humans to live so long. But it was either that or let her die. I know you all think I’m selfish, but the whole point of going to the mountain was not to do harm.”
“I thought the point of going to the mountain was to seek liberation,” said Sri Kemboja. “How are you going to become an awakened one in your next life if you’ve given it away?”
Sri Bujang was proud of himself for not wincing. “I’ll have to start over from scratch in the next life, that’s all. I’ve lost all the merit I built up before.”
He tried not to think about the work his next incarnation would have to do to recover his progress toward liberation—supposing the next incarnation even knew enough to desire enlightenment.
“Hopefully, I’ll at least be reborn as a human and not one of the other animals,” he said. Even if he’d avoided ending any human lives, he’d probably racked up too much moral debt with all the natural disasters to be reborn as a naga. “Humans are supposed to be able to attain liberation also.”
Sri Kemboja folded her hands with the ease of much use—Sri Bujang would have had to practice to reproduce the maneuver.
“I trained myself to suppress the rain-bringing instinct,” she said. “It wasn’t easy. It took a lot of work, and I don’t know if the technique can be reproduced. But I can teach you. If you learn how to do it, you can keep your mountain.”
Sri Bujang was touched. “That’s really kind, Adinda, but—”
“I’m not offering to be kind,” said Sri Kemboja brusquely. “You saved her. That’s what I can do for you. So I’ll do it.”
Sri Bujang paused. Sages did not have hurt feelings. Just because he was not going to be a sage anymore didn’t mean he couldn’t act like one.
“I was going to say, I’m not keeping my mountain,” he said.
He’d already made up his mind, but saying it out loud gave him an acute pang. They’d laid flowers outside his cave, not just the humans but the spirits too; they knew it was good luck to have a naga on the mountain. He had gone for months at a time deep in meditation, joyfully forgetful of self.
He pushed the memories to the back of his mind. They would have to stay there, sunken treasure in a dark sea.
“I’m selling it,” he said.
His sister’s head whipped around. “What?”
“To pay for the lawsuit,” Sri Bujang explained. “It’s quite a valuable mountain—central location, good soil. The proceeds should be enough to cover legal expenses and compensation.”
“But you can’t do that,” said Sri Kemboja.
“I can, actually,” said Sri Bujang. “I own the mountain under the humans’ laws. There are some humans who’ve lived nearby for millennia—very decent people—but because they did not have the right papers, the other humans have been stealing their land to grow pineapples and build housing developments on. They advised me to make sure my papers were in order, so I did. My lawyer says there should be no problem with passing title.”
“You have a lawyer?”
“The neighboring humans suggested it.” Sri Bujang sighed. “I only went back that last time to say good-bye. I lived there for centuries. I was friendly with the humans, the hantu, the animals … I couldn’t leave them all hanging. If I knew how to turn off the rain, I would’ve done it. But I didn’t. I never planned on going back and forth.”
Sri Kemboja was silent for a moment, staring down at her limau ais. “You never planned on coming home at all.”
This was too close to the truth, and a mortal wound.
“Never mind,” said Sri Bujang. It would hurt less presently, but he did not want to talk about the life he’d carved out for himself, or the dream that had sustained it. “I thought I could balance the two—the mountain and the sea—but this was a lesson. Like you said, I have to commit. So I’m committing. Ayahanda and Bonda won’t have to worry about the lawsuit anymore. Or me.”
“They don’t have to worry about the lawsuit anyway,” said Sri Kemboja. She was looking angry again. Sri Bujang’s heart fell. What had he said wrong now?
Sri Kemboja went on, “I told them I’d handle it. There’s plenty to challenge. They named the wrong defendant to start with, and then there are the jurisdictional issues. That’s not even getting into the substantive case.”
“Is this a human thing?” said Sri Bujang cautiously. “Is that why I don’t understand anything you’re saying?”
“Oh,” said Sri Kemboja, “I’m a lawyer. That’s why I started living secretly as a human, because Ayahanda and Bonda said princesses can’t practice law. You know I always loved the law.”
This was even more surprising than it had been to find out that Sri Kemboja moonlighted as a human. “You did?”
“Okay, I assumed too much,” said Sri Kemboja. “I forgot who I was talking to. I fought with Ayahanda and Bonda about it all the time, but you wouldn’t have noticed. The point is, there’s no need to sell your mountain. You’ll have money once you’re crowned—you can use that to help the people who suffered from your natural disasters.”
Sri Bujang felt adrift, his sacrifices taken from him.
“If you could help all along,” he said, “with the rain and the court case, why didn’t you say so?”
Sri Kemboja looked a little ashamed. “You can only learn to stop the rain if you can see beyond self. How was I to know?”
“I spent centuries training to pierce the veil of self!”
“You didn’t know I wanted to be a lawyer,” Sri Kemboja pointed out. “Ayahanda had me detained in my room for a month for doing work experience! Do you even remember that?”
Sri Bujang did, now that she mentioned it. “Oh, is that why you spent that month in your room studying the classics?” At Sri Kemboja’s look, he said, “Okay, I take your point. But that doesn’t apply to the court case.”
“I was mad at you, Kakanda,” said Sri Kemboja. “You got away with everything. You wanted to be a sage, so you went off to this mountain and sat in your cave refusing visitors. I’ve been the one living with Ayahanda and Bonda, listening to them tell me what they wanted to tell you. But they never sent a messenger to your mountain or asked you to visit them. They always gave you face, because you were the raja muda.”
Sri Bujang couldn’t think of anything to say except, “I came back.”
“Yes,” said Sri Kemboja. “Anyway, even if we have a good case, that doesn’t mean it’s fun to deal with a lawsuit against my sick father. I’m busy at work, I have my own life. I’ve got enough things to handle as it is.”
“Is one of those things May Lynn?” said Sri Bujang. He had been wondering.
Sri Kemboja choked on her drink. The human face she was wearing went bright red.
