by Rama Nugraha
A killer hunted another killer.
Datan left the Reception Room with a wild imagination in his head. Jaco assumed that Bill wanted to capture the killer for the sake of Fardas’ security. Because Bill would not request something like that before knowing the target. It was possible that the “killer” was actually a local citizen who was mentally ill. And the Boa? Jaco was sure it was fake.
Datan hoped his colleagues in the Sea Blue motel were unharmed.
Pollo took Datan through the steep corridors with many turns. They walked around one of the wings of the castle. They walked on a footpath made of limestone and mahogany cubes until they reached another big wooden door. The door looked like it was breathing, the surface was damp and filled with moss. It had a craving of a cloak and blade with gliding of red iron, with the same beautiful seashell bell in an indentation.
“Welcome to the Hall of the Royans, Datan,” Pollo pushed the door, making Datan gawked when wind gushed to their face. The ding of the bell echoed in his ears. Pollo smiled proudly. “This is where we gather, share our knowledge, train to fight, or whatever it is we choose to do together.”
The Hall of the Royans was beautiful and comfortable, just like a King’s resting place. It looked like a sunny open veranda in the shape of an oval. Elm grew lush like an umbrella in the middle and surrounding it were big windows with velvet curtain which was opened, displaying the garden and the ocean outside.
The air was cool and filled with the sound of rustling leaves. The room smelt like geranium, it was pleasant, like the air in a flower market. There were ponds of green sea sand to dip their feet in. No footwear was on the mahogany floor as it was covered in wool tapestry. There were comfortable sofa and bookshelves everywhere. The ceiling was a half sphere. There was also giant blue peridotite stone sculptured into the magnificent Urtaya, posing a pouncing position, which made Datan stunned. Painting of prominent figures was displayed across the room, and near them, a collection of swords and blades were also displayed.
Datan felt the spirit of the three races in the room fused.
There were at least eight Royans as far as Datan could see. They wore a simple daily outfit, resembling a carpenter. They chatted and laughed, some of them was reading. Everyone then turned at the two men in the doorstep, gawking.
“That’s Datan! Datan Woudward!” a woman yelped.
“Pollo! Bring him in!”
“Our hero has arrived!”
Datan smiled as he waved, “Hello—!”
Pollo pulled him. The door was closing in front of them, slamming right before their faces. Datan was bewildered, looking a Pollo like he had just snatched a lollipop he was licking.
“That’s a waste of time, Datan,” Pollo said lightly, guiding him back to the corridor. “There are still things I want to show you. After that, you may join them. They are insane. They have been yapping all day asking me about you, just like blabbering children. You’ll be interrogated until nighttime if I let you enter that room now.”
Datan could not muster a protest because Pollo started walking like he threatened to leave him behind.
Pollo said that there were three ranks in the League. Each of which had their own role. Royan One was for those who were most experienced and most acclaimed in performing hundreds of missions. Secret missions were only allowed to be performed by Royan of this rank. Followed by Royan Two, which had served the league for at least five years. Then there was Royan Three for the beginners such as Datan himself.
Pollo took Datan to the room located in a third turn in the corner of the corridor. Once again, the bell on the door dinged as it was opened. This time it was a wooden door covered in bluish sand and cravings of Royan coins glided with gold.
“This is Liaison Room,” Pollo said. “Come.”
The room was smaller compared to the other two, and there were fewer employees inside. The room had a turp orchid garden and some small ponds. It was arranged similarly to the Reception Room, though the map displayed lists of letters and numbers. It displayed land ownership rate, as well as the dominion of the League all around the continents.
A woman, looking about 45 years old, in the room bowed slightly. She was plump but rather tall. Her name was Sena Lamur, the Head of the Liaison Room. She wore excessive gold earrings so heavy that it stretched her earlobes. Her thick mouth was covered in carmine pigment. Sena was enthusiastic to see Datan. A big grin appeared in her face along with a passionate stare, looking at Datan as though he was her favorite character in an opera play.
Datan was used to receiving those types of thirsty stare from women. Pollo introduces him, telling Sana to show him around.
“Do it fast, Sena,” Pollo knew how fond Sena was of Ingran.
“I understand, Sir,” Sena grumbled, pursing her lips.
Sena walked gracefully in with a little-exaggerated hip sway. Her pale pointy finger twirled her let-loose sheeny hair, which had a pine fragrant. She talked charismatically in a diplomatic manner. Her breath smells like she had just chewed a pocketful of lavender buds.
Sena told him that the Liaison Room was meant to maintain alliances with the local government, which made a lot of sense for Datan.
“It is necessary that we arrange the propaganda correctly, Sir Datan. Especially when it comes to the government,” she informed. “This is done to open up an information pathway—and other types of help—for Royan who was on duty someplace afar. The Royans need to be given utmost support from local law enforcement officer.”
Datan narrowed his eyes, staring curiously at Sena. “What is the propaganda we propose?” he queried. “What do we offer, Sena?”
“Balance, Sir Datan,” she smiled, full of secret. “Balance within the Darkness.”
Datan blinked, bobbing his head like he actually understood. “Alright, I admit it. You managed to make it sounds spectacularly intriguing.”
Chapter 14
The Secret Closet
Polo took Datan home after visiting the Liaison Room. He did not want to take Datan to another hectic flower-scented room, he said. After all, Datan would know every inch of the castle on his own eventually. Pollo said he wanted to show something wild and tantalizing.
“It’s not a pet or such, right?”
“Do I look like a man who collects pets?”
As soon as they got to his house, Datan served Pollo some cold Naqi. He got it from Uncle Tagar’s store, a store in Angare specialized in selling beverages.
As they drink the beverage, Pollo told Datan the importance of performing his mission responsibly. The League did not tolerate failure unless he faced the inevitable, death. If the impending death came true—which hopefully did not happen anytime soon—the League would bear the burden of the fallen member’s burial.
Pollo emphasized that Royan must work hard to accomplish their mission. They had to be analytical, keen, tactile, and the most important one, patient. The mission had to be accomplished through any means possible, including trickery and lies. Datan did not comment on that, but through his eyes, he tried to tell Pollo that he understood.
“There is also Operational Code you must abide.”
Datan was also told he could stay in Angare or to live among the people of the country across the sea. Though Pollo reminded him if he chose the latter he had to report to the League’s post at least every week so that his progress could still be monitored.
Pollo smoked a piece of babag placed in between his index and middle finger.
Either he or Kanas would give Datan this type of briefing before he was assigned a mission. They had to make sure Datan was ready before he departed. “Once you reach land, you can find our comrades,” Pollo said. “They have different occupations. They will help you, so, don’t fail.”
“So the items I steal should be sent here through the League’s Post?”
“It’s not necessary for some items. Someone will tell you the detail later. There had been a mishap in the League when our mailman betrayed us and ran
away with the items. It was chaotic. We learn that some people couldn’t maintain their loyalty.”
Pollo put off the babag in an ashtray, then he chugged some Naqi. He stood up, walking towards the painting in the wall. He stilled, standing straight as he stared at the painting of black boxes.
“Will you finally explain what it means? Balance in the Darkness,” Datan asked. “I think I really need to understand. Kanas said it is about who we are.”
“Yes, it can be put that way. Balance is important for a Royan, Datan. The Lady always tells us that a Royan had to live in balance so that we can control ourselves and life itself.”
“What do you mean by balance?”
Pollo turned around, his hair clinking as he did. He stared at Datan deep. “Because at the end of the day, we are not good people. We do terrible, terrible stuff,” he said. “Our heart is clouded by darkness and desire. Lady said this will dishonor the Royans, plunging us into a void of destruction and mortification.
“Which is why we need to do good deeds to help people. We steal, but we must also give. If we take a life, we save another. A Royan will and must place themselves right in the middle wrongdoings and virtue. We do as we desire, but we mustn’t cross the line.
“That’s why we live by Balance within the Darkness.”
Datan was overwhelmed by the answer. “And Sena said we vend balance to the Kings?”
Pollo was startled at that. “Ah, pay that no mind, at least for now. It is Royan One’s business,” he said, turning back to the grey painting. “Now I believe I promised to show you something.” He slid the painting carefully—apparently it had was placed on a slide track—and behind it was a keyhole made of blazing red iron. “This is the most interesting and tempting one out of things I’ve shown you.”
Datan sighed, straightening his back. Pollo took a silver key out of his pocket. As soon as he put it in the keyhole and turn it, there was a crackling sound from behind the wall followed by complex mechanical sound along and some grinding gear noise. A door emerged in a crackled wall next to the painting. It opened, allowing Datan to see a closet made of metal. There were attires and other equipment needed by a Royan on-duty.
Datan widened his eye, struck by amazement, his jaw dropped. He had suspected there was something more to the painting, though he had not expected this level of sophistication. He jumped to his feet, walking closer to the closet.
Hung in the middle of the closet was a hooded attire covered in a wide black cloak; leather belt with a holster, the hook of which glided with red metal in the shape of a hooded owl; and a pair of leather gloves and boots. Datan’s heart pounded vigorously, the outfit was cryptic yet elegant in such shade as dark as night. In the left chest part of the garment, the writing was embroidered, which said: R3. Royan Three.
Pollo said the garment would adjust its size. “As long as the wearer isn’t as fat as a hippo or as thin as a beanpole,” he joked.
Datan was tense. He grazed the garments, scrutinizing every seam and feeling the softness of the airy and light cloth. Certainly, someone had devoted enormous creativity and determination into making it. Also, Datan mused at the darkness of its shade. It was not simply the black of charcoal. It gave an impression of a bottomless dark pit. Marvelous!
Though one to two minutes later, his Ingra eyes captured the basic texture of the garment. Thus he understood completely. This garment was different than the one worn by Ana. This was more sophisticated as whomever in it would blend with the dark.
Datan felt his chest tightened. Was Ana really a traitor?
“Our tailor called it the Night Attire,” Pollo said proudly as though he took part in sewing the attire together. Briefly, he brushed his hair again. “It is made of juul, the thread of which comes from Karad spider, which can only be found in the damp caves of the Underworld.
“The fiber is thin, tight and strong. It absorbed every light came upon it, then release it as heat. For this reason, the night attire made the wearer blend with the darkness,” Pollo glanced at Datan with slight envy. “Only people like you can see us in the dark. It was truly unfair. Your eyes are like stars, they adapt in the dark.”
Datan smiled, lifting his chin. He felt like a kid just getting a present after a long year. The Red Pattern, another striking part in the garment, could harness the croa radiation from the moon and release Halo to the air, making any breathing creature in the radius of one hundred meters sleep in an instant.
So that was the secret, Datan thought.
Halo, Pollo said, was a special substance made of Ludajs’ feces found by the Apothecaries. One gram of which could put a rhino to sleep.
Datan was aghast. “Does that mean I have to bathe in flowers after using it?” he asked seriously, shaking his head to get rid of the image of disgusting feces.
Polo barked a laugh. “Of course not, moron!” he exclaimed. “Halo is scentless, tasteless and colorless. Relax. We made night attire as perfect as possible. You’ll love it.” His gleaming eyes then turned serious. “But you must remember to take it to the Verik the Tailor after five uses. The Halo must be refilled.”
Pollo then explained about a golden yellow liquid called Anti-Halo, which filled little bottles hung in the side of the closet. Datan guessed that it was made of Ludaj’s urine, Pollo refuted him right away.
“You insolent child!” Pollo scolded while Datan laughed. Pollo reminded him to drink the Anti-Halo. “Otherwise you’ll be put to sleep as well. Drink some at least two hours before going on a mission. It needs time to work and the impact will last for two days in your body. On top of that, wear your cloak, make sure the night attire is not exposed to the moonlight.”
After making sure Datan understood, Pollo told him about the armory in the drawers lined with velvet red fabrics. There were daggers, a pair of curved knives called karambit, an ax with a short handle, and a sword sharp enough to slice through a horse’s neck. Everything was shiny. They were made beautifully, and each of them had the symbol of Urtaya whose eyes were made of orange stones.
“These weapons are made of Blue Steel, Datan. That is one of the strongest steel in the world,” Pollo told him. “They were dipped in Fire Sand and combined with Black Silver in the Forge of Crimson Dust. It is not only deadly for our enemy, but it also makes Anaq quivers in fear.”
Curiously, Datan took one of the knives. The handle was layered with oiled leather. His hand could grip it tightly and comfortably. Datan looked at the blade which had beautiful wavy lines. He turned it around, measuring the balance and weight of the item. It looked sharp enough to slice through stone.
Pollo admits that the weapons were not made to kill Anag. It is decided that only the Royan One ranks were given the Anag-killing weapon, due to their rarity and difficulty to make. A Royan Three—beginners like Datan—just had to accept that fact.
He looked at Pollo cautiously, not blinking.
“We select and distribute the mission based on the skill of the members,” Pollo answer his unuttered question. “So calm down, we won’t ask you to retrieve an item from a crazy witch right away.”
Datan felt so elated that he might as well fell in love. He could not stay still. He moved around restlessly before he took another look at the closet. In the second drawer, Datan found a roll of rope with an iron hook typically used to climb over something. There were also keys to break into doors in a satchel. Also, in a glass tube, floating in bubbling clear water were beige nose plugs which looked more like a spongy rubber.
“Is this Pipp?” Datan took the tube.
“Yes, it will help you to breathe underwater in case your Elpa is damaged.”
“This is the first time I see one.”
“It is incredibly rare and expensive. Don’t forget to put it back in the tube after you use it.”
In the third drawer, Datan found glass bottles plugged by corks. In it was colorful potion inside wooden tablets. There was also a glass jar full of filled syringes.
“We use injections
?”
“You’re not allergic to needle or anything, are you?” Pollo took one of the syringes containing green liquid. “This is Cercila. It is a special substance to heal any types of wound. It also heightens our senses. You can inject it anywhere in your muscles. But I remind you,” he lifted his index finger, “only use it in the case of emergency.”
Datan clenched his jaw.
“Because the side effect is excruciatingly painful. Your body will feel like it’s being twisted and pounded.”
Pollo also reminded him that the liquid inside the wooden tablet was called Setryi, which, if consumed, would damage someone’s heart to the near-death state. Whilst the clear ones were the antidote.
“The Apothecaries made it as an homage to Utala Pahana,” Pollo said. “That woman loved to make potion colorful and fragrant like syrup.”
Datan felt like he had heard of that name before.
Father told him of her tragic death. Utala Pahana was number one sworn Toxicologist. Datan remembered how the news of her death spread wildly, reported everywhere including nationwide newspaper, The Sarayan Spirit. Pollo said Utala was the one coming up with the concept of night attire and was the founder of one of the substances in Halo. She was also Irirana’s best friend and was an important figure in the League of Royans.
Aside from all of the apparatus, there was a piece of posh parchment attached next to the night attire. There was writing written in black in with golden ridges. It said:
Royan Operational Codes:
- Number 1: Watch over your enemy.
- Number 2: Blinded by arrogance, you shall not.
- Number 3: Breathe, be composed. Your chance shall come.
- Number 4: Look closer. Find the unseen.
- Number 5: Assent your greatest enemy. Yourself.
- Number 6: To back down is to trick. To stop is never on the line.
- Number 7: Charge! Have fun!
