by Rama Nugraha
“No need for such thing. There are many street children who can fight! We need more than that! We are a troop of professional thieves and assassins! We perform dangerous tasks all over the world. Our customers are the rulers. The risk hung before us is death!” Halta shook his head. “You are not fit to even sign up as one of us. You cannot just sprout shallow reasons and hoped to be accepted just like that. An amateur man such as yourself who only knows joy is not worthy to join us!”
Silence. The temperature rose and tensed. Datan felt the piercing glare of the perching owl. He held himself back not to scratch the table with his index fingers—that would make him uncool. He stared while guessing what was going through Halta’s head. Datan was thinking of something. He was shaken, but not offended.
“Look, Halta. I understand the consequence of life as a Royan,” Datan replied, his eyes blazed. “But if realizing the consequences followed by dramatic reasoning about fate and sympathizing tragedy like you said before? I really don’t get it.
“I simply feel glad that I don’t have a life as rowdy as most of your fellas.”
“I hoped at least you could give me a proper reason. One that makes more sense!”
“You’re right. Now I feel like I should have lied.”
The hunched man closed his mouth. He wiped his gold earrings once more, they gleam under the light from the lantern.
“I do what I desire, Halta. I’ve been preparing myself for this for the longest time. If you are willing to accept me, I assure you I will be the best Royan you’ll ever know. But if not?” Datan shrugged.
There was no sound. Datan felt the air in the room got stuffier by the second and it made him sweat. Halta’s stare was void of emotion. His pale face only showed that he did not want to hear Datan’s imaginative reasons any longer.
“You may go, Datan,” Halta said, pointing the door with his eyes. “Go help your father grow babag in the field.”
◆◆◆
Datan felt insulted by the way Halta reject him. But he could not just stay still. He came back to see Halta on the next day. But before his bottom even touched the chair, Halta had pushed Datan out of the room. The next encounter was not much of a difference, Haltan welcomed him with insults and spit. In his fourth visit, Halta even called the guards to carry Datan out of his room.
Datan was furious. “You earring swine!” he shouted.
So, Datan was left with no other choice.
Halta lived with his wife on Cakalangi street number 5. They seemed to be a new family, as his wife just gave birth to a handsome son—he was at least 4 months old. Halta always went to the office at 6 in the morning, every single day, after reading Lusa Fardas Journal while eating fried eel for breakfast. He went by foot. Often times, he put on a dark coat, covering his favorite Nimta in the color of a stone.
Every two days, Halta visited the Ladies House. Unwind his burden with women who worked there. He let his wife take care of his baby all by herself in the house. Halta looked like the majority of Urgut males. That was their common characteristic—to conduct adultery. Aside from rubbing gold.
Datan knew this because he had been following Halta. In the second week, Datan brought the blanket from the motel he stayed in, which he collected from pickpocketing in the market. He rolled out the blanket in front of Halta’s house’s door.
“You are insane!” Halta almost choked seeing what Datan did.
“I swear, Halta,” Datan said sharply. “I will sleep and urinate here until you accept my registration as a Royan.”
“I will call the guards!”
“Please do, then I will shout to tell everyone that you are a disgusting Urgut man,” Datan blurted out mercilessly. “I will tell everyone that you slept with many widows in the Ladies House. Oh, we can see how your wife will react to this as well. You baby son, I think he will have a heart attack once he understands what kind of father he has. Your life will be a mess, Halta. You will have to go through a divorce. Your wife will curse you.
“There’s a big chance that you will be featured in the newspaper.”
And Halta accepted Datan.
◆◆◆
Halta’s face was darker than the cloudy sky when he pulled out a piece of parchment as well as a silver chalice from the drawer of his desk. The parchment with the hooded owl crest looked like it was at least hundreds of years old. On it was written that the candidate—in this case, Datan Woudward—was willfully signing up to be a part of the League of Royans. Halta slid the chalice in front of Datan, it had the shape of a thumb with a tiny needle in the middle.
Datan read for a while before pricking his thumb in the chalice so that it would bleed, then used it as an ink to stamp the parchment in a provided empty space. The trace of the blood was absorbed, becoming one with the parchment along with some foams. After that, Datan gave it back to Halta.
“You truly are a bastard, Datan,” Halta muttered sourly. “I never know how insane an Ingran’s dedication is. And I hate people who don’t listen to others such as yourself.”
Datan grinned delightedly.
Halta eyed a box wrapped with a red ribbon. Then, he slid it slowly towards Datan. The tiny box sighed as it moved on the mahogany table as if it was about to throw up because it was too full.
“What’s this?”
“I force you to put one Kurr in it. This is for the unfortunate people.”
Datan laughed dryly. Though, he did not want to think much of it. He got what he wanted. He put his hands in his pants, taking out two pieces of coins with numbers made of silver mixed with gold in the side. Kurr was the legal currency in Sarayan. One Kurr was equal with one gram of gold, which means the higher the value of a Kurr was, the more gold it had. The highest value of Kurr could be found is one hundred, which the coin was entirely made of gold.
Datan put the stolen coin which was valued at five Kurrs to the box. The box moved oddly followed by gulping sound when the two coins entered its belly.
Chapter 6
Towards Yardara
Datan did it. He persuaded the owner of the motel where he lived, Mr. Buckbuk of Urgut bloodline, to hire him. Datan was willing to work with the payment of food and shelter. Mr. Buckbuk who adored Ingra people and who was more than happy to pay an employee so little, gladly accepted Datan.
In the third week after Datan’s meeting with Halta, the Sea Blue motel got a visitor in the middle of the night. The bell rang beautifully. Walking into the warm and silent room was a man covered in a black hooded cloak, walking towards the receptionist who was sleepily reading behind the counter.
“Good evening,” Datan welcomed him lazily, he looked up as he closed the Discovery of The Underworld he was reading. “For how many days, Sir?”
Datan looked at the customer. Slightly, he could smell citrus from his attire. That man looked rather suspicious. He did not look like a guest. Datan finds his attire behind the cloak… odd. Not because it was simply black, but it was because the dark of night had condensed itself to be the color of every layer of the fabric. Also, there was a chain of bulking shape hid neatly there, it was a dagger, the haft of which was engraved with a hooded owl. Other people might not notice, but the eyes of an Ingra were one undeceived by darkness.
Datan’s heartbeat raced.
The man stood tall in front of Datan. His wide blue eyes gleamed as he read the name written on a piece of wood on the table. “Datan Woudward, pan?” he asked.
Datan was bewildered. “Pan?”
The man narrowed his eyes—questioning. “Pan?”
“Ah, yes, I am Datan. And you are?”
The man put down his hood, revealing an oval-shaped face with a pointy chin. He had burns on his forehead, it seemed like a mark left by a burnt babag. “Kanas,” he said, offering his hand. “I came to pick you up, Datan.”
It turned out, Kanas was from the Western Land of Natuna. The people of Natuna tended to use ‘pan’ at the end of their affirmative sentences. Natuna was a land in the west side
of the world which only had meadow and undiscovered jungles. Haedin people had lived in Natuna for thousands of years. Ever since the Age of Five Continents. Great wizards lived there, taking care of the land that people said it had become the most enchanted land in the entire world.
Datan hastily cleaned his desk. He closed the guestbook, tightened the ink bottle cap.
“You’re good at fighting, pan? Because we’re not childcare service. We don’t train children to fight.”
Datan looked up, “You’ll see.”
Kanas was expressionless still, looking around waked towards the door, “Come.”
Datan frowned. He put the guestbook to the shelf behind him, walking out of the counter in the lobby and approaching the other. Kanas turned around in an instant, his hand swayed, a dagger was held by his hand in a blink of an eye. It whizzed. It almost got Datan’s left eye, were he not to move his head sideways.
Hot air suddenly appeared, detaining them.
The hair in his neck stood. He was surprised at Kanas’s attack. But he was more surprised seeing the dagger pierced through the wall of the lobby—almost hitting the portrait of the landlord who was shaking hands with Thar Ubaga. Datan turned around and glared. “Kanas, pan-pan!” he groveled. “The wall!”
Kanas shrugged. “For Unum. Calm yourself, Datan,” he said. “He can no longer scold you after all.”
Datan gulped. “True,” he said. “But it will shame my name!”
“Stop thinking about worthless impression from others if you want to be a Royan. It will burden your steps. At least, I know you aren’t lying,” Kanas glanced the pendulum clock by the fireplace. It hands showed one o’clock. “Hurry, pack your belongings, we’re getting out of here. Oh, and please pull out the dagger.”
◆◆◆
They rode a horse for a week to the west, then they took a sharp turn to the north until they arrived at a slanted terrestrial recess. When the night came, they arrived in a village in a damp cave entrance on the side of the Laha Bay. Golden torches lightened up the damp rocky road, which was very quiet and the corner of which was very dark.
They approached a Haedin hut with red grass as a roof, the only building which was marked by a board carved with the number 20. It seemed that there had just been a clash there. Splatters of blood could be seen in the ground. Some of the fences were broken, a row of pots was shattered. An Urgut man had just beaten up at least fifteen bandits that attacked Post 20 which belonged to the League of Royans.
Datan was flabbergasted.
He stood awkwardly at the corner of the room, reluctant to sit on the chair. A Monarch Pigeon blinked its blue eyes, its beak made a wheezing sound as it watched Datan’s every move. It perched, lurking on a piece of wood near the window.
The tiny living room was filled with an intense scent of iron. A man covered in blood with a broken face, beaten black and blue, was sprawled on one of the tables. Datan’s eyes widened in horror.
“He’s dead,” the Urgut man said. “I beat him until… I guess his skull cracked.”
“I know he’s dead,” Datan snapped. “You put him on the dining table!”
That man winced, holding back pain when a girl with childlike face calmly stitched an open wound in his back. Datan noticed a tattoo of a black wave with splashes of red in the upper arm of the silver-haired man. Under it, a piece of pure silver pierces through his flesh—for decorative purposes.
Datan remembered Aunt Fira’s story that there were Urgut people in Middle Land of Bavarat who liked to decorate their body with metals. She said that it was horrifying.
“Give it a rest, Datan,” Kanas said. “This place was never enough to shelter them all.”
Datan found Kanas leaned his back near the window. His mouth was chewing something. His hand was holding five tiny peeled blood oranges, they dripped red liquid with pleasant fragrant. That liquid sap dripped from the gap between Kanas’ fingers to the wooden floor, leaving splatter of black. Kanas ate the fruit like a child vigorously eating peanut shell.
Datan grunted impatiently.
Tens of bandits sprawled in the nearly-unfurnished room. One of them was surely dead. The rest was unconscious with, their faces were dented like they had been beaten with some blunt iron. All of them had been disarmed and their weapons were thrown away.
Datan knew he must get used to these kinds of violent scenarios.
“You have beautiful eyes,” the little girl who had been stealing glances was now looking at Datan passionately, then she smiled like there were no traces of chaos around them.
“Yeah, many said so.”
Gracefully, the girl whipped her hair which was covering her long neck. The blue necklace she wore shone reflecting the light from the lantern. It was a Hin, which Aunt Fira also owned. The shape of the sapphire stone was round, thin and rather bendy, it was said to resemble the Holy Tree of Eina. The necklace was decorated with black spots like dents in a beehive, its side was covered in silver as red as blood. Those who wore Hin were those who proudly declare their belief in Unum.
“Niri, my name is Niri,” she said with a smile.
Datan felt like he was staring at a kid from Elementary Academy who skipped flora and fauna class. “How old are you, Niri?” he asked. “Why are you here?”
“I work here, Datan. Also, for Unum’s sake, I am already fourteen years old!”
Datan bobbed his head, looking astonished but rude. “Oh, for Unum, you are already that old,” he commented. “You should have gone home helping your mother mop the floor, Niri.”
The Urgut man barked a laugh that Niri scratched the bruise in his cheek. That man yelped in pain.
“I suggest you not to look down on Niri, Datan. She is a remarkable girl. She is really great at slapping people and pouting. Isn’t it right, Niri?” a man with pale blue eyes, who had been watching them from the side of the fireplace, finally said some words, making Niri blushed. “Why don’t you tell Datan more about yourself?”
“Sure, why not? I want to know.”
Niri fidgeted on his chair before starting to tell a story of herself. She was an orphan, born of Fardas bloodline, who was appointed as Post Guard by the League of Royans. She loved cooking. Every single day she used the pan to train, and she loved reading news from all over the world. “Often time you—Royans—need it,” she said. “News of things that happened around you… for the sake of your mission.” As the Post Guard, Niri was assigned to fulfill Royan member’s every need if they came by in a mission.
“I also admired Ingra people,” she added with flushed cheeks.
Datan narrowed his eyes. He could already guess the reason behind Niri’s admiration.
Niri bobbed her head. Her eyes sparkled in enthusiasm. “You can see in the dark, right?” she said. “I’ve always wondered how that’s like.”
“Ingra people has always been interesting to adore,” the man bowed, greeting him, his arms were crossed. “You can call me Edgar.”
“Hello, Edgar,” Datan bowed as well as he put his arms on his sides.
Crimson veins were visible under the eyes of the middle-aged man, indicating that Edgar frequently did Elpa Breathing. Edgar introduced himself as the Captain who knew the name of every single fish in the sea. Like Halta, he was born in the Eastern Land of Borneo, which was well-known for being inhabited by friendliest people in the entire world.
Those people had neither currency nor trade system.
Datan walked back and forth, massaging his head. Something had bugged him. It was something simple and basic. It was something which should have not surprised any longer.
Datan starred at them. “Is your way… always like this?”
“Pan?”
“Beating people up to death. Not feeling anything about it.”
“You overreact. In this chaos, they are to blame, Datan,” the Urgut man approached the corpse after Niri finished stitching him. He pulled out the thumbnail of the corpse in one strong pull. “They had ill-intention. Ah, you
can call me Pobos.”
“And now you’re chewing his nail?” Datan looked like he had been choked. “His nail! Are you actually mental or what?”
Pobos laughed, wiping the spots of red in the corner of his lips. “No worries, Datan. I am perfectly healthy,” he uttered. “This is how I show respect to enemies I killed.”
Datan shook his head. His throat hurt as though the corpse’s nail was there, scratching his insides. Datan had joined a world full of freaks. A girl who could grin happily still even though a broken corpse sprawled before her, a polite man who knew all the name of fish, and a nail-eating maniac?
What absurdity awaited ahead of him from now on?
Kanas pulled out a red pipe made of stag’s antler from his pocket. He put some citrus tobacco in it then lit it on fire with a match. He inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself for a minute. Kanas reminded Datan that being a Royan was not easy. Of course. People hated the League of Royans without even trying to understand them. That was why Royan had no other choice than to kill or be killed. Thus, a pile of corpses would be a familiar sight for them.
“I need to adjust a little. What are we going to do next?”
“What should’ve been done. You better wait outside,” Kanas blew gleaming orange-colored smoke. “I’ll do my duty.”
“Your duty?”
“Yes, Datan. I am making sure they are not to get up ever again.”
Kanas snapped the necks of the bandits, bringing them to their demise like they were some deformed unwanted animals. He was void of compassion. How could he? And the last bandit was the strongest animal. Kanas reasoned that if he let them live, they would be nothing but trouble and that they would endanger Niri’s life. Though, as Datan saw it, killing them did not guarantee Niri’s safety.
After that, Pobos and Edgar continued the duty. They threw the bodies into the sea. Kanas was reluctant to speculate who was behind the attack of the Post 20. Even when Phobos insisted.
“Now where?” Datan asked after all the violent matters were done. He tried to imagine what he would face. His chest was filled with exhilaration and curiosity.