It appeared that a local shark missed out on a prized prey.
Luck was a fickle mistress, and the fate of this poor creature was no exception. Though he had eluded death's grasp for a moment, his ultimate demise was all but certain. The gritty embrace of coarse sand might have seemed a comfort, but he knew the true agony lay in the wounds that rent his flesh.
The local fishermen trembled at the sight of the lone survivor, whose head bobbed up from the depths like a spectre. All were unwilling to offer so much as a scrap of cloth to ease his suffering. All were scurrying into the forest.
It was the right thing to do. It was not like first aid was what he needed. After all, what use was first aid for an aidless body?
The cadaver might have been left in the elements for only several sunless days, yet its flesh had been reduced to a nary but the shroud of bones, a pittance of drooping meat, and sagging skin paler than the beach sand. His yawning cavity was where once a heart had beat. Here, the teeming amphipods forsook their walking food supply, scattering like leaves in a gale. The algae served its purpose better in preserving the cadaver's denudation than the hirsute coat and shredded trousers.
The water now was ankle-deep, so it quickened its pace. Its ghostly eyes wandered everywhere as if tracing some sort of guideline. Its moans echoed like a lamentation that sent a shiver down the spines of even the hardiest crabs, and their tiny chelipeds rushed to dig the holes into their abode. A mesmerising sight indeed, to see the undead gallop along with such purpose, when the ravages of the sea had barely stripped all its muscles and sinews.
Such was the allure that some dared to test their mettle. The villagers ventured closer and looked on, warily, and even though the cadaver caught sight of them time and time again, it seemed disinterested in satiating hunger with a meal of local fishermen. Perhaps its picky palate deemed them too fishy. Surely, it was best not to argue with the shambling dead about it, let alone confront it to reflect.
However, the armed forces always confronted everything. Especially when that something was an unclean creature that breathed not but moved better than the breathing ones.
Each soldier had thrust their melee weapons—spears with meandered blades—into the visage of the departed. Yet, to their surprise, the cadaver mulled, then simply inched. The soldiers paid it no mind. They inched to its position and urged it back to the ocean. The undead took offence, turning a scowling visage upon them. An unspoken warning to back away.
Still, they disregarded the clement gesture.
Thus, the cadaver impaled itself upon one of the spears, tearing off the spear wielder's visage with jagged teeth still intact! It stole the flesh of his ignorant cheek, gnawing upon it, only to behold the same morsel coming out of the anterior orifice of the torso!
The battle formation was swiftly arranged, encircling the cadaver. With the spear already pierced through the cadaver's hind torso, the undead quickly retreated backwards—a move that the soldier behind it did not expect. Sure enough, the unsuspecting warrior was pierced by the spear of his own former comrade! The cadaver kicked him backwards so that he could spend his last moments bathed in the moist sand. It immediately leapt back forward, brandishing the blunt end of the spear to another soldier.
Luckily, the particular infantryman was not stupid enough to prevent the Walking Dead from entering deeper into the living realm.
The pursuit continued. The disgusted yet horrified grins of humans and monkeys were ignored. A relentless march through villages, coconut groves, and fields of cornweeds to honour the deepest craving inside the bones. Perhaps with its craving fulfilled, it could lay rest in peace.
Misinformed onlookers believed the creature was charging towards them, inciting screams of terror that echoed through the villages and fields. They fled, perceiving the undead figure as a fearsome predator rather than its actual state as helpless prey.
It was already late afternoon, and the corpse had not yet reached his destination. It paused for a moment, teeth bared as it surveyed the surroundings. Seeking the quickest path to the goal, it seemed. Its remarkable intuition defeated that of a human and his advanced systems far exceeded that of even the most sophisticated automatons. A brief contemplation had passed; the being made its decision and set off, running through the plantation once more.
An elderly man returning home was felled by a heart attack upon encountering the cadaver with a spear hanging limply from its emaciated form. Another time, another tragedy.
A patrolling zeppelin almost obliterated the cadaver. The Alas Purwo Bhayangkara unit disembarked from the flying vessel in their thick, steam-powered armour and masks with piercing eyes. The war had worn away their patience. The patience to wait for the thrill of battlefields full of explosions and howls. They acted like automatons as they blasted cannons and mortars at the walking cadaver, destroying everything on beautiful greens but the cadaver itself. But the cadaver was wily. There was no way it had all the gears to slaughter those soldiers one by one. It slipped into the forest, rolled on rough, sloping ground, chased by the dogs until it entered the arid land that resembled a sea bordering another forest across. The soldiers halted their feet. The darkness was looming, and as much as they longed to return to the fray, their brains were still fully intact to functionally think of all possibilities if they crossed into Pulomas territory.
Let the corpse ravage the brains of the separatists, they declared, as their feet marched in retreat.
Under the cover of night, the cadaver continued its journey across the darkened earth. Sneaking into villages, its white eyes alighted upon the crowds preparing for a grand feast in the centre of the light. In the days ahead, the streets would be filled with revellers. But little did they realise that they were about to experience the most horrifying feast of their lives, with an uninvited guest in the form of carrion.
The cadaver could not care less. Presumably, it was the pinnacle of humanity's highest dedication. An example for those with ambition. How could it not be? Even when dead, it refused to die. There remained unfinished business in this world, and it would not be swayed by any excuse to abandon that final quest. The eternal peace of a well-deserved rest would only come once that matter was concluded. One could only pray the departed soul shall find success in its endeavours and find the peace it sought.
***
Alicia peered over the boundary wall of the village and watched Wisesa leap to the other side. The livestock of Tumaritis headman had been fed and the man was clearly not interested in joining the festivities. After all, the villagers seemed to be shunning his presence anyway.
The offerings of food were lifted, and a procession winded through the village and into the endless fields of barley. In the distance, a massive pyre blazed, tended by priests and servants, all chanting prayers in fervent thanks and hope. This year, the harvest was bountiful, so it was only fitting that they set aside some of the harvests as an offering back to the gods.
"Could ye tell me to whom they're praying?" Alicia asked Kiran in a hushed voice. "Is it to Sang Hyang Sukra?"
Kiran shook her head. "Sang Hyang Sukra entrusts the fertility of crops and the purity of the land to Sang Hyang Bathara Tuhu. So now we offer thanks to him."
"Not just Bathara Tuhu, The Owl," Cempaka chipped in. "We also pray to the ancestors who are considered to have died in sacred. Those who died in a state of purity, their spirits rise as gods."
"So you worship countless gods, then?" Alicia opened her mouth. Her eyes blinked, dumbfounded.
"A god does not have to be one. In fact, Sang Hyang Sukra wants to share his divinity with all of us," replied Cempaka. "We are all called to follow virtue because virtue is the path of the gods—most of the gods, that is, Wredharaja and his followers are not included. If we emulate the gods, then we too can become gods, uniting to create a better universe for future generations."
"So the children of the future will have a better life and more divine blessings will be shared with them?"
Three affirming smiles for Alicia. "Exactly," Cempaka replied on behalf of the others.
Smile too on Alicia's face. "I think yer gods are the most generous I've ever learned about, to the point where they want to share their divine blessings with others."
With offerings burnt and sacrifices made, they marched back into the nearby forest. There, they arranged woven baskets filled with a bounty of fruits and vegetables scattered at calculated intervals throughout the glade. The meat, a separate offering, was placed in a rattan container, distant from its crop counterparts.
The three shishyas explained to Alicia that they did this to pay homage to the animals, as a symbol of gratitude for their role in the delicate balance of the natural world—even the pests. They acknowledged that, together with humanity, the creatures of the forest wove a tapestry of tales with each passing harvest.
With the baskets set, the villagers knelt in solemn reverence, each with a burning incense in hand. Thanksgiving prayers were offered. Alicia stood in awe at the unfolding scene while clutching the Arcane orb within her satchel.
"A beautiful and noble tradition, eh?" Alicia mused, addressing Orb. "'Tis a testament to human kindness and understanding of the universe, even in its smallest forms."
Orb hummed in agreement, its melodious tone echoing, Indeed, it is what makes humanity truly great, their ability to connect with all of creation.
Nodded the Crimsonmane lass. "And what's more, their belief that everyone is invited by their supreme god to become a god is quite reassuring, though strange. I mean, reaching the stage of deification is one of the ambitions that mages take, but 'tis a near impossible feat, and those who ken will usually bury that knowledge deep in selfishness—so that there's no stramash, they say. Hearing a different perspective on theosis from the common folk brings a sense of humility. Don't you think, Orb?"
Do you truly wish to know my thoughts, Alicia Crimsonmane?
"There must be something amiss with their beliefs, I'm guessing."
Humans, for all their goodness, are still human. They can partake of the divine nature, like their creator, but they can never be equal to the divine itself.
"So their teachings are flawed," Alicia concluded.
Orb remained silent.
"Should I tell them?" Alicia wondered. A hint of indecision was in her heart, knowing that her participation in the celebration would make any revelations she made a sensitive matter.
Fortunately, her companion understood her dilemma.
You will do it, Alicia. When you liberate this world, you shall show them the path away from misguidance as well.
The girl leaned back in relief against a tree trunk. "We should discuss the stories of the world of thaumaturgy we've heard sometime, like the concepts of Existence and the Divine, that we've heard from Odelie."
Both are the same, Orb replied briefly.
After they had talked to each other, the three ladies and Semar's sons approached Alicia.
"Are you talking to the spirits in the forest?" Petruk lay the first question. One could not tell if he meant it or not.
Alicia shook her head. "No, I was speaking with Orb. A private matter."
"Well then, I'm sorry if we have to ask you to stop discussing personal matters with your Kalimasada orb," Bagong countered. "Because there are still things to do!"
"Uh... another series of prayer ceremonies?"
"Feast!" the young villagers corrected her in a cheerful tone.
All the residents returned to the village while revelling. Streets and fields transformed into a veritable carnival. Tables laden with delicious dishes had been set up by the village women, and musicians clad in silks took their place beside their instruments. The pasindhen singers raised their voices, accompanied by the twirls and leaps of magical dancers whose burly bodies were adorned in little more than cloth belts. Masked faces, each with a unique expression, loomed large as they enacted a legendary tale related to the harvest season.
Cahyaningrum remained a helpful guide to whispering the meaning behind the pasindhen's songs. From them, Alicia learned of the legend of Sang Hyang Bathara Tuhu facing five hundred servants of Sang Hyang Wredharaja, who unleashed five hundred thousand pests into the rice fields of Sang Hyang Sukra's world.
The tunes were sung with great fanfare, their dances bold and slick. Both thrilled and ecstatic, the villagers—be they men, women or children—partook in rhythmic prances and harmonious refrains. Some also enjoyed sharing stories and food amidst peals of laughter.
Alicia and her companions had carved out their own corner of the celebration, with a table and provisions all to themselves. The local ladies sang, while the sons of Ki Semar performed dances that matched the movements of the revellers nearby. Nala Gareng, however, was determined to make a spectacle of himself, climbing onto a table and gyrating until Petruk brought him back down to earth with a thud, sending the two of them tumbling to the ground in a rough-and-tumble wrestling match. Alicia, a proper lady, was taken aback by the commotion, but her eyes widened again at the laughter thundering from Kiran and Cempaka.
Perhaps such was their custom.
"Gareng! Petruk! Just let me have a glass of sajêng!" Cempaka pleaded, glass raised.
"Ha ha! Kids shouldn't drink alcohol!" Gareng replied haughtily.
"Half a glass! One spoon!"
"Well, I suppose one spoon won't hurt—"
"Not happening, Cempaka!" Petruk intercepted the spoon dripping with the milky, opaque liquid. "You're not even an adult!"
"You're such a pain, Petruk," Cempaka pouted. "Can't I join in on your little misadventures?"
"Of course, you can! Besides drunk and intercourse," Petruk countered.
Kiran leaned into Cempaka, saying in a low voice, "You know, Cempaka? I tried it once, from my parents' stash."
"What? Tell me, how did it taste?"
"Disgusting."
"Gibberish! Sajêng is the sweetest drink of all, most beloved by the gods!"
"I don't know who said that, but I'll never touch it again. Spice milk is a thousand times better."
"Unless your future lover invites you to try it," Petruk added with a sly grin.
Kiran stood tall with a self-satisfied look on her face. "Never in a thousand harvests!"
"Oh, I don't know. The white juice looks so delicious…," Cempaka sighed, laying her head on the wooden table. "It's so popular, I can see myself becoming the most prosperous person in Lojitengara, with all the knowledge I have, a wealth that will last for seven generations. I'd spend my whole life sipping on that enchanted drink."
While the youths were busy daydreaming about the future and getting drunk on fermented sap, Bagong returned to sit next to Alicia, tired of prancing around. "Now how was the feast for you, Miss Crimsonmane?"
Alicia's countenance remained a tableau of cultural surprise amidst the revelry that enveloped her. "I'm impressed by the way you all celebrate," the lass raised her voice over the party's din, "even if it's a new experience for me. But if it brings happiness to all of you, then I am happy, too!"
Bagong smiled, a twinkle in his eye. "It's great that you're enjoying it, Alicia! We work hard all year, so it's a wonderful thing to be able to forget about our troubles for two whole weeks and just revel in the fruits of our labor!"
"And we'll forget all about 'that guy' for these fourteen days!" Gareng chipped in, his voice tinged with a touch of mischief. "When he returns, we'll have fresh memories and maybe we won't be so irritated by his presence."
Kiran and Cempaka let out loud guffaws at Gareng's words, but Alicia's expression gradually shifted.
Cahyaningrum, sensing Alicia's discomfort, changed the subject. "I've noticed that you and Wisesa seem to avoid each other when you cross paths. Are you two at enmity?"
The two innocent girls exchanged glances. A small smile was sent to Cahyaningrum. "Nothing, Cahyaningrum. We're alright," Alicia lied.
"'Are you at enmity?' That's an innocuous statement, Cahyaningrum!" Gareng interjected. "Of course, he's at enmity with Alicia. He's in fact at enmity with the entire community here!"
"Gareng, can we not talk about him in the middle of the party?" pleaded the bespectacled girl. The mood for gossip eluded her, especially after the recent acrimonious incident between her and the lad possessed by Barong.
Unfortunately, Gareng did not truly heed Alicia's plea—perhaps the din snatched her poignant tone. "Sure, sure. I just want to remind you all not to get too close to that guy. He's from the Alas Purwo, and he's unpredictable. He almost killed someone, he could've killed the whole village!"
"Gareng, I think you've had too much sajêng!" said Kiran.
Gareng was rambling, indeed. But his words were bold and interesting, and the other five could not help but shift their focus to him.
"Wait, did you say Wisesa almost killed someone recently?" Cempaka asked.
Petruk followed up on the girl's question. "You think that's surprising?"
"Ah…, I forgot. He's always almost killing people. I sometimes wonder why your father still insists on keeping him around,"
"We're not our father," Gareng replied. "We're just as confused as you are. He's a troublemaker, a thief, and takes people's lives as if it's his routine—"
“Can’t ye just stop?”
The screech sent the six teenagers to fall silent. Alicia's expression was never this sour, to their shocked notion. Meanwhile, the other residents ignored the scolding and continued to sway their limbs. It was a party, after all. That kind of shouting was one of dozens around them.
Noticing the uneasy countenance, Gareng winced in guilt. "Alicia, calm down," he coaxed. "I think I'm just—"
"Just what, Gareng? Just making myself even more despicable?"
Kiran was there to intervene. Her hands gripped Alicia's shoulders to face her. "What's wrong with you?"
"Can't ye leave him alone?" Alicia dismissed the grips. "He just took care of the pigs and left, not offering him 'hospitality' to any of ye, isnae that more than enough?" A sigh escaped Alicia's mouth. Her voice lowered. "I just dinnae want to hear anything about him anymore. That's all I ask."
Petruk on Gareng's right tapped his brother on the shoulder. "We should have been more sensitive. Forgive us, Alicia," he said regretfully.
But Bagong could not resist playing devil's advocate. "We still don't understand why someone as dangerous as Wisesa is accepted by your father. Didn't he almost kill you? Why are you defending him?"
"You're talking about Alicia?" Cempake asked in surprise.
"I'm not defending him," Alicia said firmly. The festive mood of the harvest party was now shattered by the mention of that Barong lad. She rose from her chair. "Forget it, pals. I need some fresh air."
Alicia left the coterie bewildered and walked back to the studio of Ki Semar's house. There were no sentient beings there other than pigs and other livestock. Ki Semar and Nyai Kanastren were nowhere to be seen. She did not speak to Orb. She just remained silent, seeking her own solitude.
How the Divine had cursed her again. Not even five minutes of respite had been granted, it was snatched away again by the clamour of the villagers outside. A clamour fraught with terror. Yes, they shrieked in absolute dread. There could be an accident or a second wave of illegal looters invading Tumaritis. Did the rogues not also have a day off from raiding?
Alicia pushed through the throngs of villagers, towards several soldiers armed with rifles, encircling a revolting figure with soiled skin. Her eyes grew wide as she saw the other soldiers through the ghastly wound in the figure's chest.
Her gaze grew even wider when she recognised the groaning being. The garb it wore was reminiscent of her time in Caledonia, as were its stumpy hands.
Alicia stepped slowly, ignoring the tugging hands that chastised her to stay away. The figure's scream was hoarse because his vocal cords were burnt. She could not bear to look at the pitiful creature. Her heart ached.
"N-Nixas...?" []
It appeared that a local shark missed out on a prized prey.
Luck was a fickle mistress, and the fate of this poor creature was no exception. Though he had eluded death's grasp for a moment, his ultimate demise was all but certain. The gritty embrace of coarse sand might have seemed a comfort, but he knew the true agony lay in the wounds that rent his flesh.
The local fishermen trembled at the sight of the lone survivor, whose head bobbed up from the depths like a spectre. All were unwilling to offer so much as a scrap of cloth to ease his suffering. All were scurrying into the forest.
It was the right thing to do. It was not like first aid was what he needed. After all, what use was first aid for an aidless body?
The cadaver might have been left in the elements for only several sunless days, yet its flesh had been reduced to a nary but the shroud of bones, a pittance of drooping meat, and sagging skin paler than the beach sand. His yawning cavity was where once a heart had beat. Here, the teeming amphipods forsook their walking food supply, scattering like leaves in a gale. The algae served its purpose better in preserving the cadaver's denudation than the hirsute coat and shredded trousers.
The water now was ankle-deep, so it quickened its pace. Its ghostly eyes wandered everywhere as if tracing some sort of guideline. Its moans echoed like a lamentation that sent a shiver down the spines of even the hardiest crabs, and their tiny chelipeds rushed to dig the holes into their abode. A mesmerising sight indeed, to see the undead gallop along with such purpose, when the ravages of the sea had barely stripped all its muscles and sinews.
Such was the allure that some dared to test their mettle. The villagers ventured closer and looked on, warily, and even though the cadaver caught sight of them time and time again, it seemed disinterested in satiating hunger with a meal of local fishermen. Perhaps its picky palate deemed them too fishy. Surely, it was best not to argue with the shambling dead about it, let alone confront it to reflect.
However, the armed forces always confronted everything. Especially when that something was an unclean creature that breathed not but moved better than the breathing ones.
Each soldier had thrust their melee weapons—spears with meandered blades—into the visage of the departed. Yet, to their surprise, the cadaver mulled, then simply inched. The soldiers paid it no mind. They inched to its position and urged it back to the ocean. The undead took offence, turning a scowling visage upon them. An unspoken warning to back away.
Still, they disregarded the clement gesture.
Thus, the cadaver impaled itself upon one of the spears, tearing off the spear wielder's visage with jagged teeth still intact! It stole the flesh of his ignorant cheek, gnawing upon it, only to behold the same morsel coming out of the anterior orifice of the torso!
The battle formation was swiftly arranged, encircling the cadaver. With the spear already pierced through the cadaver's hind torso, the undead quickly retreated backwards—a move that the soldier behind it did not expect. Sure enough, the unsuspecting warrior was pierced by the spear of his own former comrade! The cadaver kicked him backwards so that he could spend his last moments bathed in the moist sand. It immediately leapt back forward, brandishing the blunt end of the spear to another soldier.
Luckily, the particular infantryman was not stupid enough to prevent the Walking Dead from entering deeper into the living realm.
The pursuit continued. The disgusted yet horrified grins of humans and monkeys were ignored. A relentless march through villages, coconut groves, and fields of cornweeds to honour the deepest craving inside the bones. Perhaps with its craving fulfilled, it could lay rest in peace.
Misinformed onlookers believed the creature was charging towards them, inciting screams of terror that echoed through the villages and fields. They fled, perceiving the undead figure as a fearsome predator rather than its actual state as helpless prey.
It was already late afternoon, and the corpse had not yet reached his destination. It paused for a moment, teeth bared as it surveyed the surroundings. Seeking the quickest path to the goal, it seemed. Its remarkable intuition defeated that of a human and his advanced systems far exceeded that of even the most sophisticated automatons. A brief contemplation had passed; the being made its decision and set off, running through the plantation once more.
An elderly man returning home was felled by a heart attack upon encountering the cadaver with a spear hanging limply from its emaciated form. Another time, another tragedy.
A patrolling zeppelin almost obliterated the cadaver. The Alas Purwo Bhayangkara unit disembarked from the flying vessel in their thick, steam-powered armour and masks with piercing eyes. The war had worn away their patience. The patience to wait for the thrill of battlefields full of explosions and howls. They acted like automatons as they blasted cannons and mortars at the walking cadaver, destroying everything on beautiful greens but the cadaver itself. But the cadaver was wily. There was no way it had all the gears to slaughter those soldiers one by one. It slipped into the forest, rolled on rough, sloping ground, chased by the dogs until it entered the arid land that resembled a sea bordering another forest across. The soldiers halted their feet. The darkness was looming, and as much as they longed to return to the fray, their brains were still fully intact to functionally think of all possibilities if they crossed into Pulomas territory.
Let the corpse ravage the brains of the separatists, they declared, as their feet marched in retreat.
Under the cover of night, the cadaver continued its journey across the darkened earth. Sneaking into villages, its white eyes alighted upon the crowds preparing for a grand feast in the centre of the light. In the days ahead, the streets would be filled with revellers. But little did they realise that they were about to experience the most horrifying feast of their lives, with an uninvited guest in the form of carrion.
The cadaver could not care less. Presumably, it was the pinnacle of humanity's highest dedication. An example for those with ambition. How could it not be? Even when dead, it refused to die. There remained unfinished business in this world, and it would not be swayed by any excuse to abandon that final quest. The eternal peace of a well-deserved rest would only come once that matter was concluded. One could only pray the departed soul shall find success in its endeavours and find the peace it sought.
***
Alicia peered over the boundary wall of the village and watched Wisesa leap to the other side. The livestock of Tumaritis headman had been fed and the man was clearly not interested in joining the festivities. After all, the villagers seemed to be shunning his presence anyway.
The offerings of food were lifted, and a procession winded through the village and into the endless fields of barley. In the distance, a massive pyre blazed, tended by priests and servants, all chanting prayers in fervent thanks and hope. This year, the harvest was bountiful, so it was only fitting that they set aside some of the harvests as an offering back to the gods.
"Could ye tell me to whom they're praying?" Alicia asked Kiran in a hushed voice. "Is it to Sang Hyang Sukra?"
Kiran shook her head. "Sang Hyang Sukra entrusts the fertility of crops and the purity of the land to Sang Hyang Bathara Tuhu. So now we offer thanks to him."
"Not just Bathara Tuhu, The Owl," Cempaka chipped in. "We also pray to the ancestors who are considered to have died in sacred. Those who died in a state of purity, their spirits rise as gods."
"So you worship countless gods, then?" Alicia opened her mouth. Her eyes blinked, dumbfounded.
"A god does not have to be one. In fact, Sang Hyang Sukra wants to share his divinity with all of us," replied Cempaka. "We are all called to follow virtue because virtue is the path of the gods—most of the gods, that is, Wredharaja and his followers are not included. If we emulate the gods, then we too can become gods, uniting to create a better universe for future generations."
"So the children of the future will have a better life and more divine blessings will be shared with them?"
Three affirming smiles for Alicia. "Exactly," Cempaka replied on behalf of the others.
Smile too on Alicia's face. "I think yer gods are the most generous I've ever learned about, to the point where they want to share their divine blessings with others."
With offerings burnt and sacrifices made, they marched back into the nearby forest. There, they arranged woven baskets filled with a bounty of fruits and vegetables scattered at calculated intervals throughout the glade. The meat, a separate offering, was placed in a rattan container, distant from its crop counterparts.
The three shishyas explained to Alicia that they did this to pay homage to the animals, as a symbol of gratitude for their role in the delicate balance of the natural world—even the pests. They acknowledged that, together with humanity, the creatures of the forest wove a tapestry of tales with each passing harvest.
With the baskets set, the villagers knelt in solemn reverence, each with a burning incense in hand. Thanksgiving prayers were offered. Alicia stood in awe at the unfolding scene while clutching the Arcane orb within her satchel.
"A beautiful and noble tradition, eh?" Alicia mused, addressing Orb. "'Tis a testament to human kindness and understanding of the universe, even in its smallest forms."
Orb hummed in agreement, its melodious tone echoing, Indeed, it is what makes humanity truly great, their ability to connect with all of creation.
Nodded the Crimsonmane lass. "And what's more, their belief that everyone is invited by their supreme god to become a god is quite reassuring, though strange. I mean, reaching the stage of deification is one of the ambitions that mages take, but 'tis a near impossible feat, and those who ken will usually bury that knowledge deep in selfishness—so that there's no stramash, they say. Hearing a different perspective on theosis from the common folk brings a sense of humility. Don't you think, Orb?"
Do you truly wish to know my thoughts, Alicia Crimsonmane?
"There must be something amiss with their beliefs, I'm guessing."
Humans, for all their goodness, are still human. They can partake of the divine nature, like their creator, but they can never be equal to the divine itself.
"So their teachings are flawed," Alicia concluded.
Orb remained silent.
"Should I tell them?" Alicia wondered. A hint of indecision was in her heart, knowing that her participation in the celebration would make any revelations she made a sensitive matter.
Fortunately, her companion understood her dilemma.
You will do it, Alicia. When you liberate this world, you shall show them the path away from misguidance as well.
The girl leaned back in relief against a tree trunk. "We should discuss the stories of the world of thaumaturgy we've heard sometime, like the concepts of Existence and the Divine, that we've heard from Odelie."
Both are the same, Orb replied briefly.
After they had talked to each other, the three ladies and Semar's sons approached Alicia.
"Are you talking to the spirits in the forest?" Petruk lay the first question. One could not tell if he meant it or not.
Alicia shook her head. "No, I was speaking with Orb. A private matter."
"Well then, I'm sorry if we have to ask you to stop discussing personal matters with your Kalimasada orb," Bagong countered. "Because there are still things to do!"
"Uh... another series of prayer ceremonies?"
"Feast!" the young villagers corrected her in a cheerful tone.
All the residents returned to the village while revelling. Streets and fields transformed into a veritable carnival. Tables laden with delicious dishes had been set up by the village women, and musicians clad in silks took their place beside their instruments. The pasindhen singers raised their voices, accompanied by the twirls and leaps of magical dancers whose burly bodies were adorned in little more than cloth belts. Masked faces, each with a unique expression, loomed large as they enacted a legendary tale related to the harvest season.
Cahyaningrum remained a helpful guide to whispering the meaning behind the pasindhen's songs. From them, Alicia learned of the legend of Sang Hyang Bathara Tuhu facing five hundred servants of Sang Hyang Wredharaja, who unleashed five hundred thousand pests into the rice fields of Sang Hyang Sukra's world.
The tunes were sung with great fanfare, their dances bold and slick. Both thrilled and ecstatic, the villagers—be they men, women or children—partook in rhythmic prances and harmonious refrains. Some also enjoyed sharing stories and food amidst peals of laughter.
Alicia and her companions had carved out their own corner of the celebration, with a table and provisions all to themselves. The local ladies sang, while the sons of Ki Semar performed dances that matched the movements of the revellers nearby. Nala Gareng, however, was determined to make a spectacle of himself, climbing onto a table and gyrating until Petruk brought him back down to earth with a thud, sending the two of them tumbling to the ground in a rough-and-tumble wrestling match. Alicia, a proper lady, was taken aback by the commotion, but her eyes widened again at the laughter thundering from Kiran and Cempaka.
Perhaps such was their custom.
"Gareng! Petruk! Just let me have a glass of sajêng!" Cempaka pleaded, glass raised.
"Ha ha! Kids shouldn't drink alcohol!" Gareng replied haughtily.
"Half a glass! One spoon!"
"Well, I suppose one spoon won't hurt—"
"Not happening, Cempaka!" Petruk intercepted the spoon dripping with the milky, opaque liquid. "You're not even an adult!"
"You're such a pain, Petruk," Cempaka pouted. "Can't I join in on your little misadventures?"
"Of course, you can! Besides drunk and intercourse," Petruk countered.
Kiran leaned into Cempaka, saying in a low voice, "You know, Cempaka? I tried it once, from my parents' stash."
"What? Tell me, how did it taste?"
"Disgusting."
"Gibberish! Sajêng is the sweetest drink of all, most beloved by the gods!"
"I don't know who said that, but I'll never touch it again. Spice milk is a thousand times better."
"Unless your future lover invites you to try it," Petruk added with a sly grin.
Kiran stood tall with a self-satisfied look on her face. "Never in a thousand harvests!"
"Oh, I don't know. The white juice looks so delicious…," Cempaka sighed, laying her head on the wooden table. "It's so popular, I can see myself becoming the most prosperous person in Lojitengara, with all the knowledge I have, a wealth that will last for seven generations. I'd spend my whole life sipping on that enchanted drink."
While the youths were busy daydreaming about the future and getting drunk on fermented sap, Bagong returned to sit next to Alicia, tired of prancing around. "Now how was the feast for you, Miss Crimsonmane?"
Alicia's countenance remained a tableau of cultural surprise amidst the revelry that enveloped her. "I'm impressed by the way you all celebrate," the lass raised her voice over the party's din, "even if it's a new experience for me. But if it brings happiness to all of you, then I am happy, too!"
Bagong smiled, a twinkle in his eye. "It's great that you're enjoying it, Alicia! We work hard all year, so it's a wonderful thing to be able to forget about our troubles for two whole weeks and just revel in the fruits of our labor!"
"And we'll forget all about 'that guy' for these fourteen days!" Gareng chipped in, his voice tinged with a touch of mischief. "When he returns, we'll have fresh memories and maybe we won't be so irritated by his presence."
Kiran and Cempaka let out loud guffaws at Gareng's words, but Alicia's expression gradually shifted.
Cahyaningrum, sensing Alicia's discomfort, changed the subject. "I've noticed that you and Wisesa seem to avoid each other when you cross paths. Are you two at enmity?"
The two innocent girls exchanged glances. A small smile was sent to Cahyaningrum. "Nothing, Cahyaningrum. We're alright," Alicia lied.
"'Are you at enmity?' That's an innocuous statement, Cahyaningrum!" Gareng interjected. "Of course, he's at enmity with Alicia. He's in fact at enmity with the entire community here!"
"Gareng, can we not talk about him in the middle of the party?" pleaded the bespectacled girl. The mood for gossip eluded her, especially after the recent acrimonious incident between her and the lad possessed by Barong.
Unfortunately, Gareng did not truly heed Alicia's plea—perhaps the din snatched her poignant tone. "Sure, sure. I just want to remind you all not to get too close to that guy. He's from the Alas Purwo, and he's unpredictable. He almost killed someone, he could've killed the whole village!"
"Gareng, I think you've had too much sajêng!" said Kiran.
Gareng was rambling, indeed. But his words were bold and interesting, and the other five could not help but shift their focus to him.
"Wait, did you say Wisesa almost killed someone recently?" Cempaka asked.
Petruk followed up on the girl's question. "You think that's surprising?"
"Ah…, I forgot. He's always almost killing people. I sometimes wonder why your father still insists on keeping him around,"
"We're not our father," Gareng replied. "We're just as confused as you are. He's a troublemaker, a thief, and takes people's lives as if it's his routine—"
“Can’t ye just stop?”
The screech sent the six teenagers to fall silent. Alicia's expression was never this sour, to their shocked notion. Meanwhile, the other residents ignored the scolding and continued to sway their limbs. It was a party, after all. That kind of shouting was one of dozens around them.
Noticing the uneasy countenance, Gareng winced in guilt. "Alicia, calm down," he coaxed. "I think I'm just—"
"Just what, Gareng? Just making myself even more despicable?"
Kiran was there to intervene. Her hands gripped Alicia's shoulders to face her. "What's wrong with you?"
"Can't ye leave him alone?" Alicia dismissed the grips. "He just took care of the pigs and left, not offering him 'hospitality' to any of ye, isnae that more than enough?" A sigh escaped Alicia's mouth. Her voice lowered. "I just dinnae want to hear anything about him anymore. That's all I ask."
Petruk on Gareng's right tapped his brother on the shoulder. "We should have been more sensitive. Forgive us, Alicia," he said regretfully.
But Bagong could not resist playing devil's advocate. "We still don't understand why someone as dangerous as Wisesa is accepted by your father. Didn't he almost kill you? Why are you defending him?"
"You're talking about Alicia?" Cempake asked in surprise.
"I'm not defending him," Alicia said firmly. The festive mood of the harvest party was now shattered by the mention of that Barong lad. She rose from her chair. "Forget it, pals. I need some fresh air."
Alicia left the coterie bewildered and walked back to the studio of Ki Semar's house. There were no sentient beings there other than pigs and other livestock. Ki Semar and Nyai Kanastren were nowhere to be seen. She did not speak to Orb. She just remained silent, seeking her own solitude.
How the Divine had cursed her again. Not even five minutes of respite had been granted, it was snatched away again by the clamour of the villagers outside. A clamour fraught with terror. Yes, they shrieked in absolute dread. There could be an accident or a second wave of illegal looters invading Tumaritis. Did the rogues not also have a day off from raiding?
Alicia pushed through the throngs of villagers, towards several soldiers armed with rifles, encircling a revolting figure with soiled skin. Her eyes grew wide as she saw the other soldiers through the ghastly wound in the figure's chest.
Her gaze grew even wider when she recognised the groaning being. The garb it wore was reminiscent of her time in Caledonia, as were its stumpy hands.
Alicia stepped slowly, ignoring the tugging hands that chastised her to stay away. The figure's scream was hoarse because his vocal cords were burnt. She could not bear to look at the pitiful creature. Her heart ached.
"N-Nixas...?" []
