MARICAYANA: The Beginning [ONC 2021]

3: EXCITEMENT & TREPIDATION

Wening froze on the spot. What did the gray-cloaked man say his name again? Kelana Klawu? As in the infamous no-man-left-behind-alive Kelana Klawu? That Kelana Klawu?

Just like that?

Sure, the man was wearing gray from head to toe. Including the bamboo hat, which must have collected enough dust to actually fit the color scheme. And just like the rumors said, there was no single weapon on him. The most jarring sign, however, was the fact that he was surrounded with that awfully dark aura. The same aura many black silat masters wore like a badge of honor.

Other than that, the man looked frustratingly normal. From his average stature and lean figure, he was probably not that old either. Wening used to imagine Kelana Klawu as a greying empu, with hair and beard as gray as his attire. But one look at the lush ponytail snaking beneath the bamboo hat confirmed that it was veritably black.

Abruptly, to Wening's obvious dismay, another batch of laughter erupted from the band of bandits.

"Oh, I get it. I get it now," the leader barked in between snorts. "You're gunning for the shipment too, aren't you?"

'Kelana Klawu' brought up his head slightly, only to receive a sudden, resounding slap from the beefy bandit. His bamboo hat swayed lightly with the force of it.

"You think we're a bunch of idiots?" he snarled, "Like we'll believe that someone as dorky as you are is in fact the god of death himself?"

"Unfortunately, I am not the god of death. But I can assure you that I am not lying about myself either," the gray traveler replied. There was an edge to his voice this time. Like he was speaking while fighting to reign his temper.

"Enough with your bullshit! The shipment is ours and we're not in the sharing mood—"

"Two more."

'Kelana Klawu' had said it in a steely tone that demanded– no– commanded immediate attention. The beefy bandit leader, though still looking as dumb as ever, looked unsure for the first time since their encounter. 

Behind the soka bushes, Wening cringed.

"What did you say?" The bandit hissed.

"I will only tolerate two more strikes," the traveler repeated, his tone eerily leveled.

The bandit leader narrowed his eyes, paused for a second, then slapped the gray-cloaked man hard across the cheek. Again. And again. And once more.

Nothing in his figure gave him away as 'Kelana Klawu' inhaled, long and deeply, then said, "I'm sorry."

Everything happened so fast. Too fast. Even Wening's relatively well-trained eyes weren't sure if what took place in the next few seconds was real or simply a figment of her imagination.

One moment 'Kelana Klawu' stomped his right foot, bouncing several pebbles until they floated high in the air. The next, beefy guy leader flew backward with an unseen force and landed unceremoniously on the sunbaked ground.

When dust finally settled, everyone finally saw the bandit leader. Or what had become of him anyway. 

Sprawled on his back, the man gaped as dark blood ran sluggishly from his seven orifices. His eyes wide and unseeing.

Wening got to admit, it was one of the most gruesome deaths she had ever witnessed with her own eyes. And that said a lot coming from an ex-post war street urchin like herself.

Still sunned to the core, Wening alternated between staring at the dead bandit leader and the gray-cloaked man. Involuntarily, her body shuddered with a dizzying mix of trepidation and, funnily enough, excitement.