by Rama Nugraha
Bill took a deep breath. “As a former governmental worker I understand where you come from, Sami, your immunity,” he whimpered. “We are indebted to the League of Royans. But the people, they don’t know that. They don’t care. All they know is you caused the Thar’s death.” Bill paused, thinking. “So, yes. I guess you’re right. I’ll call the Trail Tracker.”
Sami sighed. His hollowed cheek flushed in anger at their misfortune.
“I am worried about Jonda,” Datan said carefully, trying to diffuse the tension between Bill and Sami. “Halta as well.”
“And I am worried about your time, Gentlemen,” Guma added, glancing at the pendulum clock above the fireplace. “night attires loses its function at dawn, don’t they?”
Bill leaned his broad back to the head of the sofa. His tongue seemed to be tied, making him unable to say anything. Sami looked away from him and now looked at Datan with hopeful eyes. Sami took something from his pocket. It was a piece of white paper folded carefully into the shape of an owl. He approached Datan and gave him the paper.
Datan frowned. “What’s this?” he asked, unsettled seeing Sami so scared.
“In case I didn’t make it,” Sami started. “No one could know I gave it to you. Except probably… well… Kahisar Irirana.”
Datan frowned. “But, why me?”
Sami smiled wryly. “Because you’re the one Kanas sent here.”
Nymeria’s Visit
He could smell the spicy-sweet aroma of twisty satay. He whiffed the aroma intensely until the taste of rabbit meat, fish and beef in one skewer brushed against his tongue. It was mixed with red onions, black pepper, and sweet soy sauce, grilled on a metal grill. He could hear wooden when in the Khuku cart crackled as it was pulled by a pair of Oxy—a type of cow but larger and stronger. People chattered in whispers, some of them cussed out loud.
He opened his eyes in Tormera.
The beauty of Haedin houses looked beautiful and nothing but familiarity filled the air. He passed through the market and Always Fresh store belonging to Aunt Fira. He walked with a gallant white horse, passing through a square house of Uncle Kurk whose yard had rabbit cage which had more than one story. But then… in a blink of an eye, everything turned grayscale.
The sky, the soil, the grass, the chirping birds, the people, the buildings… all lost their color.
Everything seemed dull and frustrating. He groaned, leaving his horse to proceed to a narrow alleyway far from the crowd. His cloak danced as he ran. He panted. He looked around, searching, his eyes bugged out. He walked in a muddy alleyway, it smelt like a waste of a restaurant in there. He stopped for a while to see his surrounding, even if his feet seemed impatient to leave the place.
He stayed until he found something. Behind the trashcan was a beggar curling under a torn apart blanket. He snored miserably. He approached the figure, driven by something foreign in his heart. Something so strong that his body was drenched in sweat.
It was the desire to kill.
He squatted down quietly. Stashing his dagger, he stabbed the beggar in the neck. The poor man opened his eyes as his dreams were torn apart by pain, staring directly at the murderer. Seconds passed until his spasm stopped and he stopped breathing completely. Black blood with white spots dripped from his nose.
He took out his blood, bringing the blade close to his nose and sniffing the scent of blood in it. He smiled, and just a little, he licked it deliciously. He felt very at ease after he satisfied his need. Yet, his senses were not yet satisfied. He tasted bitterness in the blood coming from the sulfur.
He cleaned the blade of his dagger with the beggar’s blanket, he stood up and walked airily, leaving the homeless man’s body who started to be drenched in his own black blood. He came back to his horse who seemed irritated after being left behind by its owner. He pulled the rope again and proceeded to his home.
His eyes enlarged at the sight of a beautiful, colorful life in motion.
There was a shade of orange on the horizon. The weather was cold and breezy.
As he arrived in house number 21 which was always serene, he walked up the stairs. For a moment he looked at a line of decorative plants in the terrace. The leaves were. He smiled as he arrived before the door. He knocked it.
Nothing was heard after a while, so he knocked again.
Finally, footsteps were heard from inside. There was a sound of a key being turned and the door was finally opened.
Father came out with a pair of round glasses. He stared at him like he did not know who he was welcoming. Father looked older. His youthful feature had been erased by exhaustion and nothingness. His pale skin turned yellowish hue and his wavy hair was grown long, untied. For a moment, Father looked off when he saw something in the left chest of the guest.
“Mister Mattan?”
Father slightly bowed, staring through the lenses of his glasses. “Yes,” he answered. “How can I help you, Miss?”
Miss?
The miss—a she—smiled. She put both of her hands in front of her chest, bowing respectfully. “Please call me Meria, Mister Mattan,” she requested sweetly. One second passed and Nymeria’s face turned serious like she was facing impending doom. “I came here to deliver important news about Datan Woudward.”
Nymeria?!!
Father frowned. “What happened to my son?”
“May we speak inside?”
Father clenched his jaw. He watched over Nymeria, her demeanor looked convincing as a messenger. Nothing looked out of place.
Nymeria was wearing attire in the shade of the day sky. Circling her waist was a leather belt decorated with red ruby stones. She was covered in a cloak with orange weasel fur in the ridges. She truly looked like a normal traveler, if not for the brooch of the broken laughing mask in the left chest area of her attire.
Nymeria found the room simple, warm even. There were not many changes except for the bookshelves being moved and two new chrysanthemum flowers in pots. Mother’s painting had also been moved near the window. Nymeria stood still for a while, examining every single object painted in the painting, grass, trees, sunset, cone-shaped house with hanging planters, the cliff, and a pair of husband and wife holding each other, celebrating their new life together. In the corner, it was signed by the painter, a mark of three lines made with her fingertips.
That was supposed to be a painting of nice memory, but Nymeria did not think so. She knew something. She recognized different brush stroke. There was only one place in all over the world where painters of this style were from. A style that hid something within the strokes. Nymeria knew and was sure another painting existed behind that one.
“Such a wonderful painting,” she complimented. She turned around to see Father. “Did your wife painted it? How does this painting actually look like?”
“My wife,” Father started, his voice bled with nostalgia. “She painted that before Datan was born. It was after we just finished building this little house. And about the real painting?” he chuckled. “Only she and I know, Meria.”
Nymeria crooked an eyebrow, asking ‘is that so?’ in silence.
Father nodded.
“Datan had such a talented mother, Mister Mattan. You are amazing to have her.”
Father smiled. “Come, Meria.”
Nymeria sat in the living room when Father invited her. Father offered her green honey tea he usually prepared for guests from far lands, but Nymeria rejected the offer politely and asked for a glass of water.
“No,” Father shook his head. “My son’s guest can’t just be drinking water in here. And don’t call me mister, Meria. Just call me uncle. I liked it that way.”
Nymeria giggled, nodded obediently. Father proceeded to the kitchen and came back a little bit later with a glass of water as well as two cups of tea with green honey, a sweet tea with a pleasant scent.
“Thank you, Uncle. Though, to be honest, we don’t have time to be this laid back.”
“We aren’t laid back. I simply ser
ve you a glass of water and a cup of tea for my son’s friend. Now then, what is the news you bring? What happened to Datan?”
Nymeria looked conflicted. She scratched her nose as she placed her hands on her laps. She smiled awkwardly. “Can you promise me to stay calm after hearing it?”
“I am calm, aren’t I?”
“He’s dying, Uncle.”
Silence fell upon them. Father was bewildered. “Dying, explain to me,” he demanded.
“Datan was doing his mission as a Royan when that night happened. He was assigned to procure a necklace from a rich collector in Wanageeska, Jasin Dagalla. His house was guarded heavily. Datan told me that at first, he thought he could handle it,” Nymeria’s eyes polled with regret, her voice bled with sorrow. “But then, the head of the guard, Joris the old Wizard, got in his way.
“Joris summoned an Anag to kill Datan.”
Father’s grip on the chair handle tightened as though he was about to break it. His eyes widened in horror. “Anag? What happened then?“
Nymeria quieted for a while, her face looked sad, pitiful. “The theft failed,” she muttered mournfully. “Fortunately, he managed to escape, though heavily injured. I found him unconscious in a stranded alley at dawn. That’s how we met. He was burnt badly.” Nymeria looked down, staring at her share of untouched greenish tea on the table. He sighed heavily, lifting his gaze. “Our healer in Wanageeska couldn’t help anymore. He—”
“Nonsense!” Father’s voice was as cold as ice, the wrinkle in his face became more apparent.
Nymeria shifted her gaze, reluctant to return Father’s cold stare. “Datan knew this is going to happen,” she uttered nervously. “You have to believe me—”
“Please stop talking.”
Nymeria shut her mouth, staring down at both of her trembling hands on her lap. She tried not to bit her nails which started to feel itchy. She told herself to play the role of the messenger well. She would even pretend to cry for this. She scratched her nose.
Father froze her in his seat, contemplating his interlocutor’s words. Father’s face hardened. His face now resembled an iron mask with his hollowed cheeks and bulging cheekbones. His clear blue eyes were clouded, void of emotion. The temperature rose, meadow breeze had stopped seeping through the opened window.
Nymeria finally lifted her head. “Look at me, Uncle,” she said, her expression turned melancholic. “We don’t have time to argue. Do I look like a liar? Must I cry to have you trust my words?”
Father’s lips trembled, words were unspoken. He could only stare at Nymeria, unblinking. His face was unmasked, revealing pain and fear. Father could not bring himself to imagine what happened to his son. The thumps of his heart suffocated him more and more.
“Datan wanted you to come with me to Wanageeska to see him,” Nymeria continued. “I couldn’t bring it here because his body is too frail.”
Father looked older by the second. Exhaustion took over his mind and body.
“Will you come with me, Uncle?”
Father was not moving still—he barely looked breathing.
“Please, Uncle. We’re running out of time,” Nymeria cried. Her big eyes gleamed with tears like he was on the verge of tears.
Father wiped his right eye. Anger flashed in his face, whom he directed it to, though, nobody knows. “Show me, Nymeria,” he said with a wavering voice. “Show me proof, something, anything… so I can believe you.”
Nymeria blinked. “Datan only tells me a little about himself,” she whispered. “But I know that you gave him the Malika. It was such a valuable possession of his. I also know that Aunt Keila passed away not long after she gave birth to him and you raised him on your own. I know that Datan loved Aunt Fira like she’s his own mother,” her words were like a blade, sharp, piercing Father’s heart. “I know Datan met a Royan when he was seven. Ana, her name was? She was the reason he wants to be a Royan, and I believe you still resent that woman even until now. I also know that—“
“For Unum, Meria, that’s enough,” Father cut her. He chuckled bitterly, finding it hard to believe still to accept that his son was dying. “That boy… I told him not to be hasty when encountering a wizard. Stupid child.”
“Do you trust me now, Uncle?”
“Do I have a reason not to believe you?”
Nymeria’s lips formed a fake smile of relief. Her heart cheered for her success. She bowed to Father as a sign of respect. “Uncle, why do you allow Datan to be a Royan?” she asked, unable to hold back her curiosity. “I don’t get it. Why Datan chose to be a Royan while he could live comfortably here?”
Father spurted out a hollow smile. He took a deep breath as if he was about to reveal a big secret. “Because what else can I do? I don’t have any other choice after seeing that obsession burns him from the inside,” he told her with a visibly forced calmness. He shrugged. “His desire to meet that woman one more time and to be a Royan had become too much to handle. Sure, he had no motive that would make people sympathize with him nor to understand his decision… it was just simply something he wants.
“Datan lives for his dream. He was willing to be broken each day for it,” Father paused. “And, I am a believer of the power of the dream, Meria. It is a gift from Unum the Creator that looms over your life. Your fate, your destiny depends on it. I just believe Datan would find purpose and meaning if he pursues his dream… even though I don’t know what that will be.”
Father brushed his mustache. “Comfort? Ah… I think comfort is just not the way us, Woudwards, live,” he concluded.
◆◆◆
The sound of something bumping wooden surface echoed in the room.
Datan opened his eyes. He found himself on a bed in Seekar’s tiny cabin. He groaned as he felt a throbbing bump in his head. He wiped the sweat in his face. Sitting up, he felt his breath got erratic. He was processing what he had just seen. What was that? A dream?
No. It was too real to be a dream.
Datan felt like he had actually been in Tormera. His nose really caught the sweet smell of twisty satay. His ears heard Urgut merchant argued about the discovery of a mystical’s stone and its price. His eyes saw the magnificence of Mother’s painting in his house. He could even feel the sense of familiarity as he sat before Father.
Datan felt that he was in Nymeria’s body.
But, what exactly did she say to him? He could not hear their conversation. The moment Meria stepped into the room, he was deaf. It was like stepping into an airless room. Datan had left Fardas carrying a horrible name and now Nymeria’s figure was still haunting him. That woman was like a lingering poison, living like a parasite in his brain.
Datan was scared and worried. What did Nymeria do to him?
Sami told Datan to go back to Yardara in their last meeting in Guma’s hut. The Royan Two told him that he would take care of the matter with Bill, including helping the man explain the real circumstances to the Shers.
Bill was being impatient, so Sami had to bribe him with five hundred Rall Royans to keep him calm right in front of Datan and Guma… were he not too embarrassed to accept it. Sami also shared to him his plan to catch Nymeria after settling the uproar in Fardas.
Honestly, Datan did not feel relief just yet.
He felt that this problem could not be solved easily. Datan was sorry for Sami who was about to continue his mission. Regardless of the odds, he hoped Sami could capture Nymeria and told him as soon as possible. Because whether he liked it or not, he knew he had to see her again.
Suddenly Datan remembered the item Sami gave him. He took the paper owl from the pocket of his cloak which was hung near the door. He starred at the paper animal whose color was red and eyes were triangular black. It was crumpled horribly as it was kept in a pocket. Emotionlessly, Datan undid the fold carefully.
There was a message inside:
19.01 - Urna Los
Datan did not know what it meant nor who it was for. He read it repeatedly as his lips formed a thin line. Kn
ocks from the door startled him. Then, he was informed that they have arrived at Yardara.
Chapter 24
The Client
Kanas Malluka had been waiting in front of house number 10. He was sitting on a long bench. While waiting, he noticed a large pot of red adenium flower. Leaning his back on the chair, he crossed his legs, his hands gripped a newspaper. His face was tense. A piece of babag torn in the lower left side was between his lips. The thin smoke flew around, creating yellowish hue in the air with citrusy scent. His eyes were sharp yet worried.
“How was your mission, pan?” he asked as the owner entered the terrace area.
“Ah, you see,” Datan answered, hiding his frustration. “It was fun.”
Kanas grinned, showing Datan the newspaper he was holding.
“Did you wait long?”
“About half an hour, just after the worker at the harbor reported that Seekar had arrived. Although most of the news arrived two days after that mess of a night.”
Datan felt his nerve tensed. He took a moment to get a package sent by Jonda laying in front of his doorstep. It was a bag and his Royan cloak he left in the Black Tongue.
He invited Kanas into the house. In the living room, Kanas waited as Datan read the national newspaper, Sarayan Spirit, which was given to him. His mind went awry the moment he read the title.
Slaughtering in the House of Thar Ubaga Jarhal
By: Igor Ladda
Saturday (5/10) early in the morning, chaos had befallen the Harbor Country of Fardas. The Thar (61), along with his two wives, Meredith Jarhal (40) and Joya Jarhal (25), was found dead in their house. Not only were Thar Ubaga and his wives killed, but the same fate also befell the guards of the home, the Red Necks, and Joris, the head of the guards. Until the writing of this article, the investigation still goes on in order to find out who eradicated the people in the household.
Wait… Joris was dead too? Datan skipped several paragraphs.