On the third night following the devastating bandit attack, the once tranquil village now lay enveloped in an ominous darkness that seemed to press down more heavily than ever before. The faint remnants of a thin, ghostly fog had drifted in from the chaos left in the aftermath of the Trowulan destruction, lingering hauntingly over the valley like an oppressive shroud that obscured visibility and cloaked the surroundings in a palpable uncertainty. Each footfall taken on the uneven ground reverberated ominously, amplifying the fear that coursed through the hearts of the villagers, while the shadows danced menacingly in the flickering light, lending an air of foreboding to the night. The barricades that had been hastily erected, which initially featured a mere weaving of thorny bamboo, were now reinforced with stout teak beams, pilfered clandestinely from the neighboring forest, hastily constructed to provide a semblance of protection. In a desperate measure of defense, the outermost moats surrounding the village had been filled with murky water blended with sticky tree sap, a calculated attempt to create a treacherous barrier that would impede any enemy advance and leave them vulnerable to attack.
The guard post situated atop the hill was manned around the clock by vigilant villagers who took turns holding torches, their flames deliberately kept low to avoid attracting unwarranted attention from afar. Meanwhile, the meager remaining food supplies dwindled steadily, posing a dire threat to their survival; the villagers now found themselves with just enough rice to last a mere week, while their reliance on staples such as sweet potatoes and corn grew ever more pronounced. In a cruel twist of fate, the deadly plague that had swept through their modest village claimed three more lives that very morning. Amidst this precarious situation, the stoic figure of Sengkala rose resolutely from the village hall, despite the searing pain emanating from his injured shoulder, which remained festering and untreated. Spread out before him lay a meticulously drawn map crafted from palm leaves, encircled by other notable figures of the village, including the wise Ki Jaka, the authoritative Lurah, the steadfast Suradipa, and the nurturing Ms. Sari, all deeply engaged in strategizing their imminent course of action.
"The messenger sent to the south has yet to return," Sengkala informed, his voice soft but unwavering, carrying the weight of responsibility. His finger glided thoughtfully over the edge of the forest depicted on the map. "Tonight, we must again exercise frugality—only thin porridge for tonight's meal, and there will be no meat soup for anyone."
A weary Ki Jaka rubbed his fatigued face with his hand, a gesture betraying the toll that the harrowing circumstances had taken on him. "Sir, the wounded soldiers are becoming increasingly restless and agitated. They believe that yesterday's bandit encounter was merely a test, a precursor to a far greater assault. It has been reported that tomorrow night, Purwawisesa will launch a more significant offensive, with their forces said to number 200 men, fully equipped with horses and war chariots."
The village head's throat constricted as he gulped in anxiety, signaling his growing concern. "Where did this information originate? Was it communicated to you by our usual spies?"
Suradipa, shaking his head with a note of urgency, resolved to clarify, "This intelligence did not come from our typical channels of espionage. Rather, it was delivered by new refugees who managed to flee from the east. They claim that Purwawisesa has accused our village of harboring a traitor—Mpu Sengkala himself. It seems they believe that your previous refusal to fulfill their weapons demand has led to whispers that you are surreptitiously assisting Wikramawardhana."
Sengkala laughed bitterly, though the chill in his gaze remained unbroken. "A traitor? I have not chosen to align myself with either side of this conflict. For those driven by ambition, a position of neutrality is often regarded as akin to enmity." He turned towards Ms. Sari with a piercing resolve. "Make sure to tend to the needs of the new refugees—scrutinize them closely, one by one, to ensure no spies have infiltrated our ranks."
Ms. Sari nodded in agreement, her demeanor firm, but her hands trembled with suppressed anxiety. "I have already taken measures, sir. The suspicious refugees have been directed to the open tents for further evaluation. However, there is one who reported sighting a peculiar shadow in the southern forest earlier today. She claimed it was not merely a common bandit, but rather a soldier wrapped in a cloak."
Upon hearing this, Sengkala felt a surge of renewed energy, igniting his spirit despite the pain radiating from his shoulder. He grasped his 'Giris Pawaka,' the legendary weapon tucked securely at his waist. "I will take to the patrol tonight. Lurah, you must accompany me. Suradipa, ensure the guard shifts are changed every hour on the hilltop. Ki Jaka, prepare an emergency evacuation plan: we will direct the women and children to the cave situated in the south and signal our readiness with five fires."
In the midst of this urgent preparation, Dewi Laras emerged from behind the door, her face pale and drawn, yet her eyes sparkled with a determined glow. "Son, please don't go into the night alone. Your shoulder wound has not yet fully healed. Let the village chief accompany you instead."
"Mother, if I retreat at this moment, the spirits of the villagers will surely falter as well. They need to witness that their leader remains resolute and strong," Sengkala replied, his voice soft yet unwavering. He embraced his mother briefly, drawing strength from her, before stepping out into the deepening darkness that loomed over the village.
***
As they reached the edge of the village forest, the atmosphere became tense with an eerie stillness, punctuated only by the calls of night insects and the soft whisper of the wind rustling through the dry leaves. Sengkala and Lurah advanced cautiously, holding their spears tightly in each hand, while Sengkala positioned his 'Giris Pawaka' at the ready, prepared to engage at a moment's notice. The air around them was thick with scents of wet earth mixed with smoke arising from a distant, unfriendly source. Suddenly, a distinct sound, the snapping of a twig, startled them from the right.
"Who goes there?!" Sengkala whispered sharply, halting immediately, his senses heightened.
From behind the towering trunk of an ancient banyan tree, a lithe figure stepped forward cautiously. It was a young woman cloaked in a tattered black sinjang with disheveled hair, though her piercing eyes glinted with a fierce determination akin to that of an eagle poised to strike. A diminutive yet glimmering keris was fastened at her waist, gleaming ominously in the dim light.
"Don't attack me, Mpu Sengkala," she spoke, her voice a melodic yet tense whisper. "I am not your adversary. My name is Srintil, formerly Purwawisesa's personal bodyguard. Now... I am merely a fugitive."
Recognizing the potential threat, Lurah was quick to react, raising his spear defensively. "You're lying! You must be a spy!"
However, Sengkala immediately halted Lurah with a raised hand. "Prove your loyalty! Why have you approached us alone?"
Stepping forward boldly, Srintil unfastened her belt, revealing a small garuda tattoo nestled just below her belly button—the unmistakable mark of a palace guard. "This is my proof. I deserted Purwawisesa after he brutally murdered his own brother in the Paregreg incident. Their army has descended into chaos, pillaging villages for sustenance. They are well aware of your village's strength, and it is their intention to attack at dawn tomorrow with a force of 150 men, led by the sadistic, merciless, and bloodthirsty Ki Demang."
Sengkala narrowed his eyes, gauging her sincerity. "Why are you imparting this information to me? If you truly are a fugitive, why not flee south to save your own skin?"
Srintil's gaze met his unwaveringly. "Because I have heard of your reputation as a master who remains impartial in conflict. I know that your village has welcomed refugees of all sorts. Moreover, it is rumored that Purwawisesa is actively seeking your demise. There is a belief that you possess the secret to the heirloom keris, which, it is said, has the power to shift the tides of this war."
Lurah shook his head in mounting anxiety. "What secret could they possibly be discussing? Once more, something feels amiss."
Taking a contemplative breath, Sengkala recollected the secret notes concealed within his scrolls. "That belongs to a bygone era. Srintil, if you desire to stand with us, you must first pledge your allegiance. Here, the fate reserved for traitors is simple: death."
With determined resolve and conviction, Srintil bowed her head. "I swear in the name of Dewi Sri," she declared, kneeling to express her loyalty.
After a long, tense night, the trio returned to the village in contemplative silence. As they gathered at the village hall, Sengkala's voice rang out assertively, "This coming dawn, we must face the onslaught from Purwawisesa's troops. They will arrive with approximately 150 men. Our total strength is merely 60 villagers. The strategy will involve enticing them into the narrow valley to the east, setting ablaze the coconut oil traps we've prepared, and unleashing a barrage of arrows upon them from atop the cliffs. Lurah will command the left flank, Suradipa will oversee the right, while I will hold the center."
Suradipa's concern bubbled to the surface, urging him to challenge the plan. "Brother, their numbers far exceed ours by three to one! This strategy amounts to a death sentence!"
"This is not a death sentence," Sengkala countered with measured calm. "They are likely hungry and weary. We can utilize the terrain to our advantage. Srintil, lead us in mapping their approach."
Srintil nodded, her resolve unwavering. "There exists a hidden path to the east that we can use effectively. I am willing to guide ten of our bravest villagers along that route to intercept their retreat."
Dewi Laras drew Sengkala slightly aside, apprehension etched across her features. "Son, should this plan falter… our entire family could meet with disaster."
Sengkala enveloped his mother in a comforting embrace and spoke with quiet determination, "Mom, if we decide to turn and flee at this juncture, the bandits and enemies will relentlessly pursue us southward without relent. We must stand firm in defense of our home. This is our village, our sanctuary."
***
As dawn broke with the sun's first light, the rhythmic sound of horses' hooves and the fierce war cries reverberated throughout the village, heralding the arrival of the Purwawisesa army emerging from the east. Approximately 150 soldiers appeared on the horizon; though their appearance was ragged, their spirits burned bright with unyielding ferocity, brandishing torches that flared with intensity and wielding spears with deadly precision. At the forefront stood Ki Demang, bellowing orders with fervor, "Attack! Seize all provisions and capture the master, the one they label a traitor!"
The village remained eerily quiet and still, an unsettling silence blanketing the area as they managed to draw the enemy into the carefully arranged narrow valley—a trap laid expertly in anticipation. Suddenly, flames erupted! The coconut oil trap ignited, engulfing their frontline in a fiery inferno. Arrows rained down upon them from all angles, launching offensively from the cliffs alike a torrential downpour; in an instant, 20 soldiers crumpled to the ground.
"Retreat! Retreat!" Ki Demang roared in a panicked frenzy.
Yet, it was far too late for them. With exuberance coursing through him, Sengkala launched himself off the cliff, his 'Giris Pawaka' whirling gracefully in the air above him. "For the safety of the village!" he cried out, fueling his comrades with spirit. He skillfully struck down two soldiers blocking his path before Lurah and Suradipa flanked the enemy on either side, delivering fierce blows of their own. Meanwhile, Srintil cut through the fray from behind; ten villagers surged forth with brave fervor, cutting off any hope for the enemy's escape.
The battle was brutal; blood splattered every corner of the valley, and the cries of the wounded and dying filled the air, mingling with the fog that hung heavily over the scene. Ki Demang and Sengkala engaged in a charged clash of wills, each stroke of their weapons reverberating with raw emotion. "You rejected my demand for arms before! Now is the moment for your demise!" Ki Demang sneered.
*Clang!* Metal clashed violently as the sword met the dagger. Sengkala expertly sidestepped a fierce slash and aimed directly at Ki Demang's leg. "I refused you because you harbored intentions of killing your own kin! Leave this place now, or you will perish right here!"
Ki Demang finally tumbled to the ground, leaving the remainder of his soldiers to flee in abject terror, defeated in an utterly humiliating retreat. Victory belonged to the village—50 of their enemies lay dead, while ten of their own villagers were left severely injured, having paid dearly for the fierce struggle.
As the light of day began to emerge, Sengkala found himself among the fallen, breathing heavily, the weight of worry pressing down on his mind. "We survived this time," he affirmed resolutely. "Let us celebrate this hard-earned victory, but prepare immediately for the next wave of threats."
Srintil drew closer, her steps slow yet deliberate. "You are indeed a commendable leader, Mpu. Nevertheless, do bear in mind that Purwawisesa will not relent in their pursuit."
With a gaze fixed resolutely to the north, Sengkala's eyes held a steadfast conviction, the fires still dancing and licking the air around them. "Then we too must not cease our fight." In this moment of unyielding tension, despite the victory they had seized for the time being, the looming specter of Purwawisesa's threat hung closer than ever, and the undisclosed secrets of Sengkala's past began to unfurl, akin to leafing through the pages of an unfinished saga yet to be written.