MARICAYANA: The Beginning [ONC 2021]

4: MISGIVING & ASSURANCE

Wening should have thought this through.

But of course, she didn't. Otherwise, she wouldn't have ended up cramming herself with a fearsome black arts pendekar and a dead body in her sorry excuse for a shack.

Especially when she had kind of pestered said fearsome pendekar—and rather insistently at that—only a couple hours or so ago.

For all it was worth, Kelana Klawu had agreed on staying at her place until it was safe enough to dispose of the bandit's body at the village center. The gray-clad man hadn't agreed on accepting Wening as his official disciple of anything. But she was not above taking his complia– non-rejection as a good sign.

And at the end of the day, Wening just had to admit. For a prodigy of an elite black arts perguruan—which he technically yet unintentionally admitted—Kelana Klawu had carried himself like a distinguished guest that he wasn't.

For once, it had been hours since they were in each other's vicinity and Kelana Klawu had not killed Wening. Yet.

Also, Wening had expected some sort of rude comment or, at the very least, a derisive snort from the man upon arrival. But as she opened the makeshift bamboo-woven door to let him in, none of it actually came. Stealing a glance from the corner of her eye, Wening couldn't even detect any condescension in the pendekar's expression either. Though, granted, half his face was pretty much hidden under the shade of his farmer's hat.

What a stupid hat! A disgruntled voice tickled Wening's mind. What's the point of having a ridiculously nice face if you end up covering it the whole time?

Maybe to keep some pesky onlookers from stupidly gawking at it, another voice replied with a snort. Yes, that means 'you'.

Annoyed at herself for having such a useless internal debate, Wening murmured while gesturing at the gray-clad man to come in. "Make yourself at home."

As they entered, Kelana Klawu instantly scanned the perimeter, which really wasn't much to begin with. Wening could almost sense the moment he noticed the lack of bed in the small room. Or any furniture at all in that matter.

The man slightly turned his face at her and Wening just shrugged. Ever since the original cottage was burned down, she hadn't bothered with any replacement bed (or anything at all that had nothing to do with her vendetta). Wening had a woven rattan mat to keep her from lying directly on the dirty, damp ground and it suited her just fine.

This, Kelana Klawu didn't react with any judgy attitude either. All he did was ask Wening to spread the mat on the floor while he laid down his lifeless cargo in the corner. Once he did that, Kelana Klawu wordlessly stepped out of the shack, leaving the host absolutely bewildered.

For a second, all Wening could think of was an indignant, did he just bail on me?—which promptly spurred her into chasing the man outside.

Just because Kelana Klawu had spared her life (for now anyway), Wening wouldn't let him bully her into dealing with the stinking dead body. One grave in the yard was more than enough. Father wouldn't want such a rowdy company anyway.

Turns out, Wening didn't have to go far before spotting a glimpse of gray clothes and beat-up farmer's hat. Soon enough, she found the man standing in front of a crop of banana trees, calmly making slashing motions in the air.

Wening was a breath away from asking what kind of dark ritual Kelana Klawu was trying to perform when the next thing literally caught her by surprise.

In a blink of an eye, several sheets of banana leaves were severed from their stalks. After suspending for a beat in the air, they fell unceremoniously on the ground, nearly at the exact same time.

What was even more baffling, Wening could very well see even from a relative distance that the cuts were unbelievably neat and clean. As if done with extremely sharp, yet invisible knives.

Twice over now, Wening was reminded of why weapons lost their meaning before the notorious gray-clad pendekar. When it dawn to her that the scene had brought both horror and exhilaration to every fiber of her being, Wening knew she might as well start questioning her sanity too.

Swallowing against the sudden dryness on her throat, Wening reminded herself not to ever cross Kelana Klawu. A tiny, treacherous part of her soul laughed then, sing-songed that it was already too late for her to do so.

Shutting up the little rebellious voice was a struggle, but Wening managed to clamp it up long enough to look at the man and said, "Why are you butchering my banana trees?"

Technically, the trees weren't hers. Wening didn't plant the damn thing.

Kelana Klawu mercifully didn't call out on her pathetic attempt at speaking casually. He merely sat on his heels to pick up the leaves and said, "Wouldn't want blood smeared on your one and only sleeping mat, would you?"

And just like that, he came back inside the shack with a flustered Wening in tow. When his eyes fell on the still untouched mat curled by the window, Kelana Klawu let out a single tired huff before making himself at home and unfurling the mat himself with relative ease.

Next, he used the same whatchamacallit-invisible-knife technique to separate the banana leaves from their stalks, then spread the sheets over the part furthest from the door. Only then, Kelana Klawu picked up the bandit's body and laid it gently on top of the evenly arranged banana leaves.

Throughout the whole thing, it was as though Wening had become a bystander in her own home. Which felt rather weird. But she wasn't about to voice that out loud.

So instead, Wening gestured at the body with a tilt of a head, then at Kelana Klawu, and said, "Alright. Now what?"

For a moment, an awkward silence was her only answer. It remained for a few beats too long before an unexpectedly loud growling sound broke the quiet entirely.

Wening desperately wanted to roll on the dirt floor laughing her ass off, but that would've been extremely rude. And potentially resulting in fatal consequences, given the situation.

It didn't take a genius to guess where the cry of hunger pang had come from. There were only two living bodies in the room and Wening's stomach sure as hell hadn't been the one making such noise.

"Stay here. I'll go get us something," she hurriedly said.

Wening knew she had to give Kelana Klawu some credits for dignifying her efforts with a low hum. After all, she had deliberately used 'us' instead of 'you' so as not to potentially hurt a certain man's ego. She wondered whether there was a flustered face hiding under the stupid farmer's hat of his.

Stepping outside the shack, Wening instinctively looked west, trying to judge how much daylight was left for her to get them some semblance of dinner. The low angle of the sun, unfortunately, told her that she didn't have much.

Ah, there was one more thing. What would constitute a decent dinner for a black arts pendekar of Kelana Klawu's standing? Wening hoped against hope that it didn't involve cannibalism.

Making a mental note to check on the bandit's body later, Wening set out on a quest for dinner. Putting her hands on her hips, she sighed despite herself.

"This is going to be a long night."

Word count: 1255

Chapter picture courtesy of:
A mooi Indie painting of a landscape in Dutch East Indies (now Indonesia) by Fredericus Jacobus van Rossum du Chattel (1856-1917).
Source: bekantancreative.com.

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to be continued...

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