CHAPTER 6. THE WANDERER'S FOOTSTEPS
The dry east wind swept across the stretches of dust along the coastal road through northern Java. The Kapak Lands, extending from the border of Tuban into Rembang territory, seemed to shimmer beneath the searing heat of the dry-season sun. Teak trees shed their brown leaves, which drifted down to cover the footpath scored with sand and sharp limestone.
Along that deserted road, a young man walked at a steady pace. His clothes were no longer the fine striped batik of the keputren, but a dark, coarse mori-cloth vest coated in travel dust, along with loose black trousers neatly tied at the calves with pineapple-fiber cords. A worn striped scarf was wrapped around his waist, concealing a slender sword without a scabbard that remained faithfully at his side.
He was Raden Said—the young man who no longer had the right to bear the title of prince, whose name had been struck from the genealogy of Duke Wilatikta.
Exile had not weighed Said's steps down with despair, but the past several months of travel had carved a new firmness into his handsome face. His once-clear, golden complexion, so characteristic of a palace nobleman, had become a deep brown, roasted by the sun. His cheeks and jaw had grown more defined, complemented by a pair of keen eyes that radiated a quietness ordinary people found impossible to fathom.
As he walked along the edge of the Kradenan Grasslands, Said's sharply trained hearing caught the pounding hooves of five horses racing toward him from the west. Their hooves struck the dry earth hard, raising a thick cloud of dust high into the air.
Said did not stop walking. He merely angled his body slightly toward the side of the road, allowing the riders to pass. But before the dust in the air had even begun to settle, all five riders suddenly yanked hard on their reins.
NEEEEIGH!
The powerful horses whinnied sharply, rearing their front legs into the air before landing again, cutting off Said's path in a circle.
Said stopped. Calmly, his eyes studied the five men mounted on the horses. They wore sleeveless leather garments, exposing muscular arms covered in old slash scars. Various sharp weapons were tucked at their waists and across their backs—from nine-curved kris and short swords to spiked iron maces.
From the patterns on their clothing and the way they held their weapons, Said knew the five were not duchy soldiers. They were wandering strongmen, road outlaws, or bounty hunters roaming the duchy's borders in search of prey.
The man in the middle—a short, stocky man with a gleaming bald head and a red crab tattoo on the left side of his neck—nudged his horse forward two steps. His narrowed eyes traveled over Said from head to toe.
"Judging by your light steps and that coarse mori clothing..." the bald man said in a harsh, strident voice thick with contempt. "You came from the east, didn't you? From Tuban territory?"
Said pressed his palms together before his chest in a polite gesture, showing not the slightest tremor of fear. "That is correct, Ki Paman. I am merely a wanderer passing through on my way west."
The bald man chuckled. His four companions joined in with discordant laughter, making the silent road even more ominous.
"A wanderer?" The bald man leaped down from his horse with surprising agility for such a portly man. His hand closed around the hilt of the large machete tucked into his belt. "Don't play dumb, boy. For a week now, every road along the border has been guarded by illustrated flyers issued by Patih Sasrabahu of Tuban. The face on those flyers... looks remarkably like that handsome face of yours."
The bald man walked closer to Said. A greedy smile spread across his coarse face. "A thousand silver coins and a guarantee of the mantri title in the Duchy of Tuban for anyone who brings in the head of Lokajaya the Outlaw—the masked robber who handed palace gold to my foolish villagers. Who could have guessed that such a massive bounty would walk right down this path alone, without a guard?"
Said sighed softly. The name Lokajaya the Outlaw had apparently become a new burden that preceded every step he took. The title he had originally created to conceal his identity while helping the poor in Tuban had now become a magnet for hired killers and bloodthirsty strongmen seeking either fame or gold.
"Ki Paman," Said said gently, but with inner power behind his voice that made it reverberate through the chests of all five strongmen. "The name Lokajaya is merely a name born from pity for hungry people. I have no gold, no possessions, and no desire to make enemies on this road. Let me pass in peace."
The extraordinary clarity of Said's voice made the strongmen's horses grow restless and retreat several paces. The bald man was startled for a moment, realizing that the young man before him possessed a mastery of pure energy that could not be taken lightly.
But his greed for a thousand silver coins overcame his caution.
"Pretty words won't save your neck, boy!" the bald man roared as he drew his great machete. The two-finger-thick steel blade flashed sharply beneath the sun's sting. "I, Ki Braja of the Black Crab Compound, will bury your name today!"
"Together! Surround him!" Ki Braja shouted to his four companions.
The other four strongmen immediately leaped down from their horses. Their sharp weapons rose. With practiced movements, they formed a circle around Said, trapping their cornered prey.
Said did not draw the slender sword at his waist. To him, a fight against men driven by nothing but greed did not need to end in bloodshed if it could still be avoided. He lowered his stance slightly, channeling Suryakanta pure energy through every joint in his legs, preparing to use the Kapuk Ranandhu Technique's agility.
"Die!"
One of the one-eyed strongmen leaped first, swinging his spiked iron mace toward Said's head in a deadly horizontal strike.
WHOOSH!
The iron mace cleaved through the air with a thunderous roar. But when the heavy weapon was no more than a thread's breadth from Said's temple, Said's body arched backward like a young bamboo stalk bent by the wind. The mace struck nothing but empty air!
Before the one-eyed man could pull his mace back, Said flicked his left palm forward with an exceptionally gentle movement.
TAP!
Said's fingers lightly struck the Temporary Paralysis blood channel beneath the one-eyed man's armpit. In an instant, the strongman's entire right arm froze. His mace slipped free and crashed onto the sandy ground with a heavy THUD!
"What?!" The one-eyed man gasped, his eyes bulging in disbelief as he discovered that his right arm could no longer move.
"Use short weapons! Attack from below!" Ki Braja shouted.
Two other strongmen charged simultaneously from the left and right. Two nine-curved kris shot forward in lightning-fast thrusts aimed at Said's ribs and stomach. Their attacks were perfectly coordinated, sealing off Said's room to maneuver so he could not twist away as he had before.
But Said did not retreat. Instead, he took one step forward across the centerline of their attack, entering the blind spot between his two enemies.
Using the White Eel Technique, Said spun his body 180 degrees. Both his hands flashed out and seized the two strongmen's wrists before their kris thrusts reached their targets. Said slammed their arms together in midair!
CLANG!
The two kris collided with a sharp crash, sending sparks flying. The inner power that entered through their wrists made both strongmen grimace in pain. Their grips came loose, and the two kris spun away before landing point-first in the earth.
Without wasting the opportunity, Said shoved both strongmen's shoulders with palms infused with warm pure energy.
THUD! THUD!
The two strongmen were driven back more than a dozen steps until they slammed into the bellies of their own horses, sending the animals into panicked, agitated whinnies.
Only Ki Braja and one tall strongman carrying a short spear remained. Ki Braja swallowed hard. Cold sweat began to bead on his gleaming forehead. In the space of just three breaths, three of his men had been disabled without the young man even drawing his weapon!
"You... you're using the palace's pressure-point art!" Ki Braja exclaimed, his voice beginning to tremble. "Who is your teacher?!"
"My teacher taught me to protect lives, not take them," Said replied calmly as he straightened. "Ki Paman, take your companions and leave. Don't let greed make you lose what is most precious."
Ki Braja's face shifted from pale to deep red with shame and anger. As the head of a small compound on the border, being humiliated by a young man not yet twenty-five in front of his followers was an unforgivable stain.
"Don't get cocky, boy!" Ki Braja screamed hysterically. "Feel the Crab Splitting Stone Technique!"
Ki Braja threw his great machete into the air, then caught its handle with both hands. His body leaped high, gathering every last bit of his inner power to bring the machete straight down onto the center of Said's head!
The slash sent a fierce current of wind through the area, scattering the dry leaves around them. This was Ki Braja's proudest technique, supposedly powerful enough to split a border stone in two.
Said watched the descending blade with clear, unwinking eyes. He knew that meeting this blow with a hard counterattack would fatally injure Ki Braja. So Said chose a different way.
When the machete's edge was only a handspan from his forehead, Said crossed both arms above his head in the shape of an X. Suryakanta pure energy enveloped his arms, forming a transparent protective layer invisible to the naked eye.
CLANG!
The sound of metal striking hard stone rang across the grassland. Ki Braja's great machete stopped dead above Said's crossed arms! The steel blade vibrated violently, but Said's arms did not drop even slightly!
"How is that possible?!" Ki Braja cried in utter shock as the rebound from Said's arms left both his palms bruised and bleeding.
Said smoothly rotated his crossed arms, hooking the machete's blade before wrenching it sideways. The great machete tore free of Ki Braja's grip and flew away, burying itself deep in the trunk of an old teak tree beside the road.
Before Ki Braja could descend back to the ground, Said thrust his open right palm toward Ki Braja's chest. The push contained no killing intent, only a blast of pure inner power that sent Ki Braja's stocky body flying five meters through the air before he landed flat on his back in the thick grass.
CRASH!
Ki Braja lay on his back, breathing hard. Every joint in his body felt limp and numb, though not a single bone had broken.
The remaining spear-wielding strongman immediately dropped his weapon. His body shook violently as he watched the head of his compound be decisively defeated without putting up any meaningful resistance.
Said slowly approached Ki Braja, who was still lying on his back and staring blankly at the midday sky with wide eyes.
Said knelt beside him, reached into the pocket of his scarf, and pulled out a dry piece of cloth to wipe away the thin line of blood at the corner of the bald man's mouth.
"Every person has his own path in life, Ki Paman," Said said softly, his voice warm and free of resentment or triumph. "Patih Sasrabahu's gold coins are bought with the suffering of Tuban's people. If you take them, those coins will never bring peace to your compound."
Ki Braja stared at Said's face from close range. In the young man's eyes, he saw neither the arrogance of a criminal nor the savagery of a fugitive. There was only the depth of genuine compassion and an unshakable calm.
"You... you're really Lokajaya the Outlaw?" Ki Braja whispered hoarsely, all his arrogance gone.
Said gave no verbal answer. He rose, brushed the dust from his black mori vest, then walked toward Ki Braja's machete embedded in the tree. Said pulled it out easily, walked back, and placed it neatly beside Ki Braja's body.
"Return to your compound, Ki Paman. Teach your students to protect villages, not become bounty hunters who take lives for the ruler's gold," Said said.
Without waiting for a further answer, Raden Said turned around and continued west along the dusty road.
The four strongmen who had recovered from the pressure-point strikes slowly helped their leader to his feet. Ki Braja held his chest, which still felt warm from Said's pure energy. The rough man watched Said's back grow smaller and more distant, his feelings tangled between admiration, shame, and deep respect.
"He's no robber..." Ki Braja whispered to his men. "Patih Sasrabahu has deceived the entire coastal land. That man... is a true martial hero."
The sun began its descent westward as Said finally entered southern Rembang. The landscape here looked somewhat different from Tuban. Though the dry season had struck this region as well, the villages were surrounded by barren limestone hills and withering cornfields.
At a fork in the road near Karanggetas Village, Said saw a simple raised hut used as a resting place for wanderers and traders traveling between villages. Beneath the hut's thatched roof, several elderly farmers sat resting as they enjoyed a clay jug of plain water and several boiled yams.
Said approached the hut. "Good afternoon, gentlemen. May I sit here for a while and rest?"
The elderly farmers turned toward him. Seeing Said's simple clothing, though he carried a covered scarf, they welcomed him warmly. An old farmer with a deeply furrowed brow handed Said a clay jug.
"Please, Cangkrama. Sit down," the old farmer said. "Drink this water. Traveling along the border during a season like this will drain you dry."
Said accepted the jug with both hands, bowed respectfully, and drank his fill of the cool water. The chill of the earthenware-cooled water refreshed his throat, which had felt dry all day.
"Thank you, Pak Cik," Said said as he returned the jug. "I've noticed the roads around this village are very quiet. Has something happened in Karanggetas Village?"
The elderly farmers' friendly expressions suddenly turned somber. The farmer who had handed him the jug released a long sigh and looked toward the seemingly deserted settlement in the distance.
"You must have just passed through this area, young man," the old farmer said in a whisper, as though afraid even the walls might hear him. "Karanggetas Village is going through a dark time. Two months ago, Ki Demang Seca—a wealthy landowner driven out of the northern region—moved here and bought up all the farmland in our village."
Said narrowed his eyes. The name Ki Demang Seca immediately stirred his memory. He was the corrupt district chief whose house Said had once robbed in Tuban! Apparently, after his wealth was drained and his position threatened in Tuban, the sly district chief had fled to Rembang with what remained of his fortune and bought his way back into power in a new place.
"Has Ki Demang Seca started abusing his power here too, Pak Cik?" Said asked quietly.
"Much worse than when he was in Tuban, young man," another elderly farmer replied, his eyes glistening with tears. "Here, he works with the Black Skull Compound and the local butchers. He enforces a strangling law called the Karang Land Rent. Any farmer unable to pay three-quarters of his harvest will have his house seized, and his daughters will be taken to serve in his headquarters!"
The old farmer clenched his wrinkled fingers. "Today... today is the collection deadline for Karanggetas Village. The butchers from the Black Skull Compound are gathering in the village square to seize the land belonging to dozens of villagers whose crops failed."
Said's chest suddenly began to thunder. The fire of justice he had suppressed during his exile now blazed brightly within him. Apparently, oppression did not stop simply because someone moved elsewhere; it continued to grow wherever evil men were given room to rule.
Guilt stabbed Said's heart again. He realized that robbing Demang Seca's house in Tuban had not made the corrupt man repent. Seca had merely moved the chains of his oppression elsewhere, preying on the poor people newly settled in Karanggetas.
Good intentions without addressing the root of the problem only move suffering from one hand to another. The warning words of Ki Guru Jalak echoed once more in Said's ears.
Said rose from his seat. He adjusted the knot of the scarf around his waist, then bowed respectfully to the elderly farmers in the hut.
"Pak Cik," Said said, his voice calm yet radiating an undeniable authority. "Where are Ki Demang Seca and those butchers gathering?"
The old farmer stared at him in alarm. "In the village square, young man... near the large raised house at the end of the road. But don't go there! Those butchers are vicious! They won't hesitate to slash you with their machetes!"
Said gave a faint smile—a warm smile that soothed the elderly farmers' hearts.
"Don't worry, Pak Cik," Said said softly as he turned and walked toward the village. "Tonight, that wicked land rent will come to an end."
The square of Karanggetas Village was packed with hundreds of villagers gathered in fear. In the center of the square, atop a tall wooden platform, Ki Demang Seca sat in his carved rocking chair. The portly man with the thin mustache wore a satisfied smile and held a bundle of bark-paper land deeds in his right hand.
Around the platform, a dozen men armed with machetes and chains from the Black Skull Compound stood in a line, their postures threatening. In front of the platform, more than a dozen heads of household knelt in the dusty ground, weeping over the land forcibly seized from them.
"Listen, people of Karanggetas!" Ki Demang Seca shouted in a grating voice. "I don't care whether your fields are dry or your rice has been eaten by pests! The law is the law! These lands officially belong to me now! Anyone who tries to resist or refuses to leave their home tomorrow morning will have to answer to these butchers from the Black Skull Compound!"
A young villager who could no longer bear to watch his mother cry stood and shouted, "You're a criminal, Demang Seca! You're extorting us far beyond the king's laws!"
"Impotent tongue!" cursed the tall, heavily built leader of the butchers standing beside the platform. He drew the chain belt from his waist and leaped down, ready to smash the iron chain into the young villager's face!
The villagers screamed hysterically and squeezed their eyes shut, unable to bear watching the bloodshed about to unfold.
But before the iron chain could strike the young villager, a brown shadow shot over the heads of the crowd with incredible speed.
TAP!
A simple finger tap landed squarely on the butcher leader's elbow joint in midair. His iron chain immediately slipped from his hand and fell to the ground, while the leader crashed down with his elbow completely paralyzed!
The square fell silent.
Standing between the villagers and the butchers was a young man in a brown mori vest, his face uncovered. His loose black hair fluttered gently in the evening breeze, and his eyes stared straight at Ki Demang Seca atop the platform.
Ki Demang Seca, lounging in his rocking chair, suddenly sat bolt upright. His eyes widened to their fullest as he recognized the young man's face—the face that had haunted him in Tuban months before!
"You... you..." Ki Demang Seca stammered, his voice strangled in his throat. "Raden Said?! Lokajaya the Outlaw?!"
At the district chief's utterance of the name Lokajaya the Outlaw, hundreds of villagers erupted in commotion! The legendary noble fugitive from Tuban was actually standing before their eyes!
The remaining butchers of the Black Skull Compound immediately surrounded Said with their weapons raised, though their bodies trembled slightly at the memory of Lokajaya's reputation—the man who had defeated their leader, Ki Ageng Rangga, in the Kencana Teak Forest.
Said paid no attention to the butchers around him. He walked slowly toward the wooden platform, his eyes locked on Ki Demang Seca without blinking.
"Ki Demang Seca," Said's voice rang out calmly, penetrating every corner of Karanggetas Village's square. "Apparently, being driven out of Tuban wasn't enough to scrape the greed from your heart. You fled here and brought the same suffering to the people of Karanggetas."
Ki Demang Seca trembled violently, his face deathly pale. "Attack him! Kill him! I'll pay a thousand silver coins for his head!" Demang Seca shrieked hysterically from atop the platform.
A dozen butchers from the Black Skull Compound charged simultaneously from every direction, swinging their machetes and blades in a wild, ruthless assault!
But Said was no longer the same man who had first fought in Tuban. His experience during exile and his deepening inner understanding had brought his silat movements to a level of perfect efficiency.
Using the body-lightening art of Kapuk Ranandhu combined with the White Eel Technique, Said moved between the enemy attacks like an intangible evening breeze. His hands tapped, swept, and pushed in measured sequence.
TAP! THUD! CRASH! THUD!
Whenever Said's fingers or palms touched one of the butchers, their weapons flew into the air and their bodies crumpled across the ground, not one suffering a fatal slash wound. Said used pure inner power to precisely disable the nerves controlling their movements.
In fewer than twenty breaths, more than a dozen powerful butchers from the Black Skull Compound lay sprawled across the village square, groaning in pain and unable to stand!
The people of Karanggetas Village stared in stunned amazement. Such an elegant display of extraordinary martial mastery had unfolded directly before their eyes.
Said vaulted up the wooden platform's steps and stood directly before Ki Demang Seca, who now sat limp on the platform floor, his trousers wet with fear.
Said extended his right hand and snatched the bundle of bark-paper land deeds clutched by Demang Seca. He did not tear the documents as he had once done in Tuban.
He looked deeply into Ki Demang Seca's eyes, then spoke in a low voice that only the frightened district chief could hear.
"Ki Demang," Said said, each word carrying the weight of his inner power. "I will return these documents to the villagers. As for you... tonight, you will hand over all your remaining wealth to repair this village's irrigation channels, and then you will leave Rembang territory forever."
"What... what if I refuse?" Demang Seca whispered, his lips trembling.
Said lightly squeezed Ki Demang's shoulder. The warm Suryakanta pure energy entered through Demang Seca's skin, making every internal organ in the portly man's body tremble in unmistakable warning.
"You know very well that there is no wall in all of Java that can stop me from coming for you again in the middle of the night," Said whispered coldly.
Ki Demang Seca nodded hysterically again and again. "All right! All right! I promise! I'll leave! I'll give up everything!"
Said released his grip, turned toward the edge of the platform, and raised the bundle of land deeds high in the air before hundreds of villagers.
"People of Karanggetas!" Said called in a clear, ringing voice. "Starting this evening, there will be no more extortionate land rent! These land deeds are being returned to you—the people who work the soil with sweat and tears!"
Tears of joy and cheers erupted across Karanggetas Village's square! The farmers, mothers, and children leaped for joy and embraced one another as Said tossed the land deeds into the middle of the crowd to be fairly redistributed.
Amid the villagers' joyful uproar as they celebrated his name, Said descended from the platform. He did not linger to enjoy their praise or gratitude. As soon as the villagers' attention shifted to the distribution of the land deeds, Said slipped quietly into the dark village lanes, disappearing once more as a wandering shadow.
Night once again shone beneath the glow of thousands of stars over the Rembang coast.
Beside a small, tranquil lake outside Karanggetas Village, Raden Said sat cross-legged atop a flat limestone rock. The lake reflected the perfectly round moon, creating a deeply peaceful scene amid the silence of the night.
Said stared at the fingers of his own hands, which still trembled slightly from the remnants of the afternoon's battle. Though he had managed to save the people of Karanggetas Village, his heart felt no complete satisfaction.
He knew all too well that Ki Demang Seca might flee to another place and repeat his crimes in a new village. The butchers he had disabled might recruit new members and oppress the common folk in another region.
The path of Lokajaya the Outlaw he had taken—the path of physical resistance and confiscating wealth—was merely the act of stamping out a small spark in the midst of a vast dry forest. As long as the human heart remained unhealed of greed and darkness, this war would never end.
"Greatest Lord..." Raden Said whispered as he gazed at the moon's reflection on the lake. "Is this path of sword and mask truly the path You desire for me? How long must I run from one battle to the next without ever bringing true peace?"
The night wind blew gently, stirring delicate ripples across the lake's surface and breaking up the moon's reflection. No answer came from the darkness of the surrounding forest.
Yet in the deepest part of his heart, a soft whisper seemed to affirm that his days as a wandering street outlaw were drawing to an end. Fate was guiding his steps toward a far greater trial—a trial that would require not his slender sword, but the complete surrender of his soul and body before the majesty of the Creator.
Raden Said closed his eyes and stilled his thoughts beside the silent lake, absorbing the night's entire atmosphere to strengthen his heart for the coming day, still veiled behind the mysterious curtain of Nusantara's destiny.