“Will you tell us?” Natesa asks him. “I didn’t listen as closely in class as Kalinda.” Yatin releases a deep chuckle, and Natesa elbows him to be quiet. She was more studious in the sparring ring than the classroom.
Datu Bulan gazes up at the water-goddess sculpture. “Our island is nearly as ancient as Enki herself. Our ancestors dwelled contentedly by the sea until the gods left the mortal realm for the Beyond. As soon as Enki departed, the sea rebelled. Tides flooded the villages and farmlands.”
I listen closely. His brogue is somewhat hard to follow, his k’s and r’s rushed or not enunciated. Indah and Pons have accents as well, but theirs are less noticeable.
“The islanders feared for their lives, but they loved their home and would not flee for the mainland. They congregated along the shoreline and confronted the roiling waves. The sea waited for them to turn their backs on the surf so it could ambush them and sweep them away, but the islanders stood firm and prayed for Enki to save them. When she saw they would not be moved, she bridled the sea and dragged the high tide away from the villagers. In the absence of her waters, more fertile islands rose up from the seafloor for them to build and plant upon.” The datu dips his fingertips in the fountain. “We still offer daily sacrifices to Enki. In return, she preserves us from the tides.”
I memorize Enki’s beautiful yet fierce stance, her open arms beckoning for me to believe.
Datu Bulan motions for us to move along. We trail him up the grand staircase and down a wide corridor. Etchings above the doorways draw my notice. The godly virtues—obedience, service, brotherhood, humility, and tolerance—decorate every threshold. The temple sisters emphasized sisterhood instead of brotherhood, but otherwise the virtues are the same ones we strive to emulate in Tarachand.
Natesa sees them too. “Why are the godly virtues over every doorway?”
The datu stops. “To remind us of our divine path.” He passes through a door and we follow.
The spacious chamber is open to a terrace and balcony, letting in the briny scent of the sea. A fountain flows down the wall into a low basin. The running water continually cools the room. The furniture is crafted from durable grasses and driftwood, and thin white linens cover the bed. Deven prowls around, checking the chamber’s security. I can already tell he does not like the terrace; it is too easy for someone to slip in unseen.
“This is lovely,” I say.
Datu Bulan lifts the back of my hand to his lips. “Anything for a two-time tournament champion. I would trade all my pearls to have hair like yours in my collection.”
“Ah . . . thank you?”
“It’s a compliment, Viraji. I collect rare and valuable treasures.” Bulan lifts his shell necklace for me to see. “I traded a bucketful of black diamond sand for these. They can only be found in the Northern Sea.”
I touch a smooth pink shell. “They’re exquisite.”
“Not as exquisite as your hair.” Datu Bulan delivers his flattery with utmost sincerity, as though very few things in the world awe him more than his strand of shells. Then he sweeps his hands behind his back, nods farewell, and shuffles out, his too-large sandals slapping the floor.
What a curious man.
“Yatin and I will sleep here,” Deven says of the lounges on the terrace.
“The kindred is safe,” Indah assures him. “We’re a peaceful people.”
“So were our people once.” Deven strides to the balcony and scans the city beneath the twilight.