Curse of Witch and War Read online

  CURSE OF WITCH AND WAR

  The Skyfall Era (A Prequel)

  MATT LARKIN

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, businesses, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2012-2015 Matt Larkin

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Edited by Brenda Pierson

  Cover by Robin Ludwig

  Published by Incandescent Phoenix Books

  incandescentphoenix.com

  First Edition 2012

  Expanded Edition 2015

  For Juhi. Always.

  Like This?

  Did you like this? Sign up for my New Release mailing list and be the first to hear about the latest adventures.

  If you enjoyed this read, please be sure to leave a review wherever you bought or downloaded it. Every review makes a world of difference. If you left a review, send us a link to it and the next book is on us.

  Author’s Note

  This novella serves as a prequel to Children of Sun and Moon and opens 21 years before it. I would recommend reading that book first, as this one contains spoilers and some big reveals about the cause of later events.

  Special thanks to Brenda, Shannon, Ginny, and Amber for support on this project, and for loving Malin enough to give him his own tales.

  PART ONE

  (1170 After Pact)

  CHAPTER ONE

  The rainy season had arrived and the Isles were thick with petrichor and the putrid smell of corpse flowers in the rainforest. The monsoon had begun some days before Malin reached these shores. Now, though, it slowed to a faint drizzle that almost seemed to mock the blaring sun above this fishing village on the northern shore of Swarnadvipa.

  The village was mostly huts on stilts, lifted only a few feet out of the aquamarine sea. Villagers passed between the houses using canoes. In some cases mere children drifted about, throwing their own nets, or perhaps bringing fresh water to older fishermen.

  Malin paddled his canoe between two houses, more focused on the waters below him than the village or its inhabitants. With the sun out like this you could see down to the bottom, see the fish and urchins and seashells. Tioman had loved this quaint little place, had loved to watch the fish swimming below and pretend there were mermaids hiding just out of sight. Malin had brought her here in his days as a merchant prince. Another lifetime now.

  His jaw hurt from grinding his teeth so hard, but still he couldn’t relax. For months he had begged Anagolay to return Tioman to him. If the Goddess of the Lost heard him at all, she gave no answer. Perhaps the dead were beyond even her reach.

  Coming here had been a mistake. A vain, foolish attempt to hang on to the only thing he had left now: memories. Wells of pain and lamentation and the profound self-loathing born of knowing his own crimes had cost him everything.

  Had he been stronger, he would have simply ended things. He should have died in the storm that took his ship and his crew and his wife. Instead, a fool child had saved his worthless life and forced him to bear witness to the utter fulfillment of his mother’s curse. To her perverse justice.

  The largest of the houses was for the community, a feast hall where the locals could take their meals and gossip about their pointless affairs. It was almost midday, the lingsir kulon phase as the locals called it, and much as Lunars were wary of outsiders, they would never turn away a hungry guest.

  Malin allowed his canoe to slap into the dock around the community house, making no effort to tie it off. He’d bought the damn thing with stolen money anyway—he never used to be a thief—so he couldn’t bring himself to care if it drifted off. Someone would make use of it eventually.

  Tioman had always wanted a proper tour of the Skyfall Isles. They had their charm, if one could ignore the near total lack of liquor. These people divided themselves into three dynasties, each claiming descent from sun, moon, or fire. This was a Lunar village, and while Malin knew Lunars preferred isolation, this island was closer than the Solar ones.

  A few of the locals glanced at him as he slunk into the feast house and plopped down at a bench as far away from company as he could get.

  A girl in a red sarong drifted over to him, wearing a frilled headdress of leaves painted gold. “Sayur labu?” she asked with a big smile, offering him a wooden bowl filled with the chayote soup.

  Malin thumped the table in front of him with one finger. His travels had taught him the Skyfall tongue, but he had no desire to talk to this girl or anyone else. And her eyes were a bit too much like Tioman’s. Rather than let her see his distress, Malin sneered at the girl.

  She dropped the bowl on the table and scampered away.

  “Malin?” a man asked a moment later. “Malin, is that you?”

  Malin grabbed his bowl with both hands and began to sip from it, pretending not to hear.

  “Sweet Chandra, it is the Maitian!” a man said as he settled down in front of Malin. “Been a while, hasn’t it?”

  Groaning, Malin slammed his bowl back on the table, deliberately splashing the Lunar. Who was this Hukluban-damned man? Malin cared about as much as a shark cared who it ate.

  “Rangda’s spit!” the man cursed as hot soup soaked him.

  Now Malin did look up. Yes, he had dealt with this man before. Not a villager—a Moon Scion, one of those Lunars supposedly descended from their Moon God, Chandra. A few bribes to the leaders of war bands like his ensured safe travel in Lunar waters. But Malin had neither money nor interest in the Lunar now. “Leave. Me. Alone.”

  The man rose, stared down at his soaked baju. “Rangda take you, Malin. I thought we had an understanding.” He glanced over his shoulder at a crowd of a half dozen or so men who had risen from another table, then leaned in closer and whispered. “I can’t well have you disrespect me in front of my men, can I?” He leaned back and raised his voice. “Apologize and pay your dues, Maitian.”

  Rangda—that was what the Skyfallers called Hukluban, the Demon Queen of the frozen underworld. With a sigh Malin rose from the bench, reaching behind his back as though for a purse. “Rangda has already taken me. I am the living, suffering embodiment of her curses. I have looked into her eyes and seen despair.”

  The Moon Scion’s eyes widened, though whether at Malin’s blasphemy or temerity Malin didn’t know. Or care.

  “You want what you’re due?” Malin’s hands closed around the two yantoks—Kali fighting sticks—he had tucked into the back of his sarong. He jerked them free then whipped both forward in intersecting arcs.

  Despite the disbelieving look on the man’s face, the Lunar moved with superhuman speed, raising his arms in time to keep the sticks from hitting his head. Instead they smashed into his forearms. The Lunar sucked in a breath at the obvious agony, falling back.

  Immediately the man’s warriors rushed forward, drawing undulating keris knives or fighting sticks of their own. Malin pressed his advantage on the Moon Scion by leaping on the table and kneeing the man in the face. Or trying to. The Moon Scion somehow blocked out his pain, caught Malin’s leg, and flung him to the floor.

  The impact jarred Malin, but he smiled. Pain was a welcome respite from the all-consuming ennui that had swallowed his soul. Lunars swarmed around him. Malin rose in a single fluid motion, swiping one stick high to keep multiple attackers at bay while whipping another in a low arc. It shattered a man’s knee and he fell, screaming and clutching his ruined limb.

>   No time to savor it. Malin spun, parrying a thrusting knife with one stick and twirling his other in wide arcs. He actually had to laugh. These men were warriors, but Malin was a Kali master, trained by a hero of the Lam-Ang War. And he had one advantage over these Lunars. He could fight with no care for his own wellbeing.

  He flew through every form he knew, constantly shifting to deflect angles of attack rather than trying to parry each individual strike. And he landed several blows of his own, cracking skulls and arms and shoulders.

  As another of the Lunar warriors fell, the Moon Scion stepped in to take his place. Malin swung in another wide arc, only realizing his mistake too late. The Moon Scion moved with impossible speed, bending back under Malin’s yantok and coming up on the inside. His fist slammed into Malin’s side with such force it actually lifted Malin off his feet. Ribs cracked under the blow, and a haze of red, beautiful pain blurred Malin’s vision, cutting out all other senses.

  He stumbled backward, fell to his knees. Then spit blood at his attacker as he struggled to regain his wobbly balance. Malin roared at him and charged forward, swinging again. The Moon Scion caught his yantok in both hands and yanked it from his grasp, then tossed it aside. The maneuver had probably been intended to end the fight, to demonstrate superiority. But while the man had both hands full Malin flung his full weight at the Scion and bore him to the ground, head-butting him in the face as they fell.

  Somehow, Malin doubted the man could block out the pain of a broken nose.

  Malin flipped his remaining stick around and jabbed it through the man’s eye like a knife. The Scion’s body twitched under him.

  “Son of a bitch!” one of the remaining men screamed.

  Malin turned, too late, as a keris gouged open a foot-long gash along his chest. Fire seared through him and blood drenched his shirt. Malin grabbed the man’s leg and yanked, threw him to the ground, then climbed atop him and began raining blows upon him.

  A stick cracked across his back, knocking all strength from his limbs and sending him stumbling onto the foe he’d been attacking. He tried to rise but his arms wouldn’t respond.

  “Enough!” a woman’s voice shouted.

  “Who in Rangda’s frozen underworld are you?” the man attacking Malin demanded.

  “Calon, of House Soma. Formerly of House Arang. Which owns this little village. Your Scion is dead. You have no authority here. Leave the foreigner and go.”

  Malin tried to tell the woman he didn’t need her help. He didn’t want her Hukluban-damned help! Instead, he only managed to sputter out some blood and roll onto his back.

  Even through the blood stinging his eyes and the haze of pain clouding his vision, Malin could see the woman was beautiful, if tiny. Her long black hair shimmered, offsetting the red silk dress she wore, and she was heavily laden with golden jewelry. A man stood beside her, his hair nearly as long as hers. House Soma. Moon Scions grouped themselves in Houses, supposedly tracing descent to all the women impregnated by Chandra.

  The Lunar war band watched the woman for a moment before scampering off, out of the feast hall. As did everyone else almost immediately after, leaving Malin alone with the Moon Scion and her man. Bodyguard? Husband?

  Most likely Malin would not be able to kill another Moon Scion today. Not with broken ribs and the amount of blood he was losing from his wound to the chest. He crawled toward his yantok anyway.

  “This is the one we’ve been looking for,” Calon said.

  “Him? He’s half dead.”

  “The spirit will let him heal from almost anything, assuming he survives the infusion.”

  Malin struggled to protest. What spirit? What was she talking about?

  The man stared at Malin as if looking through him. “This man has a death wish. What good is that to us?”

  Calon knelt beside Malin and tossed the yantok away, out of his reach. “Rahu, darling. He will be death to our enemies. Those with the Jadian in them will be very hard to kill. This is what we’ve been waiting for, the chance to solidify House Soma’s place. As a human he just fought six men, killed a Moon Scion. Imagine what he could do for us with the power of Kahyangan in him.”

  “Wha …” Again the sound came out as a gurgle. He couldn’t catch his breath. What in the underworld of Hukluban were they even talking about? Kahyangan. That was the realm of spirits. Nothing good came from touching it.

  The woman put her hand on his cheek. “What’s your name, Maitian?”

  He gave over fighting against her. It was unlikely he could have hurt her if he tried. After a moment he managed to mumble, “Malin.”

  “Malin? We’re going to offer you a chance at greatness, Malin.”

  Malin slumped back to the floor and let unconsciousness claim him.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Malin’s whole body ached. Breathing hurt. The gash along his chest had been bandaged, but it burned with what had to be infection. He trembled with chills, though he knew he was burning up. Fever from the infection. So cold. So hot.

  He opened his eyes to see he was in another canoe, the man Rahu paddling them through some river in the rainforest. The place still smelled rotten, which meant the corpse flowers were still in bloom. They only lasted a few days, so Malin couldn’t have been out long.

  “You’re awake,” Rahu said.

  Moving his arm was agony, but Malin had to check his wound. He peeled away the bandage, then immediately regretted it. The noxious smell alone almost set him vomiting—or more likely into dry heaves, given the way his stomach growled. Chances were good he’d die from that wound after all. It had not been too deep, but it had turned rotten. He’d seen some of his crew die from wounds like that—delirious, calling out for lost loved ones as they withered away. Somehow, the prospect of dying in a fever dream sounded less appealing than going out in a blaze of glory, falling in battle. A pointless battle, of course. As pointless as the rest of Malin’s life.

  Except his life had given him Tioman. He, Malin, lowborn son of a fisherman, had married a Maitian princess. Had sailed with her all around the South Sea. Had loved and laughed and lived his dreams. Only to wake from them.

  “It was an impressive fight,” Rahu said. The man’s accent was slightly off, much like Malin’s own. A man who had learned the Skyfall tongue, but was not as accustomed to speaking it as a native. Or perhaps he was simply from one of the other islands. There had to be ten thousand of them, after all.

  “I would have … would have killed them all,” Malin mumbled, finding it hard to form words.

  Rahu snorted. “If my wife hadn’t stopped you? No, I don’t think so. Moon Scions have power you cannot match. Not yet.”

  “What … ?” Malin struggled to make sense of Rahu’s words through the fever haze. “What does that mean?”

  “What if I could offer you all the power you could ever dream of? Power to face six men and be the only one to walk away. Power to kill those who wronged you?”

  What madness was Rahu speaking? Malin’s flesh burned. He could almost feel his brain baking. He would die and this would be over. Over, and Malin would have lost.

  The Keong Emas. It had been a ship before the storm took it.

  No, no. Before that. Before that it had belonged to Balituk, a hero of the Lam-Ang War, a master of archery and Kali, the fighting style of Mait. The man had come to Malin’s village for supplies and trade. And his ship had been beset by pirates.

  Malin, a boy of fifteen thinking himself a man, had snuck aboard and murdered the pirates in their drunken slumber. It was the first time he had killed a man. Balituk, in gratitude, had taken Malin under his wing. He’d taught him to fight, taught him all he knew. And Malin had left his old life far behind to make his fortune and search for the father who had abandoned him.

  “Do you still want to die?” Rahu asked.

  Malin grunted. To die … would he see Tioman again? Was that what he’d wanted all along? No. His mother’s curse would no doubt deny him solace even in death. He would
be dragged down to face torment in the underworld of Hukluban or Rangda or whatever name she went by. No idea … what he even wanted. Kill? He wanted to kill. Rahu had said kill. For an instant when he had killed the Moon Scion he’d felt relief. Was that his true nature, or had his mother’s curse made him into a monster?

  “No,” Malin said. Not to die. Not yet. He wanted … what? Revenge? On his mother? She was far away in Mait. And he could not really blame her. He had brought this on himself. Revenge on the world? No. Tioman! He wanted Tioman, and that was impossible now.

  “You want to live? And do you want power, power like that Moon Scion?”

  No gods had heeded his prayers. Not Bathala or Anagolay or Aman Sinaya. And would this Chandra? Malin struggled to find sense in his jumbled thoughts. “Power …” Power to do what? Make a difference with his life? Power to overcome the curse on his fate. To prove he could be the master of his own destiny. And could he then get Tioman back?

  “Change … fate?”

  Rahu started. “How did you … ?” Then he shook himself. “What do you know of fate, Malin? You want to change fate?” Rahu was silent for a moment. “Maybe it’s enough power to change both our fates.” The man looked too far away for Malin to guess what went on in his head. “You accept my offer?”

  The power to change fate. To break this curse and salvage his life?

  “Oh, yes.”

  Rahu nodded. “Then rest, friend. You have an ordeal ahead of you, I suspect.”

  Malin shut his eyes, trying to take Rahu’s advice. But his mind burned and he couldn’t untangle his thoughts.

  “She’s your ship now,” Balituk said.