ADI ATE RAVENOUSLY and went off to bed in the boys’ room without protest. Jafar and Wisnu went to school, and Ayu worked around the house. She had only raised an eyebrow when Dewi told her that Father had said she would not go to school today. Father’s decisions were not to be countermanded, but Dewi knew that Ayu must be curious.
An hour passed, then two. Adi slept on. Dewi changed into a dark skirt and white blouse and sandals, tidied her little cubbyhole of a room, and tried to study. But she could not concentrate. She tried to read, but the words kept dancing in front of her. She tried to pray, but even the familiar, comforting words of prayer seemed to slide past her restless spirit. Finally, she wandered out through the courtyard and into the small garden beyond it.
This was Jafar’s domain: He had inherited their mother’s love of flowers and her gift for growing them. He had made of this place a fragrant, quiet little world of beauty and contemplation, full of orchids of all kinds, palms, bamboo, bougainvillea and frangipani, and clouds of shimmering, papery butterflies. There were cool, deep-green shadows she could sit in, quietly, and watch the hidden life of ants and beetles that went on so busily under leaf and bloom and stalk, and try to put her mind at peace. Father sometimes said that in a way humans were like ants and beetles, so tiny in a big world, before God. We were given a beautiful, beautiful world, and love within it, and family, and the guidance of the spirit world. We were different from ants and from other animals, too, he said, for human beings have been given knowledge of the truth of the universe—that there is always struggle between dharma and adharma, good and evil, clear sight and blindness. It is an eternal struggle, eternally fought, in every age and every place and every human heart.
She started. A hand had come to rest on her shoulder. She turned. There was her father, looking down at her. His expression was unreadable, his face very pale. There was a strangeness about him that made her scalp crawl.
“Father,” she whispered.
“Come, child! Quick! Quick! Come to me!” His voice was thin, wavering, rising to a scream. As his words died away, so his form seemed to fade too. With a beat of terror and awe, Dewi realized what had just happened. He was not standing there in the flesh, in front of her. He was “away,” in the world of the tiger-people. He was in danger, and he had called on her to help him!
She ran all the way back through the courtyard and into the house, passing the startled Ayu, who was hanging clothes on the line. As Dewi raced toward her father’s consulting room, Adi came out of the boys’ room, rubbing his eyes. “What’s up?” he said, but Dewi ignored him. She had just reached her father’s door when a roar fit to burst the eardrums filled the air. Shouting, terrified, determined, Dewi pushed hard at the door. It was stuck. She threw herself at it, crying, sobbing, yelling; and there was Adi, too, pushing at the door, shoving it hard. Suddenly, it gave way, and they both fell into the room.
It was very dark. All the lights, including the one Father always kept burning in the shrine, had gone out. They could hear labored breathing and smell something—a rank, wild-animal smell. Lying on the floor as if he had been flung there was a crumpled, still figure—Bapar Wiriyanto.
“He’s fainted, I think,” said Dewi after a terrified half moment, listening to her father’s chest. “Help me, Adi. We need to help him sit up. There, put your hands under him…oh!”
She nearly screamed, for there, just beyond the shrine, in the darkness yet somehow clear as day, was a face she’d seen before. A stern old man’s face, with yellow eyes—the eyes of a tiger. Bupatihutan!
“Sir, what has happened…why is my father…?” she stammered.
The yellow eyes glared into her. Though his mouth didn’t move, in her mind Dewi suddenly heard a deep, resonant voice. “There is a great battle looming. Go to Kotabunga. You must find Snow, Fire, Sword.”
“Honored lord,” said Dewi, puzzled, “is Snow, Fire, and Sword in Kotabunga? Where do we find them? There is no snow in our country, but perhaps you mean artificial snow? Or are these names of magic talismans? How do we use them?” She waited, but the voice said nothing. She said, “Sir, my father is hurt.”
“There is a great battle looming,” the voice suddenly boomed in her head. “There is little time. You must find Snow, Fire, Sword.”
“Please, Bupatihutan, I cannot understand if you do not—”
“Snow, Fire, Sword,” said the voice, with a crackle of impatience; and suddenly, the yellow eyes winked out and the face disappeared.
There was silence for a moment; then Adi said, with a catch in his voice, “Who were you speaking to, Dewi?”
She turned her head back toward her father, whose eyes were still closed. She swallowed and murmured, “My father’s spirit guide. He is a tiger-man. From the forest.”
Adi involuntarily put a hand to his heart pendant. “Lord protect us.” He paused. “Did he…did they hurt your father? Are the spirits angry with us?”
Dewi looked at him and shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“What are you doing?” came Ayu’s anxious voice from the doorway. “What’s happened to Father?”
“He…he fainted,” said Dewi. “He’s all right, I think, though.”
“Why is it so dark in here? Who blew out the lights?” Neither Adi nor Dewi said anything. Ayu groped around for the matches that were kept near the oil lamp and lit the wick. A golden glow flowered instantly behind the smoky glass. “That’s better. Oh, Father!”
Bapar Wiriyanto was struggling up from the floor. He put a hand to his head. Dewi, with a thrill of fear, saw his hand was bleeding and scored with claw marks. Ayu saw it too. Her eyes widened. But she was a practical girl. “I’ll get bandages, water, disinfectant.” She went quickly out of the room.
“It’s nothing,” said the dukun quietly. “Superficial cuts. If they really wanted to hurt me, they could have.”
“But Father,” said Dewi, “I don’t understand. Why did they hurt you at all?”
“It is nothing. Just frustration, impatience, maybe even fear.” He sighed. “Yes, the spirits, too, may feel these things. You must not think it is only we humans who may be afraid. There is great turmoil in the spirit world these days, Dewi and Adi, and fear of what is coming.”
“Of the great battle,” Dewi whispered, and her father stiffened.
“What did you say?”
“Bupatihutan said there was a great battle coming,” said Dewi. “He said we had to go to Kotabunga and find—”
“Bupatihutan told you?” interrupted her father. “You saw him?”
Dewi nodded rather uneasily.
“I see.” The dukun looked into his daughter’s eyes. Dewi shivered a little, for in her father’s eyes was not the expression of love and firmness and gentleness she was used to, but a deep, searching light. She could not look away. “Is this the first time you have seen Bupatihutan, my child?”
She shook her head.
There was a short silence; then Bapar Wiriyanto nodded. Slowly, he said, “I understand. How could I have been so blind?” He smiled and touched Dewi gently on the shoulder. “Did he tell you any more, my dear daughter?”
His voice was full of love and pride, and it made Dewi’s heart swell. She said, “He said we must find Snow, Fire, Sword.”
“Snow, Fire, Sword!” exclaimed her father, but he broke off as Ayu came back with a bowl of water, bandages, and disinfectant. Carefully, she dressed his wounded hand. She asked no questions. She was used to the strangeness of the business their father was in, the gift he wielded—and its dangers. When she had finished, she said, “Father, you should rest.”
“Yes, my child,” he said absently. Ayu sighed and picked up the bowl. She knew her father would do just as he wanted. As she was about to leave the room, he said, “Ayu, will you please go and ask Anda Mangil if he is free to drive us three to Kotabunga today?” Anda Mangil lived two doors away from Dewi’s family. Most villagers did not have cars, only motorbikes and bicycles, so as the proud possessor of a stately old car, he was by way of being the official taxi driver in the village.
“Very well, Father,” she said, and was gone.
“The Harimauroh confirmed what I already suspected,” Bapar Wiriyanto went on, when Ayu had gone. “The hantumu have been operating all over Jayangan, kidnapping and killing people, and not randomly. Their targets are those wise in the old ways, those who are respected for their links to the spirit world: kris makers and puppet masters and dancers, dukuns and priests, teachers and mystics and musicians. The victims have been from all the corners of Jayangan, and from all the different faiths. As well, the hantumu have attacked and desecrated many sacred places—not out of mindless vandalism, but as part of a very deliberate plan. If the links with the spirits are broken, the people of Jayangan will be left all alone to face the enemy. It is a very dangerous enemy—the most dangerous of all, because it is a hidden one. The hantumu are only its most visible shock troops. Their aim is to spread terror throughout the land of Jayangan, so the people will be demoralized and the country fall more easily to the evil ambitions of their master. The hantumu would not be what they are without the hidden power behind them. We cannot defeat them until we defeat their master.”
“But who is their master? Or what?” Dewi felt a cold finger inching down her spine.
“The spirits do not know, Dewi. They cannot see him.”
“But why? Why can’t they see him?”
“The enemy’s tactics have already begun to bite. The link between our world and the spirit world has been weakened. And as more sacred places are attacked and those wise in the old ways are killed or disappear, the spirits’ power grows weaker too. They cannot see clearly. They know there is a dangerous enemy there, but they cannot make him reveal himself. That is why they are afraid.”
Adi said, “Have they any idea what this thing—this power, this enemy—what exactly its plans are?”
“To take over the human and the spirit worlds of Jayangan.” Adi and Dewi stared at him, their blood freezing in their veins. Dewi stammered, “B-but can’t the spirits stop…”
Her father shook his head. “They cannot. In fact, some of the spirits would like to just block themselves off in the spirit world and leave humans to their fate. I persuaded them that would not be a good idea.” He touched his hand gingerly. “One or two did not take kindly to my words.
“We must go to Kotabunga and persuade the Sultan to act, once and for all. I have no way of getting into the palace, for I am but a village dukun, but I have a friend in Kotabunga, Bapar Suyanto, a master musician, who is greatly respected at Court, and who will understand. We will go to him, and together we can go to the palace. He has a little guesthouse where I have often stayed. It will be safe there for all of us.”
“Father,” Dewi said, “Father, what of Snow, Fire, Sword? Why did Bupatihutan say we must find it? What is it?”
“I think that is all he knows,” said her father slowly. “The spirits cannot see fully; the enemy is too clever. Perhaps Bupatihutan can see that these things—Snow, Fire, Sword, whatever they may be in reality—are necessary to defeat this enemy. But he can see no further than that. The spirits are not infallible, but we must trust it is a clue. We should get to Kotabunga as quickly as possible.” A horn sounded outside. “And here, just on time, is dear Anda Mangil! Come, my children, let us depart.”
He looked happy, Dewi thought, happier than she had seen him in a long time. Could it be that her dignified, courtly, calm father was actually looking forward to danger and adventure? It did not fit with her earlier notions of her father, but then, this day had hardly been ordinary, in any way.