THE POWER OF ANCIENTS
Chapter Three: Maruli
Chapter Three: Maruli
--As fast as my misshapen body could carry me, I raced toward the village, guilt twisting my stomach. I should never have left Andos. He was wounded. Badly. What if the shaman finished him off? How could I ever live with myself? He was the only friend I had. But the shaman had to be stopped. He had murdered someone. I had made a choice. Besides, Andos could survive the shaman's demonic rage. Did I believe that?
New tears blurred my vision, and I missed a tree root, falling flat on my face...mouth filled with dead leaves and ants. Red ants. Swarming my body, biting everywhere, burning like fire. Scrambling to my feet, I kept running, brushing off the painful pests as best I could...driven by fear.
Still wondering about the wild jungle dog, I stumbled through the village's northern barrier. No one. That could only mean one thing--a village gathering. South--toward the river.
Downhill I ran, past our homes in the trees, past the ground structures used for trade. Near the water below, a crowd had indeed formed around Duma, the Village Leader, and...a group of...outsiders. What...? Duma never allowed outsiders into our village. Heedless, I ran toward her, pushing through layers of spectators. Because I was so short, everyone towered above me. I felt like a child weaving through a crowd, but I pressed on. People shouted, and then, a foot shot out and caught mine. Once again, I hate dirt.
Village youths hemmed me in a circle.
"Ha, you're more a bumi putera* than any of us--One-Arm," spat one of the village bullies.
Hot with shame...my lot in life, and I deserved it. I had even deserted my friend in danger. What good was I anyway? Couldn't hunt, couldn't build, couldn't fight. All I'd ever done was cause trouble.
"Nobody's going to want to test a freak," another mocked.
"What's this?" Duma broke through the small circle, a frightening scowl on her face. When she recognized me, she stamped her foot. "Answer for yourself, young man."
I scrambled to my knees and bowed before the powerful woman, my skin burning.
"Please--honored Leader--Andos and I were attacked," I answered, pointing north. "The shaman is raving...yellow eyes of fire. P-please, send the warriors to rescue Andos. He's injured--near the trail to the Caves."
Without the slightest hesitation, Duma clapped her hands and commanded a dozen men into the jungle while at the same time shooing my detractors. Then, she stepped backward to size me up.
"You bring shame to your family, Maruli. Always caught up in some kind of mischief. Why they defend you is beyond me. But, you will not be tested.
"Tested?" I dared to ask. Tested for what?
An elderly gentleman stepped into the circle of onlookers, the skin on his face wrinkled like a ripe passion fruit, his beard and hair, thin and white as jasmine blossoms. He pointed at me and spoke in a tongue I had never heard before. His ancient voice cracked and whistled. I had never seen someone so old.
From behind him, I heard a voice translating his words into our Jupami tongue--a voice that awoke distant memories. My eyes raced to the ground. Impossible.
"Honorable Leader," the robed man began, "we wish to test everyone. Our need is pressing. We shouldn't overlook anyone." A low hiss escaped between Duma's lips, and I sensed every muscle in her body tighten.
"This young man is nothing but trouble," she haughtily dismissed me. "He is of no use to anyone in the village." Her words stung, but their truth resonated to my core. The man hidden behind the outsider translated her words--words that sounded even harsher than in Jupami.
Maybe it would have been better if my parents had hit me on the head and tossed me in the river. I've heard that all my life...ever since....
The elderly man extended a hand and raised me to stand. His smile sent an unexpected warmth through my whole being.
"If he's of so little value to you and your village, honorable Duma, then you won't object if he proves useful to us," the outsider said, winking at me with a subtle grin.
Listening to the translation, Duma glared at the man, hard and long. The crowd grew silent in anticipation of her response. Hundreds of eyes were fixed on us. I wanted to melt into the background.
Throwing her shoulders back, she shifted her feet.
"Test him," she snapped, and turned away.
"Come with me, son," the man said, offering welcoming hands. "We are testing for ilmu talent. Nobody is worthless, and the overlooked can sometimes accomplish wonders."
* Bumi putera, or pribumi ("son of the earth"), an Indonesian-Malay term natives of the region use to describe their ethnicity. The insult in the story is a play on words.
New tears blurred my vision, and I missed a tree root, falling flat on my face...mouth filled with dead leaves and ants. Red ants. Swarming my body, biting everywhere, burning like fire. Scrambling to my feet, I kept running, brushing off the painful pests as best I could...driven by fear.
Still wondering about the wild jungle dog, I stumbled through the village's northern barrier. No one. That could only mean one thing--a village gathering. South--toward the river.
Downhill I ran, past our homes in the trees, past the ground structures used for trade. Near the water below, a crowd had indeed formed around Duma, the Village Leader, and...a group of...outsiders. What...? Duma never allowed outsiders into our village. Heedless, I ran toward her, pushing through layers of spectators. Because I was so short, everyone towered above me. I felt like a child weaving through a crowd, but I pressed on. People shouted, and then, a foot shot out and caught mine. Once again, I hate dirt.
Village youths hemmed me in a circle.
"Ha, you're more a bumi putera* than any of us--One-Arm," spat one of the village bullies.
Hot with shame...my lot in life, and I deserved it. I had even deserted my friend in danger. What good was I anyway? Couldn't hunt, couldn't build, couldn't fight. All I'd ever done was cause trouble.
"Nobody's going to want to test a freak," another mocked.
"What's this?" Duma broke through the small circle, a frightening scowl on her face. When she recognized me, she stamped her foot. "Answer for yourself, young man."
I scrambled to my knees and bowed before the powerful woman, my skin burning.
"Please--honored Leader--Andos and I were attacked," I answered, pointing north. "The shaman is raving...yellow eyes of fire. P-please, send the warriors to rescue Andos. He's injured--near the trail to the Caves."
Without the slightest hesitation, Duma clapped her hands and commanded a dozen men into the jungle while at the same time shooing my detractors. Then, she stepped backward to size me up.
"You bring shame to your family, Maruli. Always caught up in some kind of mischief. Why they defend you is beyond me. But, you will not be tested.
"Tested?" I dared to ask. Tested for what?
An elderly gentleman stepped into the circle of onlookers, the skin on his face wrinkled like a ripe passion fruit, his beard and hair, thin and white as jasmine blossoms. He pointed at me and spoke in a tongue I had never heard before. His ancient voice cracked and whistled. I had never seen someone so old.
From behind him, I heard a voice translating his words into our Jupami tongue--a voice that awoke distant memories. My eyes raced to the ground. Impossible.
"Honorable Leader," the robed man began, "we wish to test everyone. Our need is pressing. We shouldn't overlook anyone." A low hiss escaped between Duma's lips, and I sensed every muscle in her body tighten.
"This young man is nothing but trouble," she haughtily dismissed me. "He is of no use to anyone in the village." Her words stung, but their truth resonated to my core. The man hidden behind the outsider translated her words--words that sounded even harsher than in Jupami.
Maybe it would have been better if my parents had hit me on the head and tossed me in the river. I've heard that all my life...ever since....
The elderly man extended a hand and raised me to stand. His smile sent an unexpected warmth through my whole being.
"If he's of so little value to you and your village, honorable Duma, then you won't object if he proves useful to us," the outsider said, winking at me with a subtle grin.
Listening to the translation, Duma glared at the man, hard and long. The crowd grew silent in anticipation of her response. Hundreds of eyes were fixed on us. I wanted to melt into the background.
Throwing her shoulders back, she shifted her feet.
"Test him," she snapped, and turned away.
"Come with me, son," the man said, offering welcoming hands. "We are testing for ilmu talent. Nobody is worthless, and the overlooked can sometimes accomplish wonders."
* Bumi putera, or pribumi ("son of the earth"), an Indonesian-Malay term natives of the region use to describe their ethnicity. The insult in the story is a play on words.
To be continued...
