IT WAS NOT an easy scramble to the top of the pit, avoiding loose rocks and treacherous holes—but what was even harder, for Dewi, was not looking back. Her head was full of the last sight of her father; her heart trembled at the possibility that she might never see him again in this life. Something precious and irreplaceable, perhaps the innocence of childhood, was ripped away from her forever with every painful, stumbling step she took. The other frightening and horrible things that had happened since radical evil came crashing into the lovely, safe little world of Bumi Macan seemed almost as nothing now beside this: She was leaving her father behind her, perhaps to share in the sad fate of Anda Mangil and so many others who had died.
Almost everything in her screamed at her to turn back, to stay with the captives. Yet she knew, deep down, that she could not do that. Her father did not want her to. He had made his choice, and as his loving daughter she must respect that. If she disobeyed, then they would have no hope of saving her father and his friends, and the Sorcerer would win.
With their enemies assuming the spirit-lizard had destroyed them, there was a tiny chance Dewi and Husam might get to Kotabunga in time to prevent or at least affect what was about to happen. They could concentrate only on that. Any other way meant failure, without question. She and Husam must not be taken by the hantumu or the afreet again. They would surely be killed this time.
Husam toiled behind her, staying silent, out of deference to her feelings, or perhaps just from sheer tiredness. Dewi would normally have felt tired too, but she did not at the moment; it was as if she were carried up automatically, like a machine.
When they finally reached the top of the pit, they stopped briefly. They would have to be very careful scrambling down the vertiginous slope on the other side. At the bottom of the bare, rocky hill was a thin silver stream. They started off down the slope without a word, sometimes having to almost crawl down, sometimes stumbling and falling over loose scree that rattled under their feet. Once, Husam fell very heavily indeed, and Dewi had to quickly come to his aid. There was blood on his forearm where he had fallen against sharp rock, and his face looked a little gray as he got shakily to his feet, but he managed to say, “It’s nothing…nothing…we must hurry…hurry…”
At length, they were at the bottom of the hill, and they saw that a little distance along, the stream had been coaxed into a stone irrigation channel. Ibi Timur was right—the stream must lead to a village. If they followed the channel, they would come to it. After a much-needed drink of the cool, clear water, Dewi looked back once, at the quarried mountain rearing high above them, and shuddered, thinking of the men and women trapped in that strange place.
Dewi and Husam walked precariously along the side of the irrigation channel. For a while, it was the only sign of human habitation; but soon they began to see others. A tiny garden clung to a small green patch by the side of the channel; skinny sheep began to poke curious, yellow-eyed heads from behind rocks; and then they came in sight of a shepherd boy, his back to them, sitting on a rock by the edge of the channel, whittling at something and whistling. Dewi couldn’t help stopping when she recognized the tune he was whistling, for it was “Beloved.”
The boy must have heard a loose stone or something under their feet, for he whipped around and stared at them. Before he could speak, though, Dewi came toward him, saying urgently, “Please, don’t be afraid. We mean no harm.”
“You came from Old Mountain, didn’t you?” said the boy, wide-eyed. “Are you ghosts, or demons?”
“We are neither,” said Husam. “We need help.”
“Oh,” said the boy, sighing. “I was hoping I might see the ghosts or the demons people talk of. It would be exciting; nothing ever happens here.”
“You don’t want to see those sorts of things, believe me,” said Husam, catching Dewi’s eye.
“Oh, but I do,” he went on cheerfully. “Then, if you’re not ghosts or demons, I suppose you must be one of them.”
“Them?”
“Beloved strangers, of course,” said the boy, looking curiously at Husam. “Have you forgotten all the while you’ve been in the Mountain?”
Dewi and Husam looked at each other, perplexed, but all Dewi said was, “Please, friend, is there a village nearby?”
“Of course. You know that. The Stone Village. That’s where my father comes from.”
“We have forgotten,” said Husam hollowly, “in our long sojourn in the Mountain. Where is it?”
The boy looked at him, something like awestruck fear now merging with his impatient curiosity. “So you are them!” Hurriedly, he went on. “It’s just up there,” he said, pointing to a little slope of scrubbily forested hill above where he sat. “Through the forest, through the doorway. I can’t take you there or my father would skin me alive for leaving the sheep on their own.”
“Of course,” said Husam. “Thank you, boy.”
“Not at all,” said the boy, still staring at them; and they could feel his eyes on their backs as they turned away from him and went up the hill.
The forest the boy had spoken of was not much of a forest, but more of a haphazard collection of scabby, twisted trees and stunted bushes. What made it really strange were the stone pillars and boulders lining the narrow path through it. Set at irregular intervals, they loomed above Dewi and Husam like unsteady, giant guards. Dewi could not hide her amazement. She had never seen such things before. When she put her hand on one, she felt that same strange hum she had felt when she had touched the belly of the great lizard in the cave, and when they were in the tunnel. The stones were very old, she thought, old as the dawn of time.
She and Husam walked quietly for a while; Husam, too, seemed taken with a strange, wary awe as he made his way through the crooked line of stones. Then Husam whispered, “If this village that bird witch saw in her vision was lost to the world, I hope we will not be.”
“No,” said Dewi, “that boy almost seemed to expect us.”
“We’ll have to be careful,” said Husam. “I’m not sure I like all this. I hope we haven’t gone from bad to worse. Who’s to know where the Sorcerer really is? And this place—these stones feel sorcerous to me.”
Dewi was about to say something in reply when Husam suddenly shouted, “Get down! Get down!” and pulled her flat down on the ground. In the next moment, she understood why, for a throbbing roar filled the sky above them. Several vast shadows passed across the sun, a wind howling behind them, bending the bushes and trees. The roar became louder, the shadows bigger, the wind shrieked; then it all passed, fading into the distance, to be followed seconds later by more roars, more black shadows, and a howling wind.
After a short while, Dewi and Husam crept out of the bushes and looked at each other. “Well,” said Husam, “that shepherd boy will either have been startled or excited out of the little wits he had!”
“They were helicopters,” Dewi cried. “What were they doing here?”
“The hantumu use motorbikes,” said Husam. “Why not helicopters? Perhaps they’re looking for us?”
“Why should they be? They don’t know we’ve escaped,” said Dewi, trying to sound more confident than she felt. “Perhaps they’ve come to rescue the prisoners.”
Husam grimaced. “Still, let’s keep in the bushes. Afreets can’t see well in vegetation, and the stones will also put it and the hantumu off, if they are afraid or wary of the old things. Let’s hope this village is close enough, and that someone can take us quickly where we want to go.”
They reached the village a few minutes later, without further incident. It was a very small place and quite ordinary, mostly, just a cluster of some ten or fifteen bark-and-stick huts surrounding a central pavilion that was the most cheerful and upright building there. What made it unusual was that the buildings, and the gardens around them, were entirely surrounded by a vast stone circle. Some of the stones were like those on the path, tall or squat single pieces; but there were one or two that looked like gigantic tables—two uprights with a huge slab laid horizontally across. It gave the whole place a very strange atmosphere, the giant stones looming over the humble little houses, once again like giant guards watching speechlessly through uncounted centuries.
There were people working in the gardens—men and women dressed in seamless robes of various pale colors, with sashes around their waists. Their hair was braided, they wore conical hats, and their faces were decorated with various designs in blue and green. They stood up from their work and looked at Husam and Dewi as they drew near. There was an expectancy, a lack of surprise, on their faces that reminded them of the reaction of the shepherd boy. The first words spoken to them only confirmed that.
“Good afternoon, beloved strangers,” said a woman standing at the center of the group. Small and stout, she had an air of purpose and determination about her that suggested she was someone of importance and character. “Welcome here once more among us.”
Dewi and Husam looked swiftly at each other. Follow their lead, Agung had said. “Er…thank you,” Husam said at last. “Could you help us, kind lady? We need to get to Kotabunga, to see the Sultan, as soon as possible.”
It was the woman’s turn to look at her companions. They all wore startled expressions. Then the woman said, “Beloved strangers, we must confer, if you will forgive us.”
“Of course,” said Dewi, but the woman paid no attention, for she had turned away at once to huddle in confabulation with her companions.
“These are strange people,” said Husam under his breath to Dewi. “I do not understand them at all.”
Dewi nodded. “It is as if they were expecting us in some sense,” she said.
The woman turned back to face them and said, “Beloved strangers! We understand what you are doing. You are testing us in some way, and though we know you could stretch your wings and fly halfway around the world should you so desire it, we know you are conferring on us a great honor by asking us thus to come to your aid.” As Dewi and Husam stared at her, stunned, she went on cheerfully. “And so I, Kembang, headwoman of this village, am charged to tell you this: We will indeed offer up the speeda you left behind last time so you can reach Kotabunga.” She beamed at them. They could only goggle back at her for a minute. What on earth—or off it—did she think they were? And what was a speeda? There was no car in sight—in fact, no transport of any kind, not even a bicycle.
“Thank you,” Dewi managed to say, when the silence had lengthened a little too long and the woman’s happy smile was slowly being replaced by the beginnings of an nervous expression. “Thank you. That is very kind.”
“We are happy, beloved strangers,” said the headwoman, with a funny little bow. “You have come from our sacred place, from Old Mountain, and we are honored. Please follow me.”
As Dewi and Husam followed the swiftly striding woman, they saw that the other people in the gardens had drawn closer together, and that their gazes at the pair were an odd mixture of delight, awe, and anxiety. Dewi whispered to Husam, “They think we’ve come from that place, that we’re from the place of the Old Ones, the people who helped us, who had those strange wings attached to them.”
“Yes,” Husam whispered back. “See the pillar in the middle of that pavilion, and the flowers on it? That’s no Mujisal house of worship, or Nashranee—not even Dharbudsu. That’s something I’ve only heard about, not seen—the old, old faith of Jayangan.”
“These are the descendants of the people of that mountain,” said Dewi, staring. “They think we’re their ancestors, come back to life.”
Kembang had stopped before one of the huts. She beckoned to them. “Come, beloved strangers.” She looked excited and proud. They hurried over to her, and she led them into the darkness of the little hut.
When their eyes got used to the dimness, they saw that the hut was only one large room, simply furnished, with a table, a couple of chairs, a fireplace, a curtained alcove in a corner, a chest in another, and a tall shelf in yet another. On this shelf, in pride of place, stood a massive, old-fashioned wireless radio, an unexpected sight here. No doubt its presence explained why the shepherd boy, who lived in such a remote place, knew the tune of “Beloved.”
The woman disappeared behind the curtain. Thumps and bumps issued from behind it, and Husam and Dewi looked at each other, mystified. Finally, the woman emerged, puffing, proudly dragging out the last thing they expected to see.
It was an ancient, heavy motorbike and sidecar. In the half-light of the hut, it gleamed softly. “Come outside, come, come,” said Kembang happily. She bowed to Husam. “See, beloved stranger, we have looked after your speeda well.”
Out in the full light, they understood why she called the machine that. The brand name of the company that had made it, and which must have gone out of business long ago, was emblazoned on it: Speeda.
“We always knew that one day you would come back for it,” said Kembang. “It has been very kind to us, and we are glad you allowed us to use it for so long.” She beamed at them. “But we always knew this speeda must one day return to its own place, so we looked after it for you.”
“That is very good of you,” said Husam, blinking a little. He looked at Dewi. She understood his glance—he was uncomfortable with this deception, even if it had been an involuntary one. Impulsively, she said, “Kembang, there is something we must tell you,” and without stopping to draw breath, she told the headwoman all that had happened, especially what had happened in Old Mountain. Kembang listened intently, not interrupting once. When Dewi had finished, she said, “I see.”
“We did not mean to deceive you,” said Dewi nervously. “It was just that…”
Kembang shook her head. “Do not be concerned.” To their surprise, her eyes were shining. “The Old Ones spoke to you? You saw them?”
Dewi nodded. Kembang clasped her hands. “You do not know how glad you make me. Oh, you might not be our beloved strangers, but you are beloved strangers just the same—just like the one who left us this speeda, before I was even born.” She touched its gleaming metal affectionately and rather wistfully. “This has been good to us, but we understood it had to be returned one day.”
“Kembang,” said Husam gravely, “we make you this promise. This speeda is to be part of a great battle, but when that is over, it will be returned to you.”
Kembang’s eyes lit up, and she stroked the bike again. “Oh, beloved strangers,” she said softly, “you speak of a great battle. Is that against the Lord of Shadows, the evil one?”
“Yes, it is,” said Husam. “It is indeed.”
“Then it is just as it should be, for our prophecies speak of such a battle,” said Kembang decisively. She looked at them, her head on one side. “Beloved strangers, where have you taken Snow, Fire, and Sword? You will need them in the battle against the Lord of Shadows.”
They stared at her. Then Dewi said, faltering a little, “We have Sword…and we know Fire…but Snow…Snow we haven’t found a trace of.”
Kembang nodded. “That is what the prophecy says. Snow is hard to find. And that is because Snow is antithetical to Fire. Only with Snow’s death, melted by Fire, can life-giving Water be born, which will refresh the land. That is the meaning of Snow, do you see? Only by death can life come.”
“How do you know…where did you…”
Kembang smiled. “We are far from the world, but we hear many things. And our spirits are ancient, very ancient, and know things from before the dawn of time. This battle is an important one. We, too, are a part of it somehow. We must not stand aside this time.”
“That is so,” said Husam. “No one can stand aside. This must be why the Old Ones helped us, in the mountain.”
“That is what I thought.” Then she looked worried. “We have survived before by hiding away from the world. We are few, and weak. It is hard to know how we can properly join in this fight without being destroyed.”
Suddenly, an idea came to Dewi. She said, “Kembang—the wicked ones whom we are fighting, they are desecrating Old Mountain. They use the wiles and strength of demons to hollow it of its goodness. They held us prisoner in the cave of the Great Lizard, hoping it would devour us. And they are holding good people in the pit on Old Mountain, chained with heavy iron links.”
“We heard noises there, but we thought it was demons.”
“No, no, they are not demons, but good men and women, who are needed in our fight. Among them is my own father. So…”
“So you want us to go to Old Mountain,” said the headwoman, with an expression in her eyes that Dewi found difficult to fathom. “You want us to go and free the captives?”
“Yes, and bring them back to your village, where they can be safe,” breathed Dewi. “That could be your part of the fight, if you will agree.”
“This is a place where we have not set foot for many, many years,” said Kembang. “Many generations ago, our people were numerous, our ways respected and shared by all. Then the changes came, and we were killed, driven out, our ways smudged, obscured, forgotten. Now there is only this village that remains, safe within the stones. We have not gone back to Old Mountain for a long, long time.”
“Now is the time to go back,” said Dewi.
“Yes,” said Kembang, straightening. “You are right. It is time to go back.” Her shoulders were squared. She said, “Beloved strangers, you honor us.”
“No,” said Dewi, “it is you who honor us. It is your honoring of memory that has meant that the demons cannot use Old Mountain as they wish. And your part in this task is a very great one. I would not know how to thank you, if you did this.”
“Tchah,” said Kembang, coloring and looking away. “There is no need for thanks. We will be glad.” She reached into her clothes and brought out an ignition key, which she handed to Husam. He exchanged a questioning look with Dewi—would the bike actually work, would he be able to drive it?—but as if not at all concerned, he sat astride the bike, while Dewi clambered into the sidecar. He put the key in the ignition and started it. To their surprise, but to Kembang’s beaming pride, it roared into life.
“My father’s sons looked after it well,” she said. “They took it sometimes on trips to town so we could sell our vegetables and eggs. This is how they earned money to feed it. They have not taken it for a long time, but I think it will take you quite far.” She put out a hand and touched each of them, fleetingly, on the hand. “Good-bye, beloved strangers,” she said softly. “We hope you will come back to us one day.”
“We plan to,” said Dewi heartily, thinking of her father.
Husam added, “And then we’ll return the speeda, never fear.”
Kembang nodded. “That is well. We will play our part, beloved strangers, for it is right we do.” She stood back and, with the other villagers, watched Dewi and Husam trundle rather unsteadily out of the village on the purring machine.
Husam managed to keep the bike going in a more or less straight line, driving very slowly, till they were out of sight of the village, and then, cautiously, upped the speed. Fortunately, the path, though narrow and set between pillars and boulders, was straight and quite well made. Some distance from the village, the road dipped sharply downward, nearly unseating Husam and Dewi, and the pillars and boulders disappeared, as did the trees and bushes. They were now in open country, barren-looking fields on either side of them.
Neither of them spoke for a little while. Then Dewi said, shouting above the roar of the engine, “I wonder who left this motorbike with them?”
“It’s an old thing,” said Husam, “and Kembang said they acquired it before she was born. Its owner was probably a lost traveler—an intrepid explorer, a madman on a jaunt, who knows? It was ages ago, and he is doubtless long gone from this earth. What matters is that he left his machine there. It served them well; now it serves us. Truly, God is great!”
“Truly,” said Dewi gravely.
“What worries me, little heart, is what Kembang said about Snow. If that is true, then we need Snow only to take him or her to their death. Kembang was very matter-of-fact, but I don’t like the sound of it at all. Sacrificial lambs may be good bait for wolves, but it does not seem honorable to me. How can we fight evil if we know beforehand that one who is to be our companion will die? And how is it that it is Fire that will do it? Poor Kareen Amar—why should she have to be the death of a stranger?”
“She doesn’t have to…” began Dewi, but Husam snorted.
“She is of the Jinn. They are a people strongly devoted to fate, and prophecy.”
“Yet they have free will,” said Dewi steadily. “I remember reading that, in a book my father has. They can choose.”
“Well, yes, but Kembang was quite clear. Fire is to be the death of Snow.”
“The afreet is also made of fire,” snapped Dewi. Husam started. The motorbike juddered.
“Oops—sorry. Why, Dewi, you are quite right.”
“Oh, really, I know no more than you. I wish we’d never heard what Kembang said. But we did, and the knowledge can’t be wished away.” Oh, if only she could speak to her father about it right now! And how slow the bike was! “Can’t you go faster, Husam?” she shouted, but he shook his head.
“It’s going just as fast as it can, I think. It’s old, Dewi, like me, you know!”