The Thief

by Rama Nugraha

  Datan had never encountered one single person who had a scent like Father’s—or Ana’s. Father rarely socialized and had a little to no friends. He liked being alone; playing chess (this involved dragging Datan into it); thinking in a twisted way; forcing his belief; and sometimes, contradicting values that he taught.

  For instance, Father constantly reminded Datan to be a person who was helpful for others. Yet, Father himself seldom did any help. All he did was hunting. Then, he performed ritual devoted to Unum, before he stopped to smoke some babag while drinking coffee sprinkled with clove powder. Sometimes, once in a blue moon, Father turned melancholy out of nowhere, tears would fill his eyes as he brooded in solitude. Never had Datan understood why that happened.

  Father was never willing to share the complicated things residing his mind.

  ◆◆◆

  Datan did not study in a school. In the Age of Restoration, studying in the academy was only possible for children of wealthy families living in the border area. Even so, Father did not let Datan grew obliviously foolish. Father taught him many things, as well as provided him with textbooks to study. Datan happily accepted and studied everything that caught his attention, especially history. Studying on his own and helping Father skinned the hunted animals before selling them downtown were his daily routine.

  Though, as time passed, Datan felt his routine got duller and duller. He got bored easily. He felt hollow in his heart. Also, the dream kept haunting him. Ana the bewitching with her gleaming Royan attire and her black bow who told him about Nameer enthusiastically with a twinkle in her eyes.

  Sarmala, Urimenil… I will always remember those names, Datan thought.

  It went on until a story of a figure named Osberga Sattin enlightened his mind and ignited flames of determination in his heart. Sattin’s struggle had inspired young Datan.

  At the age of nine, Datan secretly investigated the League of Royans. Datan had asked every single person who was willing to give him an answer; he had also scavenged through several collections of books in the library, which mentioned anything at all about the world’s secret organization; he check the Daily Tormera newspaper every day to see if there was any breakthrough caused by the Royans; he was even willing to patrol around the town on his own like a lost child from the neighborhood country.

  Datan did whatever he could—making him known as a dumb child obsessed with the League of Royans. Regardless, he found nothing. Not even a single information about them was found. Father was enraged when he found out what Datan was up to. He had locked Datan in the bathroom all night long multiple times. He had made Datan bathed in cold lake for hours. He also forbade him to do his routine, going to the downtown to meet his friends so they could fly kites.

  “You foolish boy!” Father roared, his voice rumbled loudly like thunder in the sky. “You’re better off as a butcher helping Fira downtown than joining them!”

  Datan was massively disappointed.

  From time to time, Datan tried to find something, anything, about the League of Royans. However, he never got any decent result. His effort tended to end with him figuring out how stupid he was, which worsen every time. In another day, Datan eavesdropped from his room as Aunt Fira got very angry at Father, accusing him of teaching Datan the criminal deed. She got angrier when she learned Datan’s desire to be a Royan. Her anger escalated and her voice went falsetto that the windows nearly cracked.

  “You are the worst father I’ve ever known,” Aunt Fira sliced the mushroom furiously in one of her regular visit to the Woudwards.

  “Chop the mushroom finer. Otherwise, Datan wouldn’t like it. Honestly, it never crosses my mind that everything will turn like this. This is all because of Bark, Fira. If only he didn’t get in my way that night.”

  “Don’t blame Bark! Legally—and morally—Bark only acted as he should.” Aunt Fira scowled as she tasted the broth cooked in the pan with a wooden spoon. “You’re the one to blame. You’re so old already. It’s time for you to stop with this law-breaking nonsense. Luckily, you didn’t get caught and those people are scared off by that Royan. Or else, you’ll be in jail by now!”

  Since then, Aunt Fira was keen to tell Datan to abandon his curiosity towards the Royan. So much that Datan’s ears burned and his chest tightened at her words.

  Fira Carlina is Mother’s close friend who thought of Datan as her own son ever since he was a baby. The plump Haedin woman whose face was so kind and whose clothing was always filled with tulip-pattern wanted Datan to seek a normal goal like children his age.

  “Why are you insisting to be a Royan, Datan?” asked Aunt Fira in a spare yet tense day at the beginning of summer in November.

  They just finished lunch. At the moment, Father was going to the town to visit Uncle Joe. That was the first time Datan saw Aunt Fira’s face turned olive green as if she was poisoned by green beans. Her round nose swelled. She looked concerning.

  Datan could not stare for long, he occupied himself again by scribbling his paper using pencil color on the dining table. He was drawing a hooded woman that seemed far too thin. “Well…” he mumbled, feeling restless all of sudden. “They’re cool, Aunty.”

  Aunt Fira looked like she was holding back rage. She held onto the back of his chair as though it would flee if she let go. “They are not cool, Datan. You know nothing about them.”

  Datan frowned. He looked up and stared at Aunt Fira innocently. “But I can imagine how cool they are, Aunty,” he continued. Then, he wiped the aching cut in the tip of his thumb caused by kite string in the match yesterday. “They do something unusually amazing. Joining them will be so much fun!”

  “You know that I don’t approve any of this, do you?”

  Datan did not answer. Instead, he pursued his lips.

  Aunt Fira growled. “They are not good people, Datan!” she exclaimed. “They are people born in misery. Their mind is disturbed. They are demented and cruel! And you? You are a good boy. You are born in a peaceful and pleasant life in this house. You are raised properly. And now you’re saying you want to be a murderer whose life is chaos?

  “There is no justifiable reason for you to join them.”

  Datan froze. He could not come up with an answer. So, he just threw another look at the scribble of a hooded woman who looked so ugly whose shoulder was obviously too slanted to the right. Aunt Fira was not wrong. But to be completely honest, Datan did not feel that Ana was a ruthless murderer.

  “Your mother would be very disappointed if you became a Royan. She hated League of Royans.”

  Datan looked up once more, he furrowed his eyebrow. “Why? Why did Mother hate the League of Royans?”

  A hollow smile appeared in Aunt Fira’s lips.

  ◆◆◆

  Datan never got the support to be a Royan. Yet, he never stopped wanting to be one. Reading history books had made him see that great people in the past always encountered resistance in their journey, they had to pass through obstacles to succeed.

  Even though Datan had to admit that his spirit weakened.

  It was until he met Erry Monala. A boyish little girl who was a pickpocket in Tomera streets. Datan was walking alone in the market after buying a used red kite when he found Erry pickpocketed a wallet from a bald neatly-dressed elderly gentleman in the middle of the crowd.

  With his agility, Datan stopped Erry in a narrow abandoned alley.

  “Do you want to report me?” the girl asked with a cynical glare.

  “No, I don’t. I want to play along!”

  Erry whipped her neck-length silver hair, “This is not a game! This is a profession!”

  Datan grinned, showing his neat pearly white teeth. “Will you teach me still?”

  It took Datan one whole week of whining in front of Erry. He had to coax the grey-eyed girl, follow her home, and warn the people in the market before Erry did her deed until Erry gave up and accepted Datan as her accomplice.

  “If only you’re not an Ingra,” Erry said bluntly, “I wou
ld have beaten you up so badly.”

  Datan only chuckled happily as he puffed up his chest. Datan was fascinated by Erry. He might be weird, but having Erry as a friend made Datan proud. Erry’s mind was filled with wild ideas, and she was fearless. In no time, stealing became Datan’s new hobby, besides flying kites.

  “All you need to do is to observe your prey, Datan,” Erry explained. “You should also know where they place the good stuff and find the right moment to act. Follow your instinct. If you’re hesitant, consider finding other prey.”

  “Got it,” Datan nodded excitedly. “What if we get caught?”

  Erry grinned. “Idiot,” she snorted, “It’s obvious, right? You run.”

  In his head, Datan completely understood the theory of Erry’s teaching. In reality, though, it almost never went well. Oftentimes, fear took over him and hindered his ability to observe thoroughly and to calculate his every step. As a consequence, Datan was more often caught by the guard than not. Father and Aunt Fira was thunderstruck when they found out. Aunt Fira fainted, and she only woke up when her nostril was smeared with sliced garlic.

  “You disgraced me, Datan!” Father hissed furiously thorough the trip home from the time he had to drag Datan out of the juvenile hall for the first time. “Did you see Bark’s face? He was smug that you got caught? What exactly is your goal here? Why did you do it?”

  Datan grinned. “I was terrified at first,” he confessed. “But I am happy, Father. Stealing is fun and exciting! People should try doing it.”

  Father glared sharply, his face paled like a rotten peach. “You fool!” he yanked Datan’s hand in his. Father then looked restrained to speak as though he could see the truth and logic behind Datan’s wrongdoing. “Oh, who taught you to be like this?”

  Datan stayed quiet and looked elsewhere. He did not want Father to know about Erry.

  “No dinner, and you shall sleep in the terrace tonight!”

  Datan looked toward him fast, shaken, unblinking. “Are you serious, Father?”

  “Of course I am serious. If you do this again, I will not pick you up! You caused us to lose the food expense for a week—I have to use it for your ransom fee!”

  Datan was terrified the first time he was asked to sleep outside. He was cold and he got bitten by mosquitos the whole night. How could Father do this? How could he let a child Datan’s age sleep in a terrace? What if there was a hungry lost wolf that feast on him as he slept? For the next three days, every breakfast time until dinner, Datan always sulked when he spoke to Father.

  Datan was tremendously irritated. What kind of father is Mattan Woudward? he grumbled in silence.

  “You cannot punish him like that, Matt,” Aunt Fira protested once she heard Datan’s nags. She smoked the babag twig at the tip of her lips. She was indeed a babag smoker addict. Though she did not usually do it in front of Datan.

  “Just let him be, Fira,” Father said sternly, his eyes leaving the book he read for a moment. “I know my one and only son very well. He is an arrogant and foolish child who does everything he wants. Punishments won’t stop him.”

  Father despised Erry since the first time he found her walking around the market with Datan. He suspected Father had been spying on him lately. Surprisingly, Aunt Fira hates her even more. So much that she banned Datan from seeing Erry whom she found a bad influence on him.

  “I don’t like seeing you playing with Erry,” Aunt Fira said coldly.

  “But she is nice to me, Aunty,” Datan confessed. “She loves to fly the kites too.”

  “What kind of girl is flying a kite?” Aunt Fira narrowed her eyes. “Oh! How can I forget? A pickpocketing kind, right? Shameful!” she mocked. “All Erry did is teaching you bad things, Datan. Stay away from her. I loathe her.”

  That being said, Datan did not do as she said. He still played with Erry regularly. It was only with Erry was Datan free to do as he desired, including stealing—an activity which had painted his life in a new color. Datan realized that he felt great every time his heart beat erratically when he spied on a prey, when sweat ran down his back as his little hand sneaked into a rich lady’s coat to grab a purse, hopefully, filled with diamonds, when his breath was caught in his chest as the prey noticed him; when he ran through the sea of yelling people, chasing after him all over the city.

  Even if he was caught at the end.

  Father had given up on him. He eventually chose to let Datan stayed in prison than to bear humiliation when picking him up and spending more money to set him free. Aunt Fira was still as fussy as ever. At times, she even told Erry to stay away from Datan. Though Datan, who knew Aunt Fira’s temper very well, told Erry not to feel offended at her words, and that everything was alright.

  Fortunately, Erry was willing to understand.

  Chapter 3

  The Legacy

  “I’ve given up.”

  “About what?”

  “Well,” Father stated. “I cannot bear to watch you stealing in the street anymore, Datan. Going to the prison back and forth. Your desire to be a Royan had made you very foolish and it ruined everything. Especially your future.”

  Datan looked at him, quivering. “What are you going to do?”

  “Train you.”

  Datan’s pupils dilated and his brows furrowed. “You will train me?” he made sure his hearing was working. “You support me to be a Royan? To be a murderer?”

  He shrugged. His face was cold and void of expression. “More or less,” he supposed.

  Datan knew Father was lying, for he caught a glimpse of fake glint in his blue eyes. Father did not support him to be a Royan—he could never fully do that. But it did not matter anymore. “I still know nothing of them, though, Father,” he said.

  Father was not surprised at his confession. “Being a Royan means you will have enemies, Datan. Lots and lots of enemies.”

  Datan shook his head, not in denial, but as a sign. “You don’t have to worry,” he uttered. “I will face whomever my opponent is. If I’m skillful at combat, I have nothing to worry about.”

  “Your enemy could bring calamity to people you care about, Son.”

  “Don’t worry, Father. No one will know anything about you, Aunt Fira, Uncle Joe, or my friends. I will not tell anyone where I came from. I’ll live as a mystery. Oh! Maybe I can also make up stories to cover my identity,” he stated surely—although he had not come up with a fake story about himself. “I have read the story of The Iron Legs, a champion who make up a fake origin of himself.”

  Father’s lips tightened.

  There was only one condition that Father proposed. To no longer pickpocket with Erry in the downtown.

  ◆◆◆

  Datan Woudward had a new routine which he had never imagined before. It was harsh, failure-driven, filled with excruciating pain, blood, and mental blow which made him trembled in stress—far from what he had anticipated. Training to be a Royan was something else.

  At the early years, Datan skipped his training schedule to fly kites with his friends, hunting Dull-Horned Skunk with Uncle Joe, or breaking his promise as he pickpocketed with Erry—and was thrown again to jail.

  His mind was crumbling.

  In the training, Father taught Datan discipline, focus, hard work, and endurance. He took Datan jogging to the hill back and forth, teaching him speedy swimming in the depth of the lake with Elpa breathing technique, making him carry water and soil-filled pots like a giant jug seller from the market. He was also made to do various other things to train his body. Father also taught Datan the art of free movement to escape and go through hurdles.

  “Does it really have to be like this, Father?” Datan drenched in cold sweat and gripped with fear. He was training his balance by spreading his arms as he walked as slow as a snail on a wooden bar ten meters from the ground. He attempted to balance his body that wavers like weed blown by morning breeze. “What if I fall?”

  “The rope will keep you up!” Father yelled from the ground. “Stay
focus and relax, then you will not fall!”

  Gradually, father taught him martial arts which Datan had never heard of before.

  “What do you call these moves?” Datan asked as he repeats a graceful move of slashing the air with rattan.

  “I called it Arni.”

  Father explained that the excellence of Arni was in the speed of the offense, which was spontaneous and repetitious, whether it was with bare hands or using a weapon. Arni also had several deadly locking techniques. Arni users tended to be trained to use items surrounding them as a deadly weapon.

  Combat training was the darkest time for Datan. He experienced the most agonizing pain throughout his body. Some of his bones were broken, he even tore a muscle. Oftentimes, his body experienced internal bleeding caused by hits and kicks during the training. Several times, Datan felt his breath was cut short. He cried for hours in agony, it lasted for days until his tears dried up. Father forced him to train day and night almost every day, every season of the year.

  Winter was the most horrifying season to train. Father trained Datan without shirt or footwear. They fought on the top of the frozen lake. One time, Datan slid and his shoulder hit the ice hard.

  “If you kept training me like this, I will die,” he complained miserably. He lied down weakly because of the dislocation in his shoulder blade. His index finger scratched the rail of the bed restlessly.

  “It will not happen,” Father answered airily while feeding Datan a spoonful of pupur mushroom. “That is if such thought did not take you over. Don’t be a weakling, Son. Don’t you host a weak soul. Feel the desire to live. For being a man means you must be tough. The universe won’t let you live just so you can give up easily in life.”

  And Datan could only grimace in defeat—suddenly feeling that Father was heartless.

  Father also introduced Datan to the knowledge about natural medication, which was for the cases of emergency when wounded, whether it was just a scratch or horrible bleeding. Datan was also taught to restrain his anger, which he found really odd that Father knew such thing.