The Thief

by Rama Nugraha

  “Focus, Datan,” Kanas said with a voice that was forced to sound flat. He reached out for something from the pouch in the saddle, a ball with one centimeter in diameter. “Keep moving forward, Lady.”

  Hundreds… Datan counted… no, perhaps it was thousands. Yes.

  More than one thousand people of Tormera shambled around the empty field filled with tall reed. They looked like a wounded victim of a vicious war, forced to leave their homeland. They were broken inside.

  Their clothes were rumpled, torn and dirty. They smelt awful, partly like sulfur, blood, and vomit. Corpse Flies surrounded their head. Screams were heard everywhere, desperate pants, cries, and sorrowful recitation of prayer for Unum. Man, women, old-young, children, crying babies, those who had lost their sanity, beggars, merchants, office employees, government officers, even the national guards… everyone was groaning, holding back immense pain and misery. Some of them holding clothes inside bundles of worn out fabrics.

  Datan lessened his smelling sense. His nose ached and his lungs felt like they were on fire. He started to worry, trying to find a way to get through the crowd.

  There were lines of Khuku carriages, pulled by a pair of large, yet skinny, Oxies which kept on whining like they were starving. The four wheels of each carriage creaked like they were in the verge of breaking, leaving a harsh print on the cracking soil of the meadow, which had turned black. Some of the people screamed, begged, cried, asked for help from those who were also sick.

  Where were they going? What would they do?

  The nearest person noticed the newcomers, he looked at the three Royans hungrily. Suddenly he screamed. Heads were turning towards them, they started to face them with a hopeful expression and reaching hand, asking for help. People had blocked the road.

  Kanas made his horse bolted forward, proceeding to get to Datan’s front to stop the people. Kanas was the only one that remained focused. He moved as though he was a man with a heart made of stone.

  Kanas lifted the mysterious ball smelling like orange in his hand. “Back off!” he roared as loud as a lion. “For Unum! Back off! Don’t block our road!”

  “That’s Datan! Datan the thief! Oh! Datan, the Woudward son!” one of them shouted, ignoring Kanas. “He is red! He is the savior! Unum has sent a savior! Datan! The chosen Ingra! Oh! Help us! We’re sick!”

  “Datan! Datan!” a girl with silver locks yelped. “I am Tara, your lover! Help me!”

  “Datan, I am a friend of your aunt! Help me! Help us!”

  “Datan I am your childhood friend! I steal with you and Erry!” a young man whose face was burnt exclaimed. He reached for Datan desperately. “You remember me? I am Bana!”

  Datan widened his eyes in horror. He could not move.

  His heart beat fast as he looked into the eyes of those people. Their scream, which came one after another, felt like a knot in his chest. He knew Bana, but with his current condition, he was too scared to help. He did not know what to do.

  In a blink of an eye, the Royans was surrounded.

  Man, woman, children… everyone cried, outstretching their miserably dirty hands. The children begged as they cried. Someone snorted black blood as though it was a snot. They were dirty, pale, covered in sweat. Their eyes were filled with spotted and those eyeballs were bugging out unnaturally empty, deeply sunken. They saw the three Royans as saviors who came from the sky, carrying a basket of medicine on majestic winged horses.

  No one was sane!

  “Ohh! Datan the chosen one doesn’t have time for you people!” Kanas controlled the horse to shift his head constantly with the rope as he knew the animal felt threatened. “Get away from the road!” Kanas threw the red ball with a sand-like texture to the crowd.

  There was a small explosion.

  The air turned dry. Datan understood right away what was going on as he held his breath right away. That was a sleeping bomb, a certain type of Halo. In the radius of fifty meters from the center of the explosion, everyone collapsed, snoring in an instant. The effect worked faster than the Halo emitted by the night attire. The crowd turned into a pile of broken bodies in a deep slumber.

  Kanas glared. “Now!” he shouted.

  Datan shook his head. “He’s insane,” his chocked on his scream. “If we move, we’ll trample them!”

  “We have to move now or we’ll be stuck here until we die! They could wake up and turn insane, Datan!”

  “No, Kanas! There has to be another way! Somebody could die!”

  “Oi!” Kanas growled, his face turned red. “Look around you! Don’t you remember your Uncle Baram? He might be eating Tortor right now, frying him with salt and pepper! He’s insane! These people are insane!”

  Datan was stunned, glaring at Kanas full of hatred. “You jerk!” he shouted angrily. “Damn you, pan-pan!”

  Kanas could care less. He sheathed his sword, then he kicked the horse with his feet, making it move forward through the bodies in the ground. Datan lost his breath. His muscles froze when he realized the situation was the exact opposite of his principle. Irirana could not say anything. She was crying, looking like she was about to lose consciousness. What happened to the Kahisar? Datan thought wrathfully. Strengthen his heart, he stood up in his stirrup and jumped to Irirana’s horse.

  “Close your eyes,” Datan whispered behind her ear. “We’re moving!” he took over the horse who shifted restlessly and proceeded.

  Kanas knew Datan was going to help Irirana. That was why he put himself in front of the two, and threatening the crowd with his unsheathed sword. It glistened in the air like saying it could tear the mountain apart in one slash. Some of the people who had regained their consciousness went panic. They made more noises. They looked at Kanas as though he was a rampaging large buffalo. They screamed in fear, running around, opening a path for them to walk on.

  Datan could hear the sound of bones breaking under the horse, along with the oozing blood, groans of broken skulls, cracks of broken necks and other noises that had been traumatically engraved to his brain.

  Irirana shut his eyes tightly, she could not hold back her tears and her sobbing got louder. Both of her hands were balled tightly as she held her own body. She unconsciously imagined what happened, how the legs of his horse stepped on the people, breaking the face of sleeping sick children on the road. Datan could feel her body trembled in the semi-holding position he was on.

  Datan felt angry at fate, at the universe. Where is Unum?

  They did not stop. They did not look back.

  “Get away! Leave!” Kanas was still shouting in front of them. “For Unum, I’ll slash your throat!”

  They kept forcing their way, splitting the crowd. They got faster and faster, ignoring the protest and lashing of the people who were on the verge of insanity. Until they managed to get out, getting away from the desperate Tormera people after that, they exchanged their position. Kanas moved behind them whilst Datan moved to the front, making the horse move faster.

  ◆◆◆

  The gloomy, terrifying view had changed. The red sphere in the horizon that was the sun glowed softly, warming the land. The grey mountain could be seen across the forest. Afternoon wind brushed the tense faces under wide hoods.

  The world felt tranquil and peaceful at that part of the land.

  Datan knew that he could not dwell in the misery. He tried to focus on his mission to Wanageeska, just like how Kanas constantly reminded him. But Irirana? Suddenly she was burdened and fragile. Her strong heart crumbled. She was drowned in guilt like what happened in Tormera was her fault.

  Datan bit his lips, holding himself back to ask questions.

  Datan made the horse run faster, leaving Kanas far behind. He could already feel the smell of fertile soil in the air. The meadow had changed in color. There, it was green, the grass made the tiniest noise as they danced with the wind. Thirty steps towards the east, a pair of bird chirped under a shadow, perching on a root that came out of the soil under an old oak tree.


  Datan reached a stone footpath at the very end of an uphill land heading toward the edge of the cliff. Under the twilight sky, the cone-like house number 21 looked the same. It was like it managed to escape from the chaos and misery in Tormera. Its beauty only faded a little. Even the decorative plants in the terrace were wet like someone had just watered them.

  There was only one thing Datan failed to recognize.

  There was a large man standing in front of the terrace. He was waiting, his arms were crossed in front of his chest. He did not blink once since the moment he saw Datan rode the horse toward him. Datan slowed down, stopped and jumped down, finally, he stood on the ground. He offered his hand to Irirana, catching her as she came down as well. Datan pulled her hood upward, hiding the face of a mourning woman.

  “Wait here,” he whispered. “Calm down.”

  Datan turned away after Irirana nodded. Then, he approached the unknown man.

  He was an Urgut with grey eyes as clear as crystal, though fierce and sharp. His hair stood up rigidly with the length that was at least seven centimeters. It was a wonder, not to mention his facial hair which was as red as fire. He was wearing hoop earrings made of black iron in his left earlobe. The skin in his arm was as black as night with soft silver hair in his arms from the tip of his finger to his elbow. Thick veins were visible in his arms, which was splattered with blood.

  His large, muscled body was covered by a special attire, it was some kind of Nimta vest like an armor, which was ivory. It was sleeveless and in the middle of his chest was a black opal in the shape of a hand squeezing… a heart—Neena’s heart. It looked very distinct that Datan could feel the charm and fierceness emitting from him, mixing with the desire to kill.

  Datan’s instinct told him that he was not from Sarayan, and that he was not just a mercenary.

  “Who are you?” the man asked rudely, he narrowed his grey eyes in suspicion.

  Datan frowned. “Datan. Datan Woudward. I am the son of the owner of the house,” he answered sharply. “And who might you be?”

  The man blinked, he looked amazed. “Ah, so you’re the boy,” he exclaimed, then a thin formal smile appeared on his square face. His gaze softened.

  Datan walked closer, slightly looked up like he was talking to Pollo. That man was at least two-meter tall. “You haven’t answered my question,” he said cautiously.

  “Casta,” the man bowed a little bit, looking at Datan with no intention of underestimating him. He rummaged the pocket of his vest and took out a thin black badge. “Casta Soloman. I am the First Commander of Yannor.”

  Datan put down his hoodie, wide-eyed. That badge was in the shape of Rukh holding a crown, similar with one Datan found inside his Malika ring. Hesitantly, Datan shook Casta’s hand.

  “I came to talk to your father, Datan. Where is he right now?”

  Datan should be shocked, but what he had witnessed happening in Tormera and its people had eaten up all of his energy and subdued any element of surprise. The coming of a Commander from the Kingdom of Yannor in the heart of Middle Land of Bavarat to look for Father just made him confused.

  “You reeked,” Datan examined Casta’s body with his eyes. “It smelt like you had just bathed in blood.”

  “Ah, yes,” Casta shrugged. “I killed someone before I got here.”

  Datan looked deeply into Casta’s eyes, trying to read what was on his mind. He tried to understand him, to conclude something about him. He was a killer, obviously. And Datan should be wary of any unfamiliar guests, especially a killer. He could not just trust them right away. They were liars—like a thief—like himself.

  “Have you finished examining me?” Casta asked. “Your father, where is he? I need to talk to him.”

  “He’s not inside?”

  “There are only sick people inside,” Casta answered. “One of them is an old lady who loves screaming and bursting into tears.”

  Aunt Fira, Erry, and Uncle Joe. Datan knew right away that those sick people were them.

  Casta glanced at the Malika in Datan’s left thumb. “So, where is your father?” he repeated. “What happened to your skin? Anag burn mark?”

  “Yeah, it was a long story. Father is out of town—for business.”

  “Your eyes were lying, Ingran boy.”

  Datan grumbled, making a buzzing sound like termites. He scratched his thumbs.

  “I am your father’s old friend, Datan. You can be honest with me.”

  “I’ve never seen Father’s friend who looked like you.”

  “Now you’re looking at one. So, where is he?”

  “He’s visiting a friend in Wanageeska,” Datan answered.

  Casta furrowed his eyebrow. “Mattan doesn’t have a friend in Wanageeska. What? He’s been kidnapped? Who could kidnap Mattan?” he inquired, curious but not at all surprised In fact, he looked like he was about to laugh.

  Datan glared. “Lower your voice—“

  “Commander, call me Commander.”

  “I will not.”

  “Alright, it’s ‘Uncle’ then, that’s more fitting to our situation. We are men who were born in different generations after all. You should show me some respect.”

  “Casta,” Datan stated. In his current circumstances, he did not want to receive orders from anyone. “I’ll just call you Casta.”

  Casta glared, yet astonished at Datan’s arrogance. He clicked his tongue. “This is mental. How did that ponytail raise his son? Has he taught you the radical understanding of the world? That the world is within your grasp, huh?”

  Datan starred in silence, he was getting more certain that Casta was indeed Father’s friend.

  “That’s dangerous, Datan. Only the chosen ones who are bonded to nothing can learn it. I’m not even a part of those people,” Casta looked at him for a long time. He waved his hand eventually. “Well, your father must understand you better. He always looked further than anyone. So, who kidnapped him?”

  “A woman. An insane woman,” Datan answered. “She’s the one that made my skin like this, although, well… indirectly.”

  Canas laughed loudly.

  “I’ll shave her head clean.”

  “You serious?”

  “Why not? I’ll do it with my sharp shaving knife.”

  “Do you need help, perhaps? Because I really need to see your father.”

  “No. No, thanks. I’ll be alright. I’m already accompanied by two comrades,” Datan refused surely. “I’ll tell him about your visit. I’m sure after this, he’ll come to see you.”

  Casta nodded. “Well, you better hurry,” he said. Then he shifted his gaze to Irirana who was still standing with her eyes to the ground, covered completely by his cloak. Casta put his hands into his pants’ pocket. He stepped forward gracefully and completely calm, radiating the feeling of a great man. “This familiar vanilla scent,” Casta’s nose whiffed the air. “I could smell it. Just like my best friend Mattan Woudward. Those who have become a partner of Unum the Creator… so, an El Essa?”

  Datan watched over them, did not understand why he felt nervous. He saw that Irirana finally lifted her face, smiling slightly as she made eye contact with Casta. There were no swollen eyes nor any marks left by tears in her cheek. The sadness had gone without a trace from her face.

  “Oh,” Casta was astonished as though he was looking at a diamond statue. “Kahisar Irirana Astanelta?”

  “Commander Casta Solomoan,” Irirana greeted. “It’s been a while.”

  Casta turned around when he heard Datan’s footstep approaching them. “That means you’re a Royan, Datan?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Datan replied. “I’m a newbie.”

  Chapter 30

  A Great Woman

  Kanas arrived, panting, ten minutes later. Apparently, he had known Casta beforehand as well. Kanas reminded him that they could not possibly get back to Laha through Tormera, they had to take another route since the situation was too chaotic. Several people managed to chase after him. Casta put
fire in a long pipe he procured from a pouch in his belt, then sat on the grass calmly. Casta was thinking about the situation Kanas told him as he smoked his blue-leaved tobacco.

  Datan understood and he did not much time to spare. He left the other three and entered the house. The door was opened, showing him a square of his living room. His mind was flooded by the image of Father and Nymeria. For a moment, he hoped—again—that Father was in the living room smoking some babag, and that Nymeria’s letter was nothing but a sick, sick joke. Datan sighed. He climbed the small staircase, touching the doorknob and opened it. And disappointed, he was.

  His wish died, of course.

  The people inside were cleaning the house when Erry stood up, covering her mouth with her hand the moment she saw Datan’s face in the door. Her left hand trembled as she held the mopping stick. Aunt Fira and Uncle Joe were just as shocked at Datan’s appearance. Uncle Joe threw a white rag he was about to use to clean the back of a chair, while Aunt Fira, who was cleaning eating utensils, froze with watery eyes. She was wearing her favorite long dress with the pattern of bright tulips, even though that time it looked dull and stained by dried black spots.

  Datan mustered the courage to step in, his leather boot left a print on the wet floor. “Hi,” he greeted awkwardly. He forced himself to smile as he starred at their tired faces. Those eyes had been contaminated. “How are you?”

  Aunt Fira threw the dirty rag and walked fast across the living room to hug Datan. She touched his face and kissed his cheek dearly. “Oh, finally you come home!” she squealed.

  Datan could smell the scent of sulfur from her.

  He smiled wider, feeling a little relieved. She looked alright, though thinner. The Hin necklace was still there hanging in his neck and his mouth had yet to smell like clove. Those two things were the center of Datan’s attention every time his aunt went sick. Because when her condition was unbearable, she would wrap the Hin necklace around her wrist and hold the blue stone pendant tightly like she wanted to squish it all the time. Her mouth would chant a prayer to Unum and she would chew a large number of spices, especially clove.