Dusk crept down over the land of Tumapel like a veil of sorrow exhaled from a giant's mouth. The sky, which should have been golden orange, appeared gray, as if refusing to reflect beauty for the earth afflicted by pain. The wind blowing from the peak of Mount Kawi no longer brought coolness, but rather the long sighs of suffering of thousands of souls oppressed under the palm of Akuwu Tunggul Ametung's power. In the hamlets scattered across the valley, doors closed more quickly, and the fires in the kitchens seemed to burn reluctantly. Life went on, but without passion. People laughed, but their laughter was hollow, only the vibration of voices without joy in it.
On a steep mountain slope rarely touched by human foot, among giant, silent, rocky rocks that bear witness to the ages, stood a figure, stiff and petrified. The cold evening breeze played with the ends of the long cloth wrapped around his head and fluttered his jet-black hair. His face, as sharp as carved marble, showed no emotion, but his pair of sharp eyes like those of a mountain eagle conveyed the turmoil of a thousand storms. Those eyes stared far down, at the flickering oil lamps that had begun to light in the hamlet of Jatiwangi, a small speck in the vast expanse of Tumapel's power.
The young man's name was Arok.
His name was unknown in the great halls or among the nobility. His name was a whisper of fear to the Tumapel soldiers tasked with plundering tribute. His name was a glimmer of hope to the poor whose tongues had become numb to even the slightest complaint. To the rulers, he was evil, the leader of a band of robbers who must be eradicated. But to those he had helped, he was the incarnation of a savior god descended to earth.
His strong hands were clenched at his sides. The veins in his arms, as hard as teak branches, tensed. Every time he looked at the hamlet below, his chest felt tight. Not because of the cold mountain air, but because of the heat of anger that continued to burn in his heart. He saw a life that should have been peaceful, now fenced in by fear. He heard the silent screams of farmers whose crops were being seized in the name of tribute. He felt the vibrations of the earth, as if crying from being continuously wetted by the tears and blood of innocent people.
Behind him, from a crevice in a cave hidden by giant roots, several shadows moved closer. They were his people, displaced souls who chose to live in the wilderness rather than bow down to tyranny. Their faces were hardened by nature, but their eyes held an unwavering loyalty to the young man standing on the cliff's edge.
One of them, a middle-aged man with graying sideburns but still as muscular as a bull, stepped forward. His name was Tanca, the oldest among them and Arok's most trusted advisor.
"The night wind is getting colder, Arok," Tanca hissed softly, her voice hoarse but full of authority. "It's not good to stay out in the open for too long. The fog will soon descend completely."
Arok remained unmoved. His gaze remained fixed on the pinpricks of light in the valley. "The cold of this wind is nothing compared to the chill in the hearts of the people down there, Uncle Tanca. They're alive, but their souls are frozen."
Tanca took a deep breath. He knew where this conversation was headed. He knew what turmoil was brewing within his young leader. "We've done what we can. We've taken back some of the tribute, distributed it to those most in need. But we're only a small group, Arok. We're not gods who can erase all the suffering in this land."
"Then we should just keep quiet, Uncle?" Arok replied, his voice trembling with anger. He finally turned around, and the burning look in his eyes stunned Tanca for a moment. "We should let the wolves of the duchy continue preying on the helpless sheep? Until when? Until there's nothing left to exploit?"
Before Tanca could answer, another young man, younger than Arok, with a face streaked with impatience, spoke up loudly. "Brother Arok is right! What are you waiting for? I heard that Ki Glondong Wisesa and his guards are spending the night in Jatiwangi tonight. They just robbed the village granary under the pretext of unpaid taxes. Let's go down, Brother! We'll kill them all!"
The young man's name was Mahesa. He was highly knowledgeable, his courage as big as a mountain, but his anger often overtook his reason.
Arok glared at Mahesa. "Wipe them all out, you say? Then what's the difference between us and them, Mahesa? Are we the new wolves to replace the old ones?"
Mahesa was silent, his face red with embarrassment and annoyance.
Arok softened his gaze. He stepped closer, patting Mahesa's strong shoulder. "Your anger is your strength, Adi. But if left unchecked, it will become a sword that stabs you. Tonight we will descend. But not to kill indiscriminately
Tanca frowned. "So, what's your plan, Arok?"
Arok looked back out into the valley. A thick mist was now creeping up, engulfing the trees and rocks, creating a mysterious white veil.
"Ki Glondong Wisesa is the symbol of Tunggul Ametung's greed. He and his guards are the dirty hands the Akuwu uses to strangle his own people," Arok said in a deep, steady voice. "Tonight, we will cut off one of those hands. Not to kill him, but to send a message."
"Message?" Tanca asked, not understanding.
"A message for the Akuwu on his warm throne. A message that in these mountains, there are still eyes watching. There are still hearts that care. And there is still a force ready to strike whenever injustice crosses its limits," Arok continued. His eyes glinted in the dim twilight. "We will take back all the loot. We will disable his guards, but we will let Ki Glondong live.
"Let him live?" Mahesa exclaimed in disbelief. "He deserved to die, Brother!"
"His death will only satisfy our revenge for a moment, Mahesa," Arok replied calmly. "But if he returns to Tumapel crippled and humiliated, empty-handed, the story will spread throughout the duchy. Fear will begin to spread among the other extortionists. And hope will begin to grow in the hearts of the people. That is a weapon sharper than any sword."
Tanca and Mahesa fell silent. They pondered every word their leader said. There was a deep truth there, a strategy far more mature than simply venting anger. This was no longer just an act of robbery, this was the first step in a war of nerves.
Tanca finally nodded slowly, a faint smile etched across his dry lips. "You've thought far ahead, Arok. Your soul is no longer that of a fugitive, but that of a general."
Arok only smiled faintly. Deep down, he knew the path he was on was still long and arduous. Tonight was just a small ripple. But if a small ripple persists, it will one day grow into a powerful wave capable of destroying even the tallest reef.
"Prepare the best men," Arok ordered, his voice now firm and authoritative. "Choose those whose movements are as light as cotton and whose blows are as hard as stone. We will leave no trace behind, except shame and fear in Ki Glondong Wisesa's heart."
Mahesa, whose anger had been replaced by a burning passion, nodded readily. "Ready, Brother!" He immediately turned and disappeared into the cave to gather the chosen men.
Tanca was still standing beside Arok. "Be careful, Arok. Tumapel Palace is no rabbit hole. They'll be sending their best tracker dogs after this."
"I know, Uncle," Arok replied. "Let them come. It's time for this mountain to show its fangs."
The fog had descended completely, enveloping them in its icy embrace. Below, the hamlet of Jatiwangi twinkled like stars falling to earth, unaware that from the darkness of the mountainside, fate was descending. Arok took a deep breath, feeling the sharp night air fill his lungs. The turmoil in his chest had turned to a deadly calm. Tonight, embers from the slopes of Kawi would descend into the valley. And the hum of blood in the land of Tumapel would soon begin.
***continued CHAPTER 02.....