Prologue
At the beginning
On the shore
The storm was shattering.
Lightning struck a tree. The trunk split with extraordinary violence, but there was an inevitability to its destruction.
So, too, with her. As she was sundered in two, there was no surprise—only pain.
She
heard herself crack, the ichor in her veins boiling, but then all noise
was drowned out by the roar of the storm. In days past she had summoned
lightning at a thought; the rain came and went at her command; the
waves churned at her whim.
But those powers had been taken from
her. Now it was she who was at the mercy of the elements, tossed about
like a toy. She fought to hold on to the broken parts of herself, but
they slipped out of her grasp.
Insensibility seized her. She was dragged down into darkness, not grateful, and yet relieved.
When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was the dark bowl of the night sky.
Faint
stars were scattered across its curved surface, and a full white moon
rode the clouds. The air smelt sweetly of rain, but the tempest had
passed.
Now a hush held the world in the palm of its hand. A low
voice rumbled through her bones, monotonous and familiar. It was the
voice of the waves, running up the shore and receding.
She felt
as if she had awakened after a deep, revivifying sleep. She could not
remember what had happened before, but that she had suffered she did not
doubt. All distress had passed with the storm, however. She felt
pleasantly empty—weak, wrung out, but calm.
The sand whispered
against her as she rose unsteadily to her feet. Before her was the sea.
Behind her, the dark mass of the jungle loomed out of the night like a
drowsing beast, only half-asleep.
She felt her way across the
shore, going slowly, for her limbs felt new to her. The beach was
scattered with the debris of the storm, and she tripped on a piece of
wood, grazing her knee.
The silence of the world began to
frighten her. She felt alone, abandoned by all she had known—even her
own self, for she could not remember what she was called. Trees lined
the shore, graceful assemblies of coconut palms and casuarinas. But when
she addressed them, they did not answer.
She longed for a
friendly voice, the touch of a hand she knew. She had been asleep for so
long. If only someone would tell her what had happened . . .
Her
foot knocked against something solid. This log seemed different—solid,
but more yielding. She crouched down, reaching out, and felt warm flesh,
the jutting edge of bone. The body was breathing. It stirred at her
touch.
The girl opened her eyes. They gleamed as they caught the
light of the moon, and they held the same look she must have on her own
face—a look of recognition and relief. “Muna.”
“Is that my name?”
said Muna, but she was not really questioning it. She had known at once
that they belonged to each other. “I have forgotten yours.”
“I
was called Sakti, I think,” said the other. “Help me up, kak,” she said,
calling Muna ‘“sister,”‘ and from then on that was how they addressed
each other.
Chapter 1
Six weeks later
The island of Janda Baik, the Straits of Malacca
Muna
The
forests of Janda Baik were imposing even in the full glare of daylight.
In the half-light of dawn they were something else altogether-an
extrusion of another, inhuman world, beyond terror or awe.
The
forests blanketed a large part of the island, but the villages clung to
the coast. The people of the island went quietly in the shadow of the
jungle, avoiding its notice. What came to pass in the jungle was the
business of witches and spirits.
Of course, such business was
precisely Mak Genggang’s stock-in-trade. In appearance she was like any
aged village woman to be found bent over cooking pots in a kitchen or
selling vegetables in a market. Her manner, which combined warmth with
an imperiousness that would not have been out of place in a palace,
would not distinguish her from any other matriarch in her batik cloths.
Yet
her appearance was deceptive. As everyone in Janda Baik knew, Mak
Genggang was the foremost witch of the region, first among the magicians
in the polities along the Straits. The King of Siam himself was said to
have sought her counsel; she was renowned among practitioners of the
magic arts in China and India; and she counted among her friends
England’s Sorceress Royal, who presided over the magicians of that
distant country. Mak Genggang’s name was known even in the Unseen
Realm-the hidden world where the spirits live, next door to our own.
Despite
her great powers she was a kindly woman, but as with many strong people
who are not often afraid, it did not come naturally to her to take
thought of the fears of the weak. It had been she who insisted that Muna
and her sister Sakti depart at the start of the day, before the sun had
quite risen.
“Magic is always strongest at a border,” the witch
had explained. “Whether it be between jungle and village, or earth and
sea, or day and night.”
Sakti’s face had twitched. Muna had known
just how she felt. Left to herself, Muna would not have set off any
earlier than noon, when the sun would be high in the sky, its light
inescapable.
“We will be guided by your judgment, of course, mak
cik,” Muna said. “But will not it be easier for us to see our way if we
leave later in the day?”
“The sooner you are off, the better,” said the witch firmly.
They
had risen at dawn, when it was dark, and the sky was still a deep blue
when they arrived at the edge of the jungle. Under the trees lay a
shadowy world, full of mystery and discomfort-leeches, snakes, dangerous
beasts…and magic. For through the jungle lay the shortest route to the
Unseen Realm, the abode of djinns and spirits, whence all magic
ultimately flowed.
“If we put you on a ship to England, it would
be a year before you saw its shores,” said Mak Genggang. “But the Unseen
Realm borders all mortal lands, and it will take you no time at all to
get there through the jungle. Any fool who wanders in the forest risks
stumbling into the world of the spirits, if he does not take care.”
Muna
had heard all the usual stories of such fools, and the grisly ends to
which they came. The tales were not such as to light in her any flame of
desire to model herself on their heroes. “But is it safe to go this
way, mak cik?”
“Of course it is not safe,” said Mak Genggang
impatiently. “But it would not be safe for you to remain here either. I
shall make a path for you, and if you walk briskly, you will be in
England before the Sorceress Royal has sat down to her breakfast.”
The
ceremony for the opening of the path was a simple one. Mak Genggang did
not chant, nor work any great magic, so far as Muna could tell. She
merely bowed her head, muttering and prodding the grass with a stick, as
though she were searching for something she had lost.
Muna drew
her shawl closer around her, shivering at the chill morning air. There
must be more to the witch’s activities than was apparent to unmagical
eyes, for Sakti watched Mak Genggang with interest, seeming to forget
her apprehension at the journey ahead.
There were only three of
them at the forest’s edge. No one else in Mak Genggang’s household had
been told of their departure. Of course Muna saw the need for
discretion-it was no one’s fault but their own that they were being sent
away in secret.
Yet she regretted that she could not bid
everyone good-bye. Like most persons of importance Mak Genggang boasted a
numerous following, though hers was more variegated than was usual. In
her substantial wooden house, set back from the rest of the village,
resided a shifting population of witches, apprentices, servants, slaves,
bondswomen, poor relations, strays of all descriptions and even a
number of lamiae.
These last had alarmed Muna when she had first
joined the witch’s household, but use had accustomed her to them. They
were not unlike mortal females-which was perhaps not surprising, for
lamiae are nothing more than the spectres of women who die nursing a
great grievance. The chief point that distinguished them from other
women was their predilection for consuming the vitals of humans; they
were particularly fond of infants. Those who lived under Mak Genggang’s
protection were tame, however, observing strict codes of proper
behaviour. They were inordinately fond of gossip and prone to
quarrelling among themselves-but these were foibles shared by most of
the witch’s dependents.
Yet Muna had grown attached to her fellow
servants in the weeks since Mak Genggang had found her and Sakti
wandering confused upon the shore, and taken them under her protection.
Muna thought wistfully of the girl who slept on the pallet next to hers.
She had often wished Puteh would not insist on repeating her
conversations with a certain well-favoured youth in the village when
Muna wished to sleep, but now she would miss that excitable voice
buzzing in her ear. And she would miss Kak Lena, who reigned over Mak
Genggang’s kitchen. She had promised to teach Muna Mak Genggang’s recipe
for sambal (a secret as jealously guarded as any of the witch’s magic
spells), but Muna would never learn it now…
“Why do you sniff?” whispered Sakti, with what for her was unusual percipience.
“It
is nothing,” said Muna, embarrassed. She flicked her tears away with
her shawl. “Only-I was thinking of everyone, you know! Aren’t you sorry
to leave, adik?”
“No,” said Sakti. “You know I have been longing for something to happen!”
Muna
sighed, but she had not really expected any other response from Sakti.
She did not doubt they were sisters: how else could Sakti have known her
name the moment they woke, though they remembered nothing else of their
past lives? Certainly they looked alike-though Sakti was the prettier,
with larger eyes, longer lashes and a clearer golden skin-but they
seemed to share no other point of resemblance.
It was supposed
they had been lost at sea during the storm-such a storm as Janda Baik
had not seen in living memory, devastating crops and drowning several
fishermen. But neither Muna nor Sakti could say what village they were
from, nor name their family.
“The shock has chased these things
out of your mind,” Mak Genggang had said, “but you will remember in time
and then we will find your people.”
But they did not remember, though the days passed, turning insensibly into weeks.
The
lapse of time had not worried Muna. It was inconvenient not to have
memories, to be sure-yet life under Mak Genggang’s protection was
comfortable. Muna had been set to work in the kitchen, and since in the
witch’s household the art of cookery was as highly developed and
esteemed as that of magic, she had found the work of absorbing interest.
She had made friends among her fellow servants, and rapidly become part
of the life of the house.
As for her sister, Sakti had been
singled out by Mak Genggang from the outset for her remarkable magical
gift. She had been elevated to the rank of apprentice and relieved of
the greater part of her domestic duties so that she might devote her
time to the study of magic.
Muna herself lacked any magical
facility, but she was not exercised by this. Magic hardly seemed to make
Sakti happy. To be admitted to Mak Genggang’s lessons in magic was
accounted a great honour-noblemen and princesses had eagerly sought the
privilege-but Sakti did not value her good fortune as she ought. Hers
was a restless temperament and she chafed under the burden of Mak
Genggang’s authority.
“The old woman is a tyrant!” she said to
Muna. “I don’t see how you can bring yourself to bow and scrape to her,
and say yes, mak cik and no, mak cik as you do.”
The truth was
that Muna was fond of Mak Genggang. The witch could be overbearing, but
it was natural that one so old and powerful should believe she knew what
was best. But to say this to Sakti would only annoy her.
“I find
that the fact she is a powerful magician is a great incentive to
courtesy,” said Muna mildly. “Besides, we are indebted to her. She was
under no obligation to take us in.”
Sakti could not deny that the
witch had been kind. Mak Genggang had shown no impatience for their
departure, as the time passed and they remained at her household. As for
Muna, she knew there must be people wondering at their
disappearance-family and friends waiting for their return-but since she
could not remember them, she felt no urgent need of a reunion. She
should happily have remained with Mak Genggang indefinitely…if not for
the curse.
She glanced at Sakti’s waist, but the evidence of the
curse was concealed by Sakti’s sarong. The recollection of the wound
made Muna soften towards her sister. Why should Sakti regret to leave a
place that had served her so ill? Muna could only hope that England
would suit her better.
Mak Genggang straightened, tossing her
stick away and clapping her hands. “There! That will keep you as safe as
you can hope to be in djinn-country. And I have laid speech-magic on
each of you, so you ought not to have any difficulty speaking with the
English.”
The path unfurled before their feet: a silver rope of
light, winding across the grass and into the jungle. Sakti and Muna
regarded it in some doubt. Mak Genggang’s businesslike manner did not
quite suffice to persuade them that to stroll into the Unseen World was
nothing out of the ordinary way.
“What shall we do if we encounter any spirits?” ventured Sakti.
“I have taught you spells for defence. You will not have forgot them all, surely?” said Mak Genggang.
“No, but-”
“You
should not have need of them in any event, so long as you keep to the
path. Few spirits will offer to molest you if they know you are under my
protection,” said Mak Genggang. “You must be discreet, however. The
Queen of the Djinns has never minded what we do here in Janda Baik, but
she has quarrelled with the English, and that has made her particular
about who may travel between her realm and England. But if you are quick
and quiet there is no reason she should ever know you have passed
through her lands.
”You had best get along,“ she added, when Muna
and Sakti still evinced an inclination to linger. ”I have other
business to attend to-and we don’t want the English to come and find you
still here. It would be just like their wickedness to surprise us! Go
in safety, and give my regards to the Sorceress Royal and her young man.
And mind you look after your sister!“
It would have been natural
for the witch to have been addressing Sakti, since it was Sakti who had
magic and was best equipped to defend them against the various perils
of the Unseen. Yet Mak Genggang looked at Muna.
”I shall watch over my sister, mak cik,“ said Muna. She hesitated. ”Thank you. You have been very good to us!"
They
set off. Muna did not mean to look back, for she had a suspicion she
would disgrace herself if she did. Yet she turned despite herself.
Though
they had only advanced a dozen steps into the jungle, already the
crowding trees obscured her view. Through the gaps between the boles,
she caught a glimpse of the witch still standing there-a small, upright
figure, deceptively frail, shading her eyes with one hand.
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