“Mas...”
That voice really was Bayu’s.
Raka felt his knees go weak. His younger brother’s face was pale and gaunt, but every line of it was exactly as Raka remembered. The slightly narrowed eyes, the small scar on his chin, and the hair that always fell over his forehead.
But Bayu’s feet hovered a few inches above the ground.
And dozens of pale hands behind him moved slowly like living roots.
“Mas, please help me...”
Raka stepped forward without realizing it.
Mbah Wiryo immediately yanked him back by the shoulder.
“Don’t!”
“That’s Bayu!”
“If that’s Bayu, tell him to come into the circle of salt.”
Raka stared at his brother.
“Bayu, come here!”
Bayu was silent.
His eyes blinked slowly.
Then his lips moved again.
“I can’t.”
The hands behind him tightened their grip. Long, pale fingers emerged from the fog, pressing against Bayu’s shoulders and back like he was a puppet being held in place.
Sari held her breath.
“Oh my God...”
Raka saw something that made his blood run cold.
Among those hands was one that was very small.
A child’s hand.
“Mas...” Bayu’s voice trembled. “They said if I leave, I’ll forget the way home.”
Mbah Wiryo stared sharply toward the gate.
“Don’t listen to anything they say.”
Bayu slowly turned his head, as if he had heard something from inside the forest. His face changed with fear.
“They’re coming...”
The gamelan music suddenly stopped.
The silence that followed was so thick that Raka could hear them breathing.
Then footsteps sounded from inside the gate.
Not one pair.
Many.
Thud... thud... thud...
The ground trembled faintly.
The pale hands immediately dragged Bayu a little farther back.
“Mas!” Bayu reached desperately toward him.
Raka instinctively reached out his hand.
Their fingertips nearly touched.
Suddenly, the black root bracelet around Raka’s wrist flared hot like an ember.
Mbah Wiryo shouted, “Back!”
In an instant, a black hand burst from the fog and swiped through the air between them.
The hand was large and gaunt, covered in wet hair.
Raka staggered backward.
The fog inside the gate split apart.
A woman slowly emerged.
Her hair was so long it dragged across the ground. Her body was wrapped in a tattered white cloth that appeared soaked. Her head was bowed, hiding her face.
But when she stepped forward, Raka realized her feet were facing backward.
Sari let out a small scream.
Mbah Wiryo immediately dropped to his knees and bowed his head.
“Don’t look at her face!”
Raka quickly turned his gaze away, but he was a fraction of a second too late.
He caught a glimpse of the woman’s face.
Or more precisely—the absence of a face.
Flat, pale skin without eyes, a nose, or a mouth.
Empty.
And from that emptiness came the voices of many people speaking at once.
“At last, that blood has returned.”
The bracelet on Raka’s wrist grew even hotter.
The faceless woman stopped directly behind Bayu.
The pale hands that had been holding Bayu disappeared into the fog.
“Mas...” Bayu’s voice grew weaker. “Don’t let me forget...”
Raka wanted to charge forward, but his body felt heavy. The air around the gate seemed to have turned into water.
The woman slowly raised her hand.
Something appeared in her palm.
A blue marble.
Raka’s eyes widened.
It was Bayu’s marble from when they were children.
Memories suddenly stormed through his mind: the two of them playing in the yard, Bayu crying because he had lost that marble, and Raka promising to find it for him.
The woman closed her hand around the marble.
Crack.
The marble shattered into dust.
Raka’s head began throbbing violently.
He staggered.
“What’s happening?” Sari shouted.
Raka clutched his temple. Something was missing.
Something very important.
He remembered Bayu.
He remembered his younger brother.
But he no longer remembered Bayu’s favorite color.
Even though he had still known it a moment ago.
Panic began creeping into his chest.
Mbah Wiryo looked at him, his face pale.
“They’ve started eating your memories.”
The faceless woman let out a soft laugh.
“One memory for one step.”
Then she pulled Bayu backward.
“Mas!” Bayu screamed desperately.
Raka tried to chase after him, but Mbah Wiryo flung a handful of salt toward the gate.
Blue fire flashed in the air for an instant.
The woman stopped.
For the first time, her voice sounded angry.
“You’re still standing in my way, Wiryo?”
“I won’t let you take this child.”
The fog whirled wildly. The trees around the gate creaked violently as if blasted by a storm, though there was no wind.
The faceless woman lowered her head slightly.
“Then... let him choose for himself.”
She pointed at Raka.
In an instant, the ground before the gate opened, forming a narrow path into the forest. In the distance, a greenish light pulsed like a heart.
Bayu’s voice came from there.
“Mas... I’m inside...”
The woman whispered:
“Come in. Trade your memories for your brother.”
Raka stared at the open path.
Mbah Wiryo spoke quietly but firmly:
“Once you cross that gate, the forest will start counting who must be forgotten.”
And just as Raka was about to answer, the sound of a child crying came from the darkness of the forest.
The voice called out:
“Big Brother Raka... I’m still here too.”