The light wielders, p.2
The Light Wielders, page 2
Warmth spread through Angkasa. “Really? I was doing well?”
Citra chuckled. “Yes! You are better than you think. You throw all your energy into it, and your concentration is great. You learn fast.” She paused. “Is that due to your light wielding?” she asked hesitantly.
Few of the villagers ever asked about her wielding and Angkasa blinked a couple of times before responding. “Yes. You must concentrate, especially at first, until some things become easier. You must never let your guard down though. It could be dangerous.”
Citra stared at her. “I didn’t know it could be dangerous. It must be hard to learn something when there are no teachers.”
“Five years ago, a light wielder came to the village and stayed with us. She taught me much in her short stay. Mostly regarding the danger of letting yourself be drawn in too far…” Angkasa paused at the slightly baffled expression on Citra’s face. It would take too long to explain it, and perhaps it would be impossible to someone who had not, could not feel what she meant. “She tried to visit as many of the outlying villages as possible to pass on her advice. She mentioned the Tenpat Temple. People who are masters of many disciplines live and work there. She said there were wielders who would teach anyone who made it there. She suggested I go.” Angkasa dropped her head. The pang that hit her with this thought was disturbingly strong. It never seemed to fade, no matter how much time passed. She raised her head again. “You must say nothing to my Mae and Ayah!” she entreated.
Citra raised her hands in a gesture of calm. “Don’t worry. This is up to you. But if it were me, I would be fighting to get away from the rice fields and go and learn something so wonderful.”
Angkasa rubbed at her left arm. “It would be wonderful. But I cannot leave. I would not do well out there,” she said softly. She pushed ahead of Citra so she wouldn’t see the longing that must be written across her face. How could someone like her make her way in the world?
For the rest of their mud-ridden slog to the fields, they trudged in silence. Although each family owned their own fields, and some families had larger portions of land than others, they all joined in with clearing ditches or irrigation channels. The fields were all neighbouring, and it would be foolish to ignore what happened in a neighbour’s field. Besides, the villagers relied on cooperation for many things. They were a long way from any large towns or cities. Indeed, the next village was a couple of hours to the south.
For a couple of back breaking hours, Angkasa and Citra walked the rice fields with the other villagers checking that the ditches were all clear and that despite the torrential rain, the rice didn’t drown. The rice was doing well. It would be ready to harvest in the third month of the year, when the dry season arrived. As they reached the bottom field the deluge from the sky began to ease. After a few moments it became no more than a steady drizzle, though the air was still and heavy; more rain threatened. The villagers cheered and waved their bamboo hats at the sky. Some muttered prayers and others rested their hands together before them and bowed. They all knew that they needed rain, although you could have too much of it.
***
That night Angkasa sat outside, under the house, on thick bamboo matting. She had brought three layers so that the mud would not ooze through. She did not wish to do more laundry than was necessary. The river was fifteen minutes’ walk away and scrubbing clothes with coconut fibres was hard work, mostly one-handed. She and her father had dug a drainage channel to take away any water that washed under the house. When the house had been built, in her great-grandmother’s time they had raised the level of the ground so that it stood higher than the street. It was rarely more than damp underneath. Her family didn’t own buffalo, but the chickens chattered gently in their coop. It had been brought under the house to keep it dry. Tucked away beside the coop were pots that her mother had made and bamboo baskets and the kiln which would not be used again until the dry season. Then Angkasa’s mother would be very busy making the right kind of charcoal and then ensuring the kiln relit and making pot after pot.
Beside Angkasa sat four candles. Their flames flickered and danced in the faint draft. Wielding required energy and a very particular type of energy. In order to wield, Angkasa and all others required light. The wielder who came to the village had told Angkasa to find the light source she had the strongest affinity with. “It is very hard and for most, impossible, to try and work with a light source you have no affinity with. At best you will use more energy than you gain. A weary wielder is apt to make mistakes. My affinity is with candlelight.”
Until that moment Angkasa had never thought of wielding with candlelight. She could use sunlight and moonlight with the same ease. It was harder to gather the energy from such light during the rainy season, as less of it reached the ground. It was possible to store the energy from light to work with later. Angkasa had discovered that as long as she had some energy stored, she could use her wielding to reach the sunlight that sat above the clouds. She would gain more than she depleted. She had carefully lit some candles after the wielder had left and found she could access their light with just as much ease. For many days she had been confused and bewildered. She had no greater affinity for one source of light over any other. What did that mean? Perhaps another source of light existed that she had yet to encounter and that was the one she would possess greatest affinity for. The one she should be using. Until the day she discovered it she would muddle along with whatever light source presented itself to her.
Angkasa drew on the energy the candles released, energy that she could see though she could never describe what she saw to another. Again, she joined to the world around her, and her heart lifted. The worries regarding ruffians evaporated. The connection was all that mattered. She made a small gesture with her hand and the earth in front of her rose with it. It rose higher and higher until it towered above her, a finger’s width from touching the planks of the underside of the house. Next, she made it spread sideways and curl downwards - its movements slow but inexorable. She increased the speed of its fall until the earth pounded downwards before being dragged upwards once more. Could a ruffian trying to kidnap her withstand that? As the thought intruded the structure collapsed. She swallowed down queasiness. Could she use wielding against another living person? She bit her lip. Hopefully she would never have to find out. She smoothed out the earth under the house so no one would find out what she had done, blew out the candles, and gathered them and the mats. Silently she made her way back up the stairs into the house and crept through the living space to her tiny bedroom at the back. She stashed the mats in the corner and replaced the candles on the one shelf beside her sleeping mat. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep; however, thoughts of ruffians running through the forest and some nameless creature that attacked wielders kept intruding.
Chapter Two
Elang
E lang trudged up the street, pulling the now empty handcart behind him. The water gushing down the middle of the street was almost at ankle height now. Thankfully, it was fairly clean. The channels down the centre of the street had long since overflowed. The nearby river would be brown with mud and debris. At least the worms had yet to arrive. He had not passed any overflowing cesspits either. The rain pounded on his back and his bamboo hat did little to keep the water from his face. He rubbed it out of his eyes. He would be glad to get home. He scowled as he recalled the conversation he had overheard in the lower town. The men had taken his load of fresh vegetables eagerly.
“You hear what that mudfoot had to say?” one of the men had asked of the other.
“Nah, what news then?”
“Some talk of mercenaries or such. Kidnapping folk if you believe it.” The man spat to the side to indicate his opinion of news brought by a mudfoot.
Elang had to bite his tongue. He hated that so many in the city thought they were better than the villagers that regularly came to the city with news and desperation. They all believed the city would solve their problems. A rice harvest washed away or villagers dying of illness. Poverty. So many learnt the hard way that the city was not a blessed place with easy coin. He and his parents worked hard for their coin. They did well enough but could not be called rich by any standards. Not like the noble families that lived in Jayapura, the shining city to the far north. Perhaps one day he would visit. Elang shook his head with a snort. He would never leave. His parents were grooming him to take over the business once they were too old. How could he find time, or the inclination, to leave? And exactly what would he do elsewhere anyway?
He reached the small dwelling he shared with his parents and stashed the handcart with the others out the back. He locked the rickety gate behind him. He entered the house through the back door so that he could strip off his sodden clothes and pull on the new ones sat in a neat pile ready for him. He hummed as he did so and then stepped through to the main house. He blinked in surprise. Both his parents stood in the centre of the main living room. A comfortable room, usually. Right now, it sizzled with the tension coming off his parents. Their faces were grave and his mother bit her lip and absently rubbed her forearm over and over.
“Is something wrong?” he asked tentatively.
His mother glanced at his father who nodded jerkily.
“It is Kadek,” his father said.
Heaviness settled into Elang’s stomach. Kadek was a well-known wielder in Nampok and he often gave lessons to newly revealed young wielders. Elang himself had received such a lesson from him.
“What of him?” he said, trying to keep his voice nonchalant.
“He has been found…” his father swallowed noisily, “in the jungle. Dead.”
“Ripped to pieces by some demon!” his mother cried, wringing her hands. “You must leave the city, Elang. It is no longer safe for you here!”
“What?” Elang gaped at his mother. He turned his face to his father, waiting for him to tell his mother not to make such a fuss. But the look on his face sent a cold shudder through Elang.
“I fear your mother is correct. We will help you pack. These rumours of a fierce creature murdering wielders and the mercenaries kidnapping them…” his father ran a hand through his thick hair, greying now at the temples. “They have been getting more numerous and closer. They cannot be ignored anymore. It is not safe within Nampok for any wielder. Come, your mother will help you pack.”
Elang was virtually dragged to his room, his mind reeling. Leave Nampok? This must surely be some cruel joke his parents were having at his expense. But the solemn expression on his father’s face and the tears that trickled down his mother’s cheek told him otherwise. Within half a candle mark his mother had efficiently packed clothes, food, and a pouch of coins.
“Go and fetch your bow and arrows, you never know when you might need to hunt for food, or…” his father turned away.
Or to protect myself from mercenaries, Elang finished the unspoken thought. Once he had his weapon and a dry coat and bamboo hat he stood awkwardly with his parents. No one seemed to know what to say or do next.
“We think you should head for the Tenpat Temple. They will have warriors who can protect you. There are wielders there too. Maybe they can work out what to do for the best. I have put a map at the front of your pack. It will lead you to the village of Tenpat Kura. They are close to the mountain pass that leads to the temple. Hopefully, they will be able to guide you further,” his father said finally. Elang nodded. Was this really happening?
“There is one last thing we need to give to you,” his father said. He sounded uncertain. His mother’s eyes had gone wide, and she shook her head vigorously, her expression beseeching.
“Surely, surely not now?” she whispered. His father squeezed her hand.
“If not now, then when? He needs to know,” his father responded. His mother closed her eyes, her face a picture of misery.
What more could there be? Elang frowned as his father left the room. When he returned, he was clutching a tiny charm on a chain. It was in the shape of two cupped hands. The symbol for the Divine Maker. His father held it out to him, and he took it, raising an eyebrow in query. His father sighed deeply and pulled his mother under his arm. The two rarely showed such affection in front of him and he found his heart rate ratcheting up. They were going to reveal something terrible. Was one of them dying?
“When you were a tiny baby, we adopted you.” The words tumbled out of his mother. “The charm was all that was with you.”
Elang stared. The words made no sense. “Adopted?” he managed to ask.
His parents nodded gravely. But no, he could no longer call them that. The enormity of what was happening hit him and anger boiled over.
“You have kept this a secret my whole life? That I am not yours? Some other people are my parents?” he shouted.
His mother flinched as if he had struck her. “We are your parents…” her voice trailed off tearfully.
“Who were they? Why did they give me up for adoption?” Why did they abandon me? But he couldn’t say that aloud.
“We don’t know who they were. I am certain there must have been a very good reason.” His father took a deep breath. “When you come back, we will search out the answers together, yes?” He reached out a hand towards Elang, but Elang shrugged it off and stepped back. He had thought they were his parents. He had trusted them. But they had kept this huge thing a secret.
“Were you ever going to tell me? If I wasn’t having to leave and might not make it back, would you have told me?” Again, his mother flinched and deep down he was sorry he hurt her. But he was confused and angry and he had no time to sort through it all.
“We were planning to tell you this year. Now that you are eighteen. But it is hard,” his father said. “I thought you should know; in case something happens.” His mother brought a trembling hand to her mouth at his words and Elang swallowed hard.
“Maybe I was wrong. I don’t know. I just thought you should know. But now, you should go. The creature and the mercenaries are almost here from what we have heard. It is time for you to go,” His father continued. Elang settled his pack on his back, his anger had sunk away leaving him numb and disoriented. His mother rushed to him and pulled him into a hug. He didn’t resist, nor did he reciprocate. “Please, take care and come back to us,” she said.
Elang found himself nodding and walking out into the lashing rain once more.
***
Elang sat on the bamboo mat and held the bowl of chicken and rice close to his face. He sniffed it surreptitiously to check that it was chicken and not something else. It certainly smelled like chicken. The three other customers were tucking in with hearty appetites. But then they wore ragged clothes, were barely skin covering bones and the rank odour coming off them suggested they hadn’t washed in a while. They were unlikely to complain at what ended up in their bowls. With caution Elang placed a small piece into his mouth. His stomach growled in anticipation. It tasted like chicken. The proprietor eyed him strangely, so he shovelled in more. He didn’t wish to be thrown out of a slum kitchen. It seemed the man had not lied. What was he doing here anyway? His parents – no, the people who had brought him up – had told him to leave Nampok as soon as possible. After the incident in the jungle and in the town to the north it wasn’t safe for any light wielder to remain. Elang shuddered. Why would mercenaries be kidnapping wielders? What did they need them for? Perhaps worse than that was what had happened to Kadek in the jungle. Something had torn him apart. Of course, there was nothing to say it had anything to do with wielding. It could simply be a coincidence - some wild animal had found him and decided to attack. Yet the mercenaries were definitely after wielders. Rumours of the beast had followed in the footfalls of stories of mercenaries kidnapping people. It soon became apparent that it was wielders only. Unless more than one band of mercenaries was roaming about, their trail meandered as widely as a drunk in search of another rice whisky. Though it always headed in a southward direction which would carry them towards Nampok. It was hard to pin down an accurate timeline for these happenings. Some merchants travelled light, and so fast, while other people trudged slowly. Despite that, the happenings were coming closer.
Elang finished the last mouthful and wiped his mouth. He had lived all his life in the city, and he did not want to leave. The thought made his skin tingle and his insides cold. He couldn’t return to the people who had brought him up, he didn’t know them anymore. He scowled and squashed the treacherous feelings that rose at the thought of them sat in the house he had grown up in, holding hands and worrying about him. He had to leave and head for the temple in the mountains. The Masters and wielders there would understand what was happening and keep him safe. He dug into the pack at his feet and pulled out the slightly rumpled map that his father – the man who brought him up – had drawn for him. It showed the paths and the rivers between here and the mountain pass. It was a long way.
The kitchen’s fire flared and spat sparks. Beyond was darkness, rats, and cutthroats. He had left it too late to leave today. He would leave at first light. The slum kitchen never closed, and he had paid to be allowed to sleep on this bamboo mat and for sweet rice porridge at breakfast. Two other customers were already curled on their mats, twitching as they fell asleep. Elang surreptitiously removed his coin pouch from his pack and slid it under his shirt. He double checked he still had the tiny charm he had recently learned came with him as a baby. He ran a finger over it. The people who had brought him up had just informed him of its existence. They didn’t worship the Divine Maker. He released it, lay down and curled up around his bow and quiver of arrows, his pack as a pillow. A dull weight settled over him at the thought of what he had to do the next day. Where would he end up? Who was he now?
***
Elang jerked awake. The dark and cruel shape in his mind dissipated slowly like smoke on a windless day. The sound of the drumming rain had become the sound of thundering feet in his dream. He sat up and shook off the nightmare. He hoped it had been conjured from all the tales he had heard recently and was not some kind of premonition. Though it was incredibly rare for wielders to receive premonitions or to be able to scry, and he was only ever considered a touch over fair as wielders went, so he was hardly likely to command an unusual ability. He needed to leave Nampok as early as possible. As always, the thought was accompanied by a clenching pain in his stomach. How was he to survive out there? He had spent his whole life in this city. What did he know of the jungle? The map had shown a village, Tenpat Kura, that was more than halfway to the temple. If he could make it that far he could re-supply and obtain directions or help. Between the city and the village was a forest of cinnamon trees, farmland for pigs and cattle and the ever-present rice fields. All to feed the ever-expanding population of the city. Then the land became wild once more. That was going to be the hardest part of the journey for him.
