The night wind blowing from the center of Kencana forest carried the damp scent of the earth and a hint of old incense. The half moon peeked shyly from behind the leaves; the shadows of the trees stretched out like watchful hands. Ardhan, Wiratmaja, and Nyi Ratna Sari walked slowly through the bushes, following the trail Wiratmaja had found: circular snake marks on the tree bark, faded traces of palm leaves, and the remains of recently extinguished smoke.
Behind them, two soldiers of Tumenggung Wirasaba followed cautiously; their steps were steady and alert, not merely following their beliefs.
The cold penetrated to their bones. Ardhan pressed his finger on the small mushaf tucked into his waistband, tracing the letters that had always been his spiritual anchor. He felt one thing: not only did the mystery of the manuscript lurk, but also human lives that could be destroyed if that knowledge fell into the wrong hands. He prayed quietly, not for power, but for every step to remain on the right path.
In a small area, they found a stone circle, a ritual site, that was much larger than the image Ardhan had seen in the lontar. In the center of the circle was a pile of dark soil and several small bones, arranged like a somber offering. Nyi Ratna Sari immediately grabbed her scarf, covering her nose for a moment; her eyes, which were always dull, now shone with pent-up anger.
"This is where they summoned them," she whispered. "These traces are no coincidence. This is the scent of death, heated to attract spirits."
Wirasaba stepped into the area, slightly raising his dagger, as if paying respect to something invisible.
"Be careful," he warned. "It's not only humans who roam here."
They had not had time to investigate further when a small laugh was heard from behind the trees. The laughter was not normal, there was a springy tone to it, like the rustling of dry leaves. From behind the shadows emerged a group of people dressed in rags, their faces painted black, their eyes shining like wet stones. They looked like chaotic forest beggars, but there was a deceptive calm in their steps.
Ardhan narrowed his gaze. The insight he had gained from his pencak silat training allowed him to see patterns in their movements; their movements were rhythmic, like a dance that concealed their intentions. Raden Bagus Wiratmaja touched Ardhan's shoulder, signaling him. "This is a trap," he whispered. "They are not vagabonds. They are Black Shaman Ki Tunggul's students."
A woman from the group stepped forward. Her eyes were calm, her voice soft, but there was something sharp behind her words. "O strangers who have entered our forest, what business do you have here? This forest is ours."
Before she could finish her sentence, a small hand gesture from the group's leader stopped them in their tracks. From the ground, thin shadows stretched out like moving roots; the air instantly became heavy. Ardhan felt pressure on his chest, as if an invisible hand was holding him back. He took a breath and recited a protective prayer, a short verse that created a flash of light in the air, like a blue sparkle.
The students laughed, but their laughter suddenly disappeared when Nyi Ratna Sari released her white scarf with a smooth but dangerous movement, the White Scarf Entwines the Dragon technique, which bound the neck of one of them in an invisible knot. However, they were not an ordinary group of humans; the shadows around them shattered, forming small hands that groped, trying to pull them to the ground.
"Ki Tunggul has been waiting," said a student, his voice trembling like vibrations in the ground. "The key to the sky has been detected. A guest from a different era, he has been summoned. This command comes from above."
The statement surprised Ardhan. "From above?" he asked. A chill swept over him, this time as if another hand was chuckling softly. Nyi Ratna Sari stared intently at the group of students. There was something in her gaze that showed she knew more than she was saying. Soon after, a figure emerged from the shadows: a thin man dressed in dark clothes, his face covered with cloth, but his eyes were so sharp, eyes that the villagers considered to be magical. He bowed respectfully and then stepped forward gracefully like a teacher.
"Ki Tunggul Wulung," Wirasaba said without thinking, as if remembering the foul smell from the past that had disturbed the palace.
In the dim light, Ki Tunggul removed the covering from his face. His face was not easily forgotten: deep eyes, messy hair, and a faint scar on his cheek, a scar from the never-ending battle of life. On his cheek was a symbol resembling letters that formed a lontar. "Ah," he said, like someone pleased by the arrival of a timely guest. "A young guest from the north. You came hesitantly, but finally entered our field."
Ardhan felt a surge within him. He was terrified to see Ki Tunggul looking at him, not just wanting to win, but as if he wanted to devour him alive. Ki Tunggul stepped closer, without fear. "You have a piece of lontar, right? You know the power hidden behind those words. Give it to me, and I will guide you. If you refuse, this teaching will be the end of your journey."
Wirasaba took a step back, then stood up straight. "Ki Tunggul! This land is under the supervision of Panembahan. Do not disturb people who come with good intentions."
Ki Tunggul turned, his previously thin smile now cold. "Panembahan? Power? This man speaks of established domination. Power that does not dare to understand what truly moves nature." He raised his hand, calling his students. "Secure them. Bring the one holding the lontar!"
Immediately, his students moved, but not to attack directly. They jumped, moving like shadows that separated like shards of glass. Ardhan raised both hands, not to surrender, but to calm himself; he realized that the conflict here was not merely physical. Shadows clung to the skin of the Tumenggung's soldiers; two of them were trapped by the shadows and fell, their bodies pulled like roots being sucked in. A small cry was heard, it was not the sound of a human.
Ardhan moved swiftly. A faint blue energy gathered in the palm of his hand, the light that always appeared when he tapped into his soul. He pressed one palm against the ground; vibrations spread like ripples. "Bismillah," he prayed, carefully strengthening his hopes. He channeled his prayers, combining the wirid taught by Wiratmaja with the flowing Tapak Naga technique, a fusion of body and faith. The wave of energy destroyed the small shadow; the cries subsided. Several students staggered, but Ki Tunggul remained coldly smiling.
"Good," he said. "You are not just a fraud. You remind me of a period,a period when knowledge was not yet tainted. But look, times have changed. Now knowledge is available to those in power. And I... I am the one in power." He raised his hand, and from the ground emerged a figure, a large man with a body like stone shrouded in smoke. Ardhan recognized the symbol on the creature's chest, the same circle of snakes as the one on the palm leaf manuscript.
The battle ensued, but it was no trivial war. A way of praying; Ardhan closed his eyes for a moment, reciting Al-Fatihah aloud, as if his words were invisible weapons. Wiratmaja recited his prayers while warding off the enemy, while Madam Ratna Sari danced, waving her shawl, splitting the shadows like cloth. Tumenggung Wirasaba launched a physical attack, his keris gleaming, but some of the attack was absorbed by the power of the shadows.
Amidst the chaos, Ki Tunggul ran towards Ardhan, moving quickly in the darkness. He grabbed Ardhan's shoulder, one of the other students had covered his mouth with a cloth scented with incense. Ardhan felt something was trapping him; shadowy hands were lurking. A wave of heat enveloped him; his body felt pulled toward another corridor. "Hand over your weapon," Ki Tunggul urged him in his ear, his voice like the creaking of old wood.
Ardhan closed his eyes, focusing his attention. In his chest gathered the prayers and cries of his grandfather who had once taught him: knowledge without faith is like embers. He bit his lip and moved his fingers, channeling energy. In an instant, a white light shot from his chest; the beam dispelled the clutching shadows. The student whose grip was too strong was thrown back, falling. Ki Tunggul stared intently, but remained calm. "You are strong," he said again. "But strength does not always mean truth."
When a gap opened for a moment, Nyi Ratna Sari swung her scarf once more, freeing Ardhan from the incense cloth. Ardhan gasped for breath, staring at Nyi Ratna Sari, his eyes full of curiosity. Behind her face, Nyi Ratna Sari looked deeply and said softly, "We must retreat now. Ki Tunggul has more people than we thought. I can see the sign in his eyes, there is an older figure, the one who sent the message. We are not strong enough to fight him directly here."
Wirasaba observed the situation and then nodded. Quickly giving orders, they retreated; strategic steps led by Tumenggung, leaving the commotion behind, some of Ki Tunggul's students looked gloomy, while some shadows remained watching. At the end of the field, Ki Tunggul stood, looking like an unshakable shadow. "This is not over yet," his voice echoed. "The lontar is not just a piece of paper. When all is combined, I will reveal what is hidden from your panembahan. And you, guest from the sky, will be the key to that or you will be a painful lesson."
Ardhan stared at him, his heart trembling not because he feared death, but because he was worried about how humans could choose the dark path. Amidst it all, a warning trembled in his mind: there was another force driving Ki Tunggul. The tempting shadow of "the higher power" still echoed in his ears, and the name had not yet appeared. But it seemed that this threat was not just a matter of a broken lontar; it was a battle of morals, faith, and human choice.
They retreated to the edge of the forest, breathing heavily. Behind a tree, Wiratmaja felt for the scroll, then said in a heavy voice, "We have lost more than just a piece of the manuscript. Ki Tunggul has begun to move. We need to inform Ki Ageng and Panembahan immediately. This is no longer just our problem."
Ardhan bowed his head, his hands still clutching the Quran. In his heart, he prayed, not only for victory, but also for Allah to keep his heart steadfast amid the temptations of seductive knowledge. In the distance, Ki Tunggul's laughter echoed, a dark promise signaling that a greater storm was coming.
To be continued...