as a traitor too!”
Beyond Azman, the army is seething again.
“Stay your men, Az,” I call to him. I’m doing my best to keep Jeffett at bay. I don’t want to deal with an insurrection from the army as well. A glance at my ranks shows that the villagers, whilst tense and worried, do not look like they’re going to rejoin the fight anytime soon.
Azman withdraws, going back to treat with his men. I push them out of my mind and focus instead on dodging my uncle.
Pain flares in my arm. He’s gotten past my defences while I was distracted, drawing a long line of blood on my upper left arm. I wince as he crows.
“We’ll end this in blood, nephew. Maybe this was always how it was supposed to end.”
“Surrender, uncle. You have admitted your guilt in front of all these witnesses. I have the right to slay you for your actions, though I would rather not.”
He lunges again, grazing my ribs this time before I dance out of reach. “Never. An Ishi never surrenders!”
“Never? They just kill themselves, then?”
His eyes narrow. I’m sure my mother has told him about how their cousin killed himself. “We would rather die than surrender! He did the honourable thing.”
“Is Marla not an Ishi then? She surrendered.”
“She’s a woman—it’s different—”
“Or maybe they just skulk and hide to protect themselves when everyone else is fighting with honour.” I know I’ve hit a sore spot when he hisses between his teeth.
“Don’t talk about what you know nothing about!”
“I’ve always wondered, you know. I’ve always wondered why, when Sultan Simson took all the firstborn children and fighting men, he never took you. Why would he leave you behind? Was it because he couldn’t find you?” I pant as I slip out of his hold. I should shut up. This much talking is taking up my breath and sapping strength that would be better used defending myself.
“Someone had to protect the royal family!”
“And yet you were nowhere near my father when he was captured. Don’t you think that if you’d been with him, both of you might have escaped?” I have no idea where he was when Ayah was captured, not even how Ayah was captured. It’s one of the stories that my parents refused to tell me.
“Fool!” Jeffett roars. “Your father walked right into their ranks and gave himself up. For what? Tell me, for what? Did it help him? Did it help our people? No! He was a fool, a stupid, self-sacrificing fool!”
Ayah did what? I’m so flabbergasted that I just stand there, stunned.
“Yosua!” Han screams.
I duck, but it’s too late—Jeffett’s keris is coming right at me and there’s no way I’m going to dodge this.
O Kudus, Maha Esa, berkatilah—
Jeffett is thrown aside, tackled by two of his own soldiers. I stand where I am, wide-eyed and panting, my heart pounding at my narrow escape. They wrestle him to the floor, kicking his keris away.
“What...did he do? What did Ayah do?” I need to know and my uncle is the only one who can tell me now.
He snarls up at me from where he’s held on his knees, arms locked in a tight hold.
“Tell me, Jeffett!”
“We fought our way free of the Mahans. We could have made it to safety. Your father, Layla, and I. But then Simson announces that he will execute all the prisoners unless Garett gives himself up. I told him not to listen. I told him it was all a lie. But Simson has taken the city and he’s going to kill everyone and flatten the whole city if Garett does not surrender. What does he do? That fool hands Layla to me, saying ‘Keep her safe and rebuild Bayangan after we’re gone.’ And then he walks right into their arms.”
Ayahanda, oh Ayahanda, how much you have sacrificed for this kingdom.
For the first time, I call him by the title I should have all this while, the same honorific Mikal used to address his father. My royal father. He is more worthy of the crown than I have ever been. I’ve long known that he traded his life in Maha to save my mother, that he stood between Simson and his fellow captives many times over the years. I never knew that he’d surrendered to save the city itself.
“But he was right,” I say. “Simson didn’t burn down the city. He didn’t kill everyone in it.”
“He didn’t need to. He’d already destroyed half the city and taken a quarter of the people with him, our Raja Muda along with them! He couldn’t have done any worse.” Jeffett struggles in vain.
“Ayahanda ended the war and gave you time to rebuild. He convinced Sultan Simson to leave Bayangan alone all those years—none of this would have happened if you hadn’t urged Aunt Layla to attack them.”
“I attacked them to avenge him!”
“He did not need you to.” I turn away. I don’t want to hear anything else from my father’s murderer. “Take him away,” I say to Azman.
Azman gives me a long, cool look.
“I don’t want to fight you, Azman,” I say wearily. “There has been enough bloodshed today. If you do not recognise my authority, I understand. I will submit myself to the Majlis DiRaja, where they can decide for themselves who will be the next Raja of Bayangan. But for now, Jeffett has confessed to his crimes and should be tried for them. Will you not do the right thing, Temenggung?”
“You remember who put you in your position, boy,” Jeffett says.
Azman smiles wanly. “I remember, which is why I do not sentence you to death solely on Yosua’s word.” He turns to the soldiers. “Take him away. We return to the castle today.”
“Az?” I start, but he lifts a hand, stopping me.
“In this I am not your friend, Yosua. I am Temenggung.” He licks his lips, hesitating. “You said you will submit yourself to the Majlis. Can I trust that you will? Or do I need to arrest you as well?”
I bow my head. “You can trust me.”
He nods. “Then I will see you in court.”
He rides off, shouting orders at the army.
I slump to the ground, exhausted. This was not how I expected this day to go, but it’s a better outcome than I’d hoped for. Jeffett will be tried for his crimes. I don’t know what will happen to me, but I’m too exhausted to care right now.
“Tuanku?”
“I...leave me alone, Han. I need some time to myself.”
“Yes, Tuanku.” He starts to slip away, but I grab his hand at the last moment. He turns back, but doesn’t speak.
“Take care of the dead and wounded,” I say. “Return them to their families. I will go to the city to face my fate. The rest can return home if they wish.”
He smiles; a soft, kind thing. “I’ll let them know your wishes.”
––––––––
THE NEW PORT RECEDES as I walk down the beach away from the crowd, away from the bustle. I walk until the old port appears. I find strange comfort in its broken shell, an old tempurung that has sheltered me too many times. Each time I leave, it breaks down a little more. Maybe if I stop coming, it will stay as it is, forever frozen in time.
I snort at my own stupidity. There are no ships on the horizon. No trade exists now, no reason for ships to come to our shores, not when we’ve done our best to chase them away. I hope against hope to see a patrol ship, wondering if I could flag them down, send a message to Mikal.
And what would you say?
No, just like the Amok Strength is Maha’s to use, Bayangan’s problems are mine to solve, if they let me. If I allow myself.
No more running.
“Yosua?”
I stiffen at the sound of my name. I know who it is, though I don’t know why he is here. The last time we were here alone, we’d been friends. So much has changed since then.
Azman sits down beside me, uninvited.
“So. He promoted you,” I say.
Azman coughs. “Yes. Does that offend you?”
“You deserve it. I should have been the one to give it to you. I should not have let Ayahanda dissuade me.”
We sit stewing in our own thoughts.
Jeffett’s story has reopened new wounds in my heart, and I need time to process it. I need time to figure out what it means for me that Ayahanda gave up his freedom for the city. I’d always imagined him being captured in battle, that he’d gone down fighting. This changes everything I thought I knew—though a small voice inside me says that I should have known.
It’s the same thing Ayahanda has done over and over again for the Tawanan community in Maha all these years. Why wouldn’t he have done the exact same thing right at the start? And yet it’s not something that anyone has ever mentioned—which means only Jeffett, and probably Layla, had known about it. Otherwise, someone would have brought it up when they’d spoken at the funeral. But now I truly understand why my uncle was so bitter at my father. How he must have felt betrayed when Ayahanda so easily tossed away the freedom Uncle Jeffett had won for him and his sister. It doesn’t excuse anything, but it helps me to understand him more.
A sigh beside me reminds me that I’m not alone.
“What brings you here?” I ask. “Don’t you have an army to lead?”
“Delegation, Yosua.” His finger traces patterns in the sand. “I knew you’d come here.”
Another awkward silence. This time, his eyes meet mine briefly before he looks away again.
“Just so you know,” Azman says, speaking to the horizon, “Grand-aunt Carla has been campaigning for you in the Majlis DiRaja.”
“Why would she...How would she even know I’d come back?”
“She didn’t. At your trial, when the Majlis DiRaja petitioned for your life, there were only two who disagreed: Che Lyn and Che Jenna. Everyone else was opposed to the death penalty, most also uncomfortable with exile. I told my grand-aunt everything I knew, from the way Tun Jeffett manipulated you to how he tricked me. She’s been fighting since then to void your exile due to mistrial, but Tun Jeffett has blocked her at every turn. The murder trial will change that, especially with what he’s confessed today.”
I process that, surprised at the unexpected support. “Doesn’t that just mean there will be a new vote for who will be Raja after Jeffett?”
He shrugs. “Maybe. Once the exile issue is settled, though, with Che Willett and his faction on our side, they’re more likely to vote on reinstatement. Besides, who else would they put on the throne?”
I eye him curiously before answering, “You. It’s why you’re here in court, right? Why you moved to the Castle after your brother disappeared?” Unless that was another of Jeffett’s lies.
Azman looks at me with a faint smile. “That’s never been my dream. I have what I want.” He gives me a salute, then quickly looks away.
“What is it?” I ask.
He mumbles something under his breath.
“I didn’t catch that.”
A blush reddens his cheeks. “I said I’m sorry.”
“For?”
“Believing Jeffett’s lies. I should have trusted you. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” I say. “We’re all right.”
At least, I think we are—or will be.