The Book of Dragons. Группа авторов

      “That’s what all this hoo-ha is about?” he said, baffled. “The humans?”

      “Tok Batara Guru!” said Sri Kemboja. She flung up her forelegs and turned away.

      Sri Bujang had so scandalized his parents that they did not even reprove her for the blasphemy.

      “The humans have changed, Kakanda,” said Sri Daik. “They are not scared of anything nowadays. If you cause trouble for them, they will cause trouble for you.”

      “We cannot take trouble right now,” said Sri Gumum. “Ayahanda is sick.”

      The way they looked at Sri Bujang was familiar. This feeling, of being the cause of worry, the troublemaker, the disappointment, was one he knew.

      “I know Ayahanda is sick,” said Sri Bujang. There was a bitter taste on his tongue. “Do you think I’m doing all this for fun?” He gestured at the stele.

      “No. You are doing it because I asked,” said Sri Daik. “I should not have asked. It is better not to demand things of your children.”

      “Kakanda, you spent so many years already on your mountain,” said Sri Gumum. “Isn’t it time to stop being selfish?”

      “Selfish?” Sri Bujang echoed.

      But it was true, wasn’t it? For he had escaped. All those years ago, he had hardened himself against the demands of love and duty, knowing that he would be used without mercy if he showed the least sign of yielding.

      By his own creed, Sri Bujang’s life on his mountain required no justification. To gain enlightenment, to free oneself from the shackles of illusion, all expedients were permissible—even necessary. To his family, however, Sri Bujang had been born a debtor. His debts would not be paid off with anything less than his life.

      He was distantly aware that Sri Kemboja had come back. She looked from him to their parents.

      “Enough,” she said abruptly. “There’s no need to talk so much. Kakanda’s got the point already.”

      Sri Bujang stared, too miserable to be comforted even by this unexpected show of solidarity. Sri Gumum, who could never resist having the last word, said:

      “You cannot have both, Kakanda. You’ve had your fun, but you’re not young anymore. Now it’s time to focus on the family. Put aside other things. You understand that, right?”

      “Yes,” said Sri Bujang, “I know.” But everything in him rose in revolt. They could try to take all that mattered to him, he thought, but they couldn’t make him believe his soul did not matter. That was the one thing they could not do.

      The dragon had become such an everyday sight that May Lynn barely spared it a glance before turning back to her phone. Unbelievably, the message on the screen had not changed.

       Besok? Where you want to eat?

      The good thing about having overly long fingernails was at least you always had something to chew.

      Besok boleh, she typed. It wasn’t too much to respond straight away, right? It was normal. They were arranging a normal evening meetup between colleagues, outside working hours, for general socializing purposes. Anywhere also can.

      The blue double-tick appeared next to her messages, but Yasmin didn’t answer immediately. To distract herself, May Lynn looked up at the long line of traffic snaking ahead of her. The cause of the jam was still to be seen, framed between the trees by the side of the road.

      The dragon was motionless, its head turned toward Gunung Sri Bujang. It was strange that it was lingering for so long. Usually it was only possible to catch a glimpse of the dragon as it made its way between mountain and sea.

      Yasmin’s reply said, I’ll surprise you then. Can’t wait. ;)

      The traffic inched forward. May Lynn disengaged the brake and let her car slide along, smiling helplessly. Outside, the dragon appeared and disappeared between the trees.

      She was in a mood that conferred meaning on everything; the world seemed light and clear, bursting with possibility. The dragon’s silhouette was suddenly unbearably poignant, the swoop of its neck full of yearning.

      The thunder made her jump and drop her phone. There was a cracking sound, but May Lynn barely heard it through the howling of the wind. Her phone had better not be broken. It would be the worst possible moment for it to happen. What would Yasmin think?

      She saw the edge of her phone case and dived to scoop it up. Perhaps that was for the best. It meant she didn’t see the tree give way under the force of the storm, or the branch tumbling toward her, crashing through the windscreen.

      Sri Bujang woke up under a ceiling of wood, not stone. This would be the case now, till the end of this life. Today and all the days after, he would be king and this would be his kingdom. The thought had the peaceful finality of death.

      He slithered out of his bedchamber, raising his head to meet the day.

      Sri Gumum was charging down the passage, followed by a thunderous-looking Sri Kemboja. With great weariness, Sri Bujang recognized on them the marks of a tempest in which he would unavoidably be involved.

      “Kakanda, where have you been?” said his mother. “We couldn’t find you anywhere yesterday! I wouldn’t even have known you were back if Balkis hadn’t told me.”

      “Do you need to ask where he was?” said his sister. “He was at his mountain, obviously.”

      “Oh, no,” said Sri Gumum. “Kakanda wouldn’t do that, not at a time like this.”

      “Wouldn’t he?” said Sri Kemboja. “You ask him!”

      “What do you mean, ‘a time like this’?” said Sri Bujang. A chill presentiment touched him. “Is Ayahanda okay?”

      His mother shook her head.

      “Where is he?” said Sri Bujang. It was too soon. He had made his big sacrifice, the grand gesture that was to put him right with the family. Surely Sri Daik could not have left before Sri Bujang was able to tell him. “Can I see him?”

      “Better not,” said Sri Gumum. “He’s very disappointed. You children don’t know, you think your father is invulnerable. All his life he has worked to build his reputation. Now he is having his name dragged through the human courts, and for what?”

      “What?” said Sri Bujang.

      The letter was written in the new Roman alphabet the humans had adopted in the past century. Emblazoned at the top were the words:

       HANTU v Raja Naga Laut China Selatan, Sri Daik

      “Ayahanda said the humans would cause trouble,” said Sri Gumum.

      Sri Bujang scanned the letter slowly. He wasn’t used to the humans’ new script, and the legal jargon didn’t help. “But it says the case is brought by hantu.”

      “H-A-N-T-U, not hantu,” said Sri Kemboja. “It’s an acronym.” She tapped the sheet with a talon. “See, it explains it here. Humans’ Association for the preservation of NaTure from the Unnatural. It’s an organization to tackle the ecological impact of spiritual and supernatural activity.”

      “Humans are scolding us for affecting the environment?” said Sri Bujang.

      “Not just scolding,” said Sri Kemboja. “Suing.” She flipped the page and pointed to a row of figures.

      The numbers were more familiar than the words. Sri Bujang digested them in a horrified glance. “They’re asking for how much?”

      “For the damage caused by your landslides and floods,” said Sri Kemboja. “If it wasn’t for the fact that Ayahanda and Bonda have to suffer, I’d say they should be claiming