Chapter One - Richard Lewis

Mantera shuffled forward. Was it Nol's imagination, or did had the prince aged
overnight? As well he should.
Dharma murmured to Nol, "The keris rattled, warning me of the man who
betrayed your father." Then a warm smile closed over his face like water over a hole. He
greeted Mantera not like his prince but like an old and beloved friend.
"I apologize that Gdé Raka could not make it," Mantera said. "There is a tempest
in the household with his daughter Wulandri," he added, as if sharing this family affair
excused the insult of Raka's absence.
Little wonder Wulandri would be upset, Nol thought, seeing her boyfriend beat to
an inch of his life. But no matter. With only Mantera attending from the palace, Nol's
mint-scented calmness could focus with exceptional clarity of thought. This was the man
who had fathered him, but Mantera was not his Bapa. He was a wicked man, who had
sent a good man to his death.
Dharma guided Mantera to his place of honor, a row of velvet armchairs by the
guest pavilion, where the priest was ready for the celebrants. The gamelan beat out a
crescendo as the prince took his seat. Nol slipped into the chair beside Mantera, and the
music died away to silence.
"How is your bird, my lord?"
"The one you taught to sing? It's going to be a champion."
"My son Putu Swastika couldn't make it," Nol said. "A medical emergency last
night."
"Oh, dear. I am sorry to hear that. Is he okay?"
"He was attacked by thugs last night."
"Oh my," the prince said. "Have you informed the police?"
"A matter to be taken care of privately," Nol said. "An old feud with somebody.
Why involve the police?"
Mantera sighed and lightly tapped his cane to the ground. "We Balinese really
should get over our petty clan and village feuds. It is so backwards."
Nol pictured Mantera writing the anonymous letter, filling a plain sheet with his
handwriting, the words furtive and sly. This was the man who had fathered him with rape
and violence, and the man who had betrayed his real Bapa.
As the gamelan played a light tinkling tune, the celebrants filed out through the
courtyard, glittering in their finery, looking like dolls in their make-up. Putu's cousin led
the way, Ki Poleng the family keris tucked into the back of his ceremonial dress. It
should have been Putu, but Putu was in the hospital, his teeth shattered to their roots.
Before the cousin stretched out on his back on the prepared mat, Dharma removed the
sheathed keris from the boy's finery. As he handed the sacred weapon to Nol, his gaze
held Nol's for a long and lingering moment.
The handle of the keris felt warm to Nol's palm, as if it pulsed with life. He pulled
the handle, the blade slipped free, and the calm poured to his mind, and held his soul pure
and steady.
"Can't you go any faster?" Tina pleaded with the taxi driver.
He glanced at her in the rear view. "It's the traffic," he said, "and this isn't a
movie, you know. I drive this on a commission, I have to pay for my fuel and any
scratches…"
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