The Thief

by Rama Nugraha

  Datan heightened his senses. He sharpened his sight, hearing, and smell. Alas, he found chaos. Above the country was a vast grey sky. Black smoke was visible around the top of the buildings in the heart of the city. No longer was the land green. The soil was dry, cracked and burnt as though there had been a fire there. The air was dusty and hot, reeking of sulfur and vomit. Some of Haedin grand wooden building in the Governmental District were on fire. The streets were dirty, covered in vomit in many places. They were empty in every part.

  Blood splatters were visible in many places, including in the street and public facility such like the Khuku station as well as in the wall of abandoned houses. Many cone-like houses were damaged by a possible commotion. Lines of small weeping figs withered in the sides of the street. Flowers remain in their buds, colorless, they neither live nor die.

  Rubbish was splattered here and there. Pamphlets and pieces of newspaper article were blown by the winds, all of which displayed warnings such as: ‘Trust no one’, ‘Get out of Tormera!’ or ‘Everyone went insane!”

  “Don’t touch anything!” Irirana reminded them, sounded concerned.

  “Anarchy, pan?”

  “Not in front of children, Kanas."

  Suddenly, a cry was heard, making the three Royan freeze in their place.

  A dirty boy hobbled out of a narrow alley while holding a bunch of newspaper. He was sobbing. His gaze was sad and empty as he saw the group. His cheeks were wet with tears. Black blood oozed from his twitching nostrils, drenching his small mouth which was biting a piece of dirty Kirki. He chewed slowly as though the feather was a sweet chewy candy. One of his hand waved weakly, offering them an issue of Daily Tormera which was dirtied by blood.

  The horses stopped. Datan was shocked. His jaw tightened.

  Kanas froze on his pedestal. “Unum… Unum had cursed this country,” he said hoarsely.

  Datan sighed, feeling irritated. Haedin people tended to conclude things too fast without even thinking about it first. It was always Unum, everything always came back Unum.

  Irirana covered her mouth with both of her hands. Her resolve was shaken seeing the boy wiping his nosebleed with the back of his hand. Irirana almost got down from his horse when—

  “Lady!” Kanas shouted, raising his hand firmly, stopping Irirana. “Remember what you said. You must hold your empathy!” he said as he rode his horse in front of Irirana’s line of vision, preventing her to see the boy. “Datan! For Unum, move!”

  Datan jumped. “I know,” he answered rigidly. “Give me a moment, Kanas.”

  The boy approached Datan in a run when he saw him got off his horse. He outstretched his hand, offering a crumpled Daily Tormera. Datan accepted the newspaper and he was shaken seeing the boy up close.

  His outfit was dirty as if he was just rolling around in the street with dried vomit under his neck. His skin was as yellow as a banana peel. His entire body looked pale. Rashes and scratch mark were visible in his neck, just like what Datan saw in the skin of homeless children in Fardas. His pupil was covered in dark spot, making the bright blue that was once there barely visible. And the odor of his sweat was… off.

  “Sulfur…” he whispered to himself.

  “What is it?” Irirana had heard him, her voice choked. “His mouth—help him take that dirty Kirki out of his mouth, Datan. Oh…”

  Datan kneeled slowly, trying not to startle the boy. He placed his hand in the shoulder of the boy. “Hei—“

  Suddenly the boy flinched, then he started to scream hysterically, up to the point that his saliva was splattered to Datan’s face. His small eyes bugged out. His face turned blue and was washed over by fear as he starred at Datan as if the Royan was a wild beast. The boy took steps backward, he stumbled and fell. The newspapers fell out of his hold. The boy stood up right away, turning around and started running, all the way while he screamed, asking for help, abandoning his fallen Kirki.

  Datan widened his eyes. Horror crept upon his spine.

  He stayed in kneeling position like a statue, his hand was stretched out like he was holding an invisible child. Datan became more certain of what was happening. He flinched, putting down his hand and lowering his gaze. He read the Daily Tomera fast, flipping the pages, scanning the important news, trying to get the gist of what happened. Every article highlighted the chaos leading to the past one day in Tormera before the newspaper was issued two days ago.

  Datan scratched his itchy right elbow.

  He stood up, looking at Irirana and Kanas who looked at him as if he was about to announce the King’s order. “There was a plague,” he said heavily. He read aloud the article in the newspaper. “A group of desperate healers let half of the patient in the hospital die, people went insane overnight… there was a shrilling trumpet sound in the sky, hmm… Yellow Skin… people who have it will have a nosebleed, spotted eyes, and their blood will turn black, watery and stained in white liquid… also… experience vivid hallucination.” Datan lifted his head, his throat was dry. “You want to read it yourself?” he offered. He felt like his face paled and stiffen like a statue. His left hand wiped the remaining of the boy’s saliva in his left cheekbone. “It looks awful.”

  Kanas glared at him. It was either he did not care or he had understood everything Datan had just read. “We can discuss this later,” he said sternly, leaving no room for compromising. “For Unum! We have to get going now!”

  Datan was sure Kanas realized something. Kanas was worried about Irirana who suddenly went quiet. Irirana’s gaze was shifted to the street where the newsboy disappeared. She looked solemn and guilty.

  “Oh, no,” Datan whined. “Don’t tell me you want to adopt him, Irirana.”

  “Lady, Datan. You should call her Lady!”

  “But I love her name, Irirana is such a beautiful name, don’t you think so Kanas?” Datan replied sarcastically.

  “Oh! For Unum, have you—“

  “Enough!” Irirana stopped the other two in an instant. Her eyes were watery when she looked at Datan. “Can’t we move already?”

  No one said a word.

  Datan got on his horse, slipping the newspaper in the pouch of the saddle. This time Datan made the horse move faster in front of the other two. The hostile wind brushed the empty street. Feeling like there was a knot in his stomach, Datan wondered where the people were. Where were the guards?

  The smell of dried blood became stronger. It was followed by the smell of sulfur sweat and vomit as well as rotten meat.

  Datan felt like his elpa membrane was pierced by needles. His lungs felt polluted, making it hard to breathe. He could not feel his hand though they were holding the rope of the saddle tightly. He could not bring himself to focus. Aunt Fira’s face haunted his mind. Fear and restlessness got bigger as he took a turn towards her house. They entered the Market District where there were all kinds of stores with streets named after vegetables.

  That area was wrecked. Two buildings were damaged and one was burnt.

  Datan made the horse move faster. He looked at the area in his right side, heading towards a line of cone-like houses with burnt abandoned lawn. The doors were opened and the glasses of the windows were broken. But there was one house, which was sealed completely. House number 77, the one painted in a light brown like cardboard. Datan stopped in front of the fence of the house.

  “Is this your house, pan?” Kanas asked in a shout.

  Datan ignored him.

  “Be careful!” Irirana reminded.

  In the lawn was a carcass of a horse who was nearly decapitated.

  Datan heightened his senses, walking quietly, staying in alert as he entered the lawn where flower buds withered in the sides as if they were not watered for a month.

  Datan walked from a wooden step, approaching the dead horse on the grass. Its legs were chained into strong wooden bars. Its long white mane was shaved completely. Its skinny body had a lot of slash wound, which looked new. Corpse Flies whose eyes were big and green flew around the
sticky slashed flesh, which emitted a foul odor. The dark soil under it was filled with marks of horseshoes, a sign of struggle.

  Feeling suspicious, he felt his heart beat fast as terror strangled him.

  Datan brushed the back of his hand to his nostrils, crouching on one knee, holding his breath. He recognized the horse after examining it. Datan saw a burn mark, a sign in the shape of a mini horseshoe, under its jaw. It—he—was indeed Tortor. He was the one throwing Datan off his back when he learned how to ride a horse.

  Who would kill Tortor in such a cruel way? Datan shrugged. He was so worried that he could not breathe. Shifting his gaze, the cone-like house looked gloomy like it had been abandoned by the owner. The green grass that was its roof had withered. Climbing the small dusty staircase, he saw drops of blood splattered near the entrance.

  Datan did not hear anything from inside of the house.

  He knocked on the door, fast and restlessly. He waited while walking back and forth. He knocked again and waited. Then, he knocked again. He was about to barge in when he heard footsteps behind the door. The door was unlocked and the door swung inward, causing the metal in the hinge to creak. In front of him stood a skinny short man. His freckled face was stained by blood in the side of his small, bent nose and wrinkly cheek. His hair was thick in the top, though nearly bald in both sides. He was wearing a rumpled cotton attire with blood spots in the right elbow and half of his chest area. He smelt like iron, sulfur and overall musty like he had not been showering for at least a week.

  He was Baram Baninka. Though Datan was not sure if he was the Baram Baninka that he knew.

  Datan put down his hood. “Uncle…” he called out, gapping. His eyes were widened. Datan almost hugged the confused man, but he noticed that the man was holding a large knife stained with Tortor’s blood.

  Uncle Baram twitched, focusing his spotted eyes. He looked exhausted. His tan skin had turned yellow. “Datan?” he asked, flinching, then he tried to remember. “I heard that you… Royan?” his eyes bugged out as he lowered his voice to a whisper. “You made it?”

  “Uncle, the knife—”

  Uncle Baram’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. There was bad rash in his sweaty neck. He rose his arm, startled as he saw a knife in his hold. Then, as if he just realized something, he frowned and threw the knife to the other side of the room.

  “You look red,” Uncle Baram said, astonished. “Really red. Is it on purpose?”

  His spotted eyes could still see apparently, Datan thought. “Where’s Aunty? What—happened to you?” he asked.

  Uncle Baram blinked several times. Then, he hit his head using his balled fist. He looked miserable. Datan caught his hand before he hit himself one more time.

  Datan felt even more scared.

  “My head… buzzing,” Uncle Baram whined. “There are many flies inside my ears.”

  “Don’t talk nonsense, Uncle,” Datan’s face paled, scrunching. He felt impatient. “Were is Aunty? Where is your wife?”

  “Fira went to your house three days ago, before the sound of the trumpet was heard! For Unum, that woman doesn’t care about me! He said he wanted to wait for you and your father in your house!” Uncle Baram looked at different direction fast, his eyes rolled back. Then, he had a nosebleed. Watery blood with white spots dripped from one of his nostrils. He panted, wiping his nose. “Something happened to this country, Datan! Everyone went insane all of sudden!

  “Unum! Unum appeared before me—asking me to slaughter Tortor!”

  Datan’s jaw dropped, his knees wobbled.

  “Datan!” Kanas shouted from his horse. “We don’t have much time!”

  Datan could not possibly leave Uncle Baram. He was the first person that told Datan to read the story of the great Osberga Sattin.

  Another voice was heard, intensifying the situation.

  “Hey, you!” a middle-aged man shouted. “Who are you, people?”

  Datan recognized the voice right away. It was Bark Ohalla, the former Security Sher of Tormera. The three Royans turned to the source of the voice. Datan could see the man from afar, he looked thinner than the last time Datan saw him before he departed to Fardas. His silver hair with strands of black hair had reached his shoulder, it was messy. His cotton attire looked loose.

  Bark approached them angrily, limping like he was experiencing pain in his hip. Usually, Bark was followed by a bunch of guards who were so loyal they were willing to die for him. Not this time, though. Bark was all alone. And the moment Irirana put down her hoodie, he froze like he had seen a ghost.

  Irirana blinked as though she had changed her eyeballs.

  Bark’s face softened. “Kahisar—Lady?” he called out, gapping.

  Irirana’s face turned cold. She had presented herself as Kahisar. She threw him a straight gaze which would make anyone nervous. “Bark,” she said calmly.

  Datan was quick to realize that Irirana had changed her role.

  Bark’s yellow face paled, he gulped. “Fifteen years,” he whispered. “Oh, what are you—“

  “There’s no time to explain.”

  Bark scratched his head. “Perhaps… there’s something I can help you with?” he attempted to be friendly. He coughed once as black blood dripped from his nose. “The country was in chaos—“

  “Go, Bark,” Irirana ordered. “Finish your business. Leave us and tell no one.”

  Bark looked conflicted. “But… alright,” he said, forcing himself to obey her. “Alright.”

  Bark starred at them long with distrust, then he nodded before turning away, cursing under his breath. He ran limping to a small alley near the street, leaving the Royans. He obeyed Irirana, apparently.

  “That man, it’s like he could appear everywhere.”

  Kanas sighed—releasing tension. “Do you have to be that harsh, Lady?”

  “I know him well, Kanas,” Iriana replied. “That man talked too much, stubborn as stone and always stick his nose where it doesn’t belong.” She looked at Datan who looked bewildered. “Have you finished your business, Datan?”

  Datan asked if Uncle Baram wanted to go with him, but he refused sternly. He was too scared to be outside. He preferred to wait for Aunt Fira in the house. Datan could not bring himself to insist.

  The group proceeded to the southern gate. This time, Kanas reminded him not to stop until he reached his home. Being involved in unnecessary incidents wasted to much time that it might affect their whole timetable to reach Wanageeska. Consequently, whether they like it or not, they should completely shut down their compassion and curiosity. They must look forward, hiding their face behind their cashmere cloaks.

  Datan hoped he did not see anyone he knew so that he would not have to stop.

  “Remember Nymeria, Datan,” Kanas exclaimed. “She has your father!”

  Datan felt irritated that Kanas had to remind him that way.

  As they went on across the heart of the country, the group unveiled the horrible situation in Tomera more and more. The once lush country was soiled. Every protocol and regulations were long forgotten. Health clinics were filled with desperate people. They were screaming, unable to handle the pain and misery. They cursed and berated each other. Some of the sick people protested in front of the resident of the Health Sher—Mala Guflar, holding huge banners saying ‘Heal Tomera, or step down from the Red Chair!’

  The Unumas gathered in the Suba Tower, trying to hold a communal praying ritual to ask for help from Unum. Their faces were no longer oily and glistening, they were yellowish and pale.

  The refuge tents were set up filling half of the empty field. People who were ill gathered surrounding medical experts who were also holding back pain. The guards on duty reminded everyone to stick together. They also saw a line of people whose limbs were tied. Some of them even voluntarily asked the guard to tie them.

  In the empty streets, the three Royans passed through a group of people who purposefully bashed their heads to the wall, abusing themselves as they sho
uted, cursing at the emptiness. Abandoned children were in a daze, holding their knees with empty eyes. A mother holding a crying baby in his arms screeched and threw the baby to the garbage bin. A beggar curled up in the side of the street, covered in a small crumpled blanket with patches everywhere, mumbled quietly as though he was having a nightmare of being tortured in prison. Some of them were running and only running—trying to save themselves—from what, though, no one knew. There was a man with a flushed mustache who was dancing on his own in the street, laughing happily as if he was dancing with a beautiful princess. In some other parts, there were fights between clusters, shedding blood everywhere.

  A group of guards tried to examine every corner of the country, trying to find those who needed help. Though, at the end of the day, they were the one needing help. Irirana saw Thar Palatu Guflar with half of his Shers were guarded as they walked out of their mansion to an evacuation spot underground in the central city. Thar Palatu looked skinny and weak that the guards had to support him throughout the walk.

  Both of the Thar’s eyes had turned black and they kept leaking red blood. His wife next to him screamed to the guards all of sudden, begging for help as if her body was being eaten by something.

  “Caterpillars! Caterpillars in my eyes!” she screeched while scratching her own face.

  Datan’s heart beat faster than ever at the sight. He felt frustrated, burdened with various thought who kept pounding on his skull. How could this happen?

  “Tannu was right,” Irirana spoke sadly to herself. The Black Bow of Kalantaka in her back quivered with her. “A great calamity had fallen upon the Surface…”

  Chapter 29

  The Black Arm

  Passing through the neglected southern gate, the three Royans became tense like they were hit by hot wind of a desert. Suddenly, Datan felt weak even to just keep sitting on the saddle. He could not believe what he saw. Irirana covered her mouth with both of her hands, her eyes were widened and her cheeks were wet with tears. While Kanas looked at the front, passing the heads that looked down, farther away from the crowd and the meadow. He looked at one spot in a faraway place.