The faceless woman bent toward Bayu’s ear.
The fog around the gate suddenly stopped moving, as if the entire forest were holding its breath.
Then a soft whisper sounded: “Bayu…”
Bayu’s body immediately tensed. “Bayu…”
The voice came again, this time not only from the woman, but from the trees, the earth, and the cold air surrounding them. “Bayu…”
Three times.
Bayu’s scream tore through the air. “MAS!”
His body jerked backward as if yanked by an invisible rope. Dozens of pale hands emerged from the fog again and seized him all at once.
“Bayu!” Raka charged forward.
Mbah Wiryo shouted, “Don’t cross the salt!”
Too late.
Raka’s foot broke through the circle of salt.
The world changed instantly.
Sound vanished.
Light vanished.
He felt himself falling into incredibly deep water.
When his vision returned, he was already standing inside the Forest of Lost Souls.
The gate was behind him, but it looked impossibly far away, as if it were dozens of meters distant even though it had been only one step away.
Sari and Mbah Wiryo appeared faintly, like shadows behind fogged glass.
“Raka!” Sari’s voice sounded muffled.
Raka tried to go back, but his feet felt glued to the forest floor.
The faceless woman stood a few steps in front of him.
Bayu was nowhere to be seen.
“Welcome,” she said.
The sound of gamelan returned, now very close, surrounding Raka’s head. Ting... Tung... ting...
He looked around.
The trees inside the forest were different from those outside. Their trunks were glossy black, like wet skin. Their roots rose above the ground like frozen snakes.
And hanging between the trunks were strange objects.
Worn-out dolls.
Family photographs.
Children’s toys.
Baby cloths.
They all swayed gently despite the absence of wind.
Raka felt nauseated.
“Where’s Bayu?”
The woman raised a hand and pointed deeper into the forest.
“The Second Circle.”
“Take me there.”
“It’s not that simple.”
She stepped closer. Her blank face was only a few centimeters from Raka’s.
“Every step inward will take one memory.”
Raka clenched his fists.
“I don’t care.”
“Everyone says that.”
The woman touched the black-root bracelet around Raka’s wrist.
The bracelet hissed as if it were being burned.
“The old guardian is still trying to hold you back.”
Suddenly, Mbah Wiryo’s voice came from far away.
“Raka! Listen to me!”
The voice broke up, but it was clear enough.
“Don’t follow the glowing path!”
The faceless woman laughed softly.
“He still thinks you can get out whole.”
Then she backed away and disappeared into the fog.
Raka stood alone.
Two paths stretched out before him.
The path on the left was filled with softly pulsing greenish light.
The path on the right was pitch-black, without even a trace of light.
He remembered Mbah Wiryo’s warning.
Don’t follow the glowing path.
Raka chose the path on the right.
The moment he stepped onto it, cold air stabbed straight through his bones. The flashlight in his hand dimmed. The ground beneath his feet was soft as wet flesh.
A few meters later, he heard small footsteps behind him.
Click... click... click...
He stopped.
The footsteps stopped too.
Raka slowly turned around.
There was no one there.
But when he shone the flashlight at the ground, he saw the wet footprints of a small child.
The trail ended right behind his heels.
Then a faint voice sounded:
“Big Bro…”
Raka held his breath.
It was the child’s voice from earlier.
“Big Bro Raka…”
“Who are you?” he whispered.
Silence.
Then the flashlight flickered.
In a single brief blink, Raka saw a small child standing between the trees.
Black eyes.
Worn, white clothes.
Its stomach appeared to be split open in a long gash, like the scar from an operation.
The flashlight returned to normal.
The figure was gone.
Raka took a step back, and his foot touched something.
He looked down.
A small gravestone was embedded in the ground.
There was no name.
Only this was written:
THE SECOND CHILD
The world seemed to stop.
Suddenly, another memory struck his mind.
He saw his father digging in the ground during a torrential downpour.
He saw his mother crying as she hugged a bundle of empty baby cloth.
And he heard his father’s voice say:
“If the first one was already given, why is this one still being taken?”
Raka staggered backward, clutching his head.
An unbearable pain pierced his temples.
At the same time, one memory vanished.
He tried to remember his father’s face.
Blurred.
So blurred.
Only the voice remained.
Panic began creeping into his chest.
This forest really was taking his memories.
From far away, Bayu’s voice rang out:
“Mas! Don’t stop!”
Raka raised his head.
Far ahead, between the trees, the greenish light pulsed brighter.
And behind that light, for a moment, he saw Bayu standing there, crying.
But behind Bayu stood the faceless woman.
This time, she was not alone.
Three other figures stood beside her.
And one of them had Raka’s father’s face.