The Queen of the South Sea’s marriage to Senopati meant the fortification of Mataram’s territory as far as the boundless South Sea. A legitimation of his power. Who would not be terrified to hear of the Queen’s uncanny forces standing behind the Sultanate of Mataram? The lesson behind all this: don’t make enemies of wild horses. Ride them.

Ki Joko muttered something. After a while, I realised that he was reciting Javanese poetry:

Nenggih Kangjeng Ratu Kidul

Ndedel nggayuh nggegana

Umara marak maripih

Sor prabawa lan wong angung Ngeksiganda

Herjuno and I looked at each other.

‘Do I need to go to the South Sea and make offerings?’ Herjuno whispered to me.

Ki Joko noticed our hesitation. I turned to Herjuno.

‘Do you understand the verse, Jun? The Queen of the South Sea / Flying high in the air / Came to worship / Lost authority to the Sultan of Mataram.’

‘Herjuno, listen,’ Ki Joko interrupted. ‘Before the marriage of the Queen and the next Mataram king, nine women will dance and summon him. The Queen will appear in miraculous fashion in the form of the tenth dancer. The most beautiful dancer of all. She can transform into anything. An animal, the wind, a woman. Before you can catch her, she has already changed shape. She can assume an incarnated form.’

‘Do you mean to say that there’s an incarnation of the Queen of the South Sea now, in our era?’

He nodded. ‘If you’re able to grab hold of her saddle, she will take you places you’ve never imagined.’

If you’re able.

Herjuno felt he had understood. Like Senopati, who perpetuated the power of Mataram by marrying the Queen of the South Sea, Herjuno had to serve as the Queen’s consort.

‘If you meet her, recite these words: Gaze up to Heavenly Father, bow down to Mother Earth. And remember: never, ever underestimate her.’

—

After his visit to Ki Joko, Herjuno took notice of all the women he met, hoping to identify the Queen of the South Sea. She would need to be a strong, charismatic woman. The search revived his energy. He lit up whenever he spoke about the array of beautiful women he suspected might be the Queen. I didn’t pay much attention until one day we were at a reception commemorating the rollout of a new car model. The company throwing the reception belonged to one of Herjuno’s acquaintances.

We met a woman who wore sleek black trousers and a tight black leather jacket. Her frame was slim but powerful. She resembled a scorpion. Luxurious, shimmering, intimidating. Dark grey make-up swept up around her gorgeous eyes, making them stand out. When she spoke, her voice was as velvety as a Bloody Mary.