by Rama Nugraha
Datan shook his head looking at what Pollo did.
People of Angare was ecstatic when Pollo walked around the street with his cart. They all greeted him with a smile, sometimes they stopped to exchange a few words. Even children came over to them, scrambling to kiss his hand then Pollo gave them a chocolate ball from a different bag in the cart. Pollo told him that he did this routine every four days.
Datan wondered what Pollo was actually thinking. This was the first time he saw an Urgut who liked to share. Even Uncle Joe was not that generous.
“You’re like a Juwjuw.”
“Juwjuw is a homeless person who shares too much, Datan. I’m not homeless.”
“Well you’re a rich one then, the rich and generous one, are you?”
Pollo glanced at Datan with an expressionless face. “You know,” he said. “Juwjuw believed people will worship anyone who gives others gifts.”
“Juwjuw aren’t like that, Pollo.”
“Then you don’t know him well enough, Datan. He isn’t a saint.”
“So you do this because you want to be worshipped?”
“No, Datan, not at all. But, I don’t know any mortals who don’t want to be worshipped. Even Unum—if you believed in Him—wants to be worshipped.”
Walking out of the eastern side of the park, taking a left turn, Pollo showed him a three-floored house at the end of the village. The building was adorned with large oval glasses. The wall was made of iron sand in the shade of teal. Tens of Monarch Pigeon surrounded the veranda in the second and third floor.
Pollo met an attendance which was expecting him under a flamboyant tree with red leaves. She was a beautiful petite, plump Haedin girl. She had clear blue eyes. Seyori, her name, had waited there just to take Pollo’s cart back to his home.
Datan looked at the girl. She had a freckled flushed cheek, looking shy.
Giving his attention back to Datan, Pollo told him that the post office in Angare did not have public addresses. Every letter would be delivered to its destination, and could only be replied in that exact day through the delivery pigeons. Someone had to give them some water as a signal to make them wait while they prepare the reply. Angare’s post officers would only tell this peculiar method to the owner by inserting a piece of instruction paper in the letters.
Pollo took Datan to the castle, leaving Seyori and the post office.
They walked through the inner defense, two pair of guards in maroon uniform who bowed as they passed by. Then, they proceeded to the main hall of the castle. Tables and chairs were pushed to the wall. Light breeze and the scent of the sea greeted them. As for the glass floor, it still lingered a suffocating feeling which made Datan’s steps felt heavier.
Aside from it, the framed pictures of those who failed the test were no longer hung. Instead, there was framed pictures of the Royans ever since its establishment to this date. There were almost a hundred people in three leadership periods. Datan’s picture was not yet there.
“Your picture would only be there after you’ve accomplished a mission.”
They stopped in front of a large fireplace, looking up to the picture of a man in maroon tunic standing in front of weaponry and an old book among them. His broad chest was slightly puffed, asserting his charisma. He was holding an old staff with a hooded own on top of it.
Ralpatine Royan. The man with the silver hands. The founder of the League.
He was a gallant fellow whose one of his cheeks was hollowed—a wound left by an arrow. He has a pair of wide, sharp eyes. They were glowing as though they were spherical bronze, highlighting the arrogance of a man who seemed to have conquered hundreds of kingdoms. His head was square with thick facial hair, and the lines on his face were stern. Both of his eyebrows were furrowed.
The most interesting part of Rapaltine was that both of his hands were covered by silver leather gloves. People said that he had an incurable skin disease and could only be stopped from spreading by dipping the skin to a medicine mixed with hot bismuth. He almost died when dipping his hand into the mixture.
“Why do you want to be a Royan, Datan?” Pollo filled the silence.
Datan told him the reason, the same one he told Halta—though shorter. He admitted that he adored the League of the Royans and that he loved thievery.
“Your adoration flatters me. But I think you still underestimate all of this. We, the Royans, are forged by bitter past. You are the only exception. You came from a beautiful, serene life. That is probably why you act so differently. Even I realized that your courage… is misplaced,” his grey eyes were narrowed. “In reality, life forced most of us to be here. Royan demands a merciless life. Oh, I truly hope you will not regret the path you choose.”
Datan smiled, thinking he would not regret it.
“I was seven back then,” Datan started. “In the middle of a bone-chilling night, when all the visitors of Tomera night market collapsed. They turned purple like they were poisoned. Everyone was asleep. That was when I saw this mysterious woman. She wore dark attire with gleaming ornaments. The buckle in his belt was in the shape of an owl’s head, and there was some kind of pieces of gold in her back—it looked like a hooded owl with a flapped wings.
“She was a Royan, saying that her name was Ana. Though I cannot see her face, she was wearing a mask or shawl—I’m not sure,” Datan frowned. “But I remember her gaze, it looked like a burning spherical bronze—like the Lady’s eyes. And I think she’s an amazing one.
“Do we have a member like that? I hope she wasn’t retired or anything. I want to see her again. Oh, she was also holding a bow as dark as the night!”
Pollo stared at him in silence. His face was flat and uninterested. His lower shoulder twitched oddly. He wiped his luxurious hair, shifting his gaze to the painting of the man with wavy shoulder-length hair.
“That woman…” Pollo hissed, his voice bleed with spite and regret coming from a bad memory. “I remember her. Ana Tasika. She’s a traitor.”
Datan clenched his mouth. His eyes widened.
“She’s not alone. We have enemies, Datan, and it was them. Former members who rebelled against Kahisar Irirana. They are the betrayer. They are fake.”
“No,” Datan protested. “I can see that she wore the correct attire, I mean she looked like a real one! She even had the symbol of Urtaya in her back—yes, now I’m sure that was it.”
Pollo glared coldly, his face reddened holding back anger. “Attire? You actually think about the attire?” he chuckled mockingly. “They wore nothing but sack soaked in paint! And the symbol can easily be faked. You had been deceived. Naturally. You were only a child back then. You knew nothing. They are of course real, really dangerous ones! But they are not Royan!”
“Don’t you underestimate them, Datan. They are master of trickery. They called themselves the Ruyuni—if not pretending to be a Royan—the mask is the difference between us. You’ll see. We never use such facial coverage in action. We are proud to be a Royan!”
Datan blinked confusedly, processing Pollo’s words. His panted.
“I’m saying this again Datan. Do not ever speak of the Ruyuni in front of the others. They will not take it well. It will only result in chaos. Ruyuni had left a painful memory within the League,” Pollo would have swallowed loudly if he had not been in the hall. “Up to this date, we are still hunting them. Kahisar Irirana even formed a special team—“ he stopped to take a breath when they faintly heard the sound of footstep from the corridor behind the hall. He waited until it faded. “I have to admit that they are skillful, after all, they are former Royans.”
Pollo sighed. He talked like he speaking of a vicious murderer of a family who managed to escape unpunished. Datan could not think nor process this. Why must he hear this about Ana when he was so fired up?
Datan wiped his greasy face. Ruyuni… why does it even called Ruyuni? His agitation snapped up. No. He could not just believe it. People lied. Datan would find out the truth about Ana himself. He would not ju
st accept Pollo’s words the way it was.
Pollo coughed. “Alright,” he concluded, his grey eyes now looked pale looking at every line in Datan’s face, trying to read him. “Forget about it. It is a long and complicated matter, the Ruyuni. I think our priority now is to talk about you and your role in the League.”
Chapter 13
Letters, Gathering, and Propaganda
Pollo took Datan outside of the main hall through the side door. They passed corridors with many turns and a garden of colorful flowers before they arrived in front of a large door made of oak wood, painted in brown and varnished. A seashell bell in the size of a palm made a melodious echoing ding when the door with an envelope carving and cyan iron gilding was opened.
“Now then, Datan Woudward,” Pollo said. “Welcome to the Reception Room.”
The room was divided into two open floors. It was incredibly hectic like the situation in a used book wholesaler. The air was warm yet refreshing. Sunlight entering through the ceiling-high window with small air ventilator on top. The sound of flapping wings was heard everywhere along with yells of “kuk!” from the officers in the navy uniform. Monarch pigeons were everywhere, swooping beautifully towards the desks of their masters like some obedient pendulums. They took the letters and flew once more after being given orders.
Towering papers were piled on the tables, crowding the room. In the eastern side, there was a garden of turp orchid along with flowers resembling colorful trumpets with two bells. Their fragrant was hypnotizing, making those who took a whiff felt like they were the happiest person in the universe. Whilst in the western side, next to dozens of overloaded bookshelves, were rows of lockers to store stolen items made of special glass. It was guarded by a pair of Anag which take the form of a werewolf in the size of a horse.
Datan was awe-struck. He turned around when he heard incoming footsteps. A skinny man with an oval face splitting the crowd of officers as he walked. That man shouted while waving his hand, then he greeted Datan and Pollo. He bowed with his arms crossed.
He was Jaco, the Head of the Reception Room.
Jaco was wearing navy uniforms just like the others, with an addition of white vest with red buttons with embroidery of an Urtaya in his chest. Under his left armpit was a crutch, which he used to point at the distance.
Jaco was glad to see Datan. While Datan was worried that the crutch would accidentally hit his face. Datan knew what Jaco was pointing. Some of them were officers who sat down drinking jasmine tea with his their legs on the table, officers who scolded their pigeons so hard that their feather fell out, and also those who kept writing the wrong sign in the giant list board of thievery and assassination hanging on the other side of the wall.
Being next to Jaco hurt his eardrum. His voice was so loud like the commander of a possessed army. He talked too much, and his mouth smelt like he had just chewed clove the whole night before. Jaco paid a keen detail towards everything under his control. His blue eyes were like eagle’s, his range of vision was wide, sharp and dangerous.
“Be careful with your crutch, Jaco,” Datan glared after the object almost hit him.
“No worries, Sir Datan, no worries,” Jaco replied. “I am already skillful at handling this one.”
Jaco guided Datan around the room, whilst Pollo waited in one of the chairs in turp orchid garden near the window. He brushed his luxurious hair while watching the green grass blown by the wind.
Jaco, the man from Borneo, explained that every request letter came from the Posts of the League which was spread all over the world.
“Niri. Our friends like Niri is the one who takes care of this, right?” Datan asked.
“Niri from Post 20 in Laha, Sarayan?”
Datan nodded.
“Oh, you’ve met her? Indeed, Sir. Before reaching this place, the letters are received by people like Niri first. This is only possible because we have cooperated with the central post office just like the one in Fardas. Niri. I like that girl. She must have been flirty at you, yeah? She is a fan of Ingra people.”
Datan chuckled. Jaco then explained what he thought was necessary for Datan to know. That every letter was categorized before they were processed to the inspection phase, selection phase before finally granted a decision.
The process of inspection was the trickiest one because it needed to be done as detailed as possible. The officers in the Reception Room collected data from many resources in every means possible. Often times, they rely on the League’s library—the collection of which was dubbed the most complete one in the world. Jaco also mentioned other support, which was the spies all over the five continents, making Datan even more amazed. What kind of spies do they have?
What Datan understood was that the Reception Room always tried to provide detailed and accurate information in order to minimize the possibility of failure in the Royan’s mission.
Jaco pointed an officer with sunken cheeks. He took a shimmering crystal pot to the locker while looking at the giant map showing the posts of the League. “Hei, Nard! Watch your steps! I don’t want to see you crashing my turp again!”
Jaco continued that after going through the Reception Room, every letter—which was now complete with sets of instruction—will be given to Pollo and Kanas as the Leader and Deputy Leader of the Royans. Later on, those two who would sort them out and finally give them to the members.
“In thievery, we do not collect trifles, Sir Datan. Usually, we collect pocket-sized antique enchanted items which don’t require to be carried by a carriage. We don’t care who the owner is, as long as the items are not considered prohibited ones.”
Datan’s heart pounded. He could imagine that tomorrow he was asked to steal the Ring of Invisibility. He was still daydreaming when his attention was caught the moment he heard the word “assassination” in another alley.
He turned around. “How about the assassination?”
Jaco blinked in confusion. “Why, I thought you are not interested in that task?”
Datan shrugged, “Just curious.”
Jaco chuckled. “I like those mission. Especially when I attack the victim from the back,” he admitted. “And you know what, sir? I hope you will be interested later on.”
Datan laughed dryly. “You truly are a funny man, Jaco.”
Jaco whistle, not caring. He walked towards one of the tables, nodding at the officer with pointy ears. Jaco took one letter from a pile then show the content, which was written in red ink, to Datan.
“Red for blood. Blood for assassination,” Jaco explained. “Just for your information, we cooperate with the Kings’ Alliance, Sir Datan. This cooperation is the reason we can operate in the Surface, all around the world, without the intervention of local government.”
Datan was amazed. It was bigger than he thought. The Kings’ Alliance was said to house five acclaimed kings during the Age of Restoration. They were the Rulers of the Continents. The Thars bowed before them. Their order was absolute. Their hands drove every governing movement in the entire world.
Datan shivered. He narrowed his eyes. “What’s their gain from having an alliance with us?”
“Unfortunately, I am not allowed to share more information concerning this. Only Kahisar Irirana could. Let’s just say the purpose is to clean up the remains of the Great War. Only Rank One Royans could perform the duty.”
“… Pollo and Kanas?”
“Indeed, they are among them.”
Datan was struck with awful curiosity. The Great War had always been an interesting event in Neena history, where groups of great people were involved in one long-lasting battle. One race was almost completely exterminated. Everything was started with a genius extremist, a maniac and a racist who was thirsty for power and pride.
Jaco suddenly walked away from the crowd. He stood for a moment in the corner of the room while leaning back on Palm trees, then he came back to Datan’s side. He might have just farted.
Jaco then continued that the Royan killed the enem
y from every background. However, they limited their victim to those who were involved in serious and troublesome conflicts with the government and had caused a great loss for many people. So, it was obvious they did not just perform random murder. They would not stab a farmer just because they were late to pay the rent expanse to the landlord.
“Great,” Datan commented. “Because if so, I would have insulted you.”
The officer behind the table caught their attention. “We got a new assassination letter today, Mister J,” he said.
“From who?”
“From Mister Bill in Fardas. He said there is a serial killer on the loose. They killed sadistically and randomly with an unknown motive. The people are scared, and it seemed like the local government was still unable to do anything. Mister Bill wanted us to send someone to immobilize this killer, kill them if necessary.”
Datan frowned. It felt like it was just yesterday he was leaving Fardas.
Jaco narrowed his eyes. “Has there been a report of it in local news, Mish?” he asked.
“This is all we have, Sir,” Mish wiped his round nose, showing piles of copies of Lusa Fardas Journal to Jaco.
Datan managed to read the titles: “Sliced Beggar”; “Appearance of Giant Boa in Central Plaza”; “Mysterious Man finding Boa” (complete with an illustration of a faceless hooded man); “Panicking Thar Ubaga” and “Confession of Fruit Store Owner.”
“Look into it more, Mish. Put the files on my desk—including Bill’s letter. Let me examine that. I will contact Bill when things have calmed down,” Jaco stated, before looking at Datan. “Bill was the former Security Sher of Fardas, Sir Datan. He is a recurring customer. He must have realized that his replacement is incompetent. Especially considering the fact that Thar Ubaga couldn’t even think tactically to face an urgent situation like this.”
