Okodo was a small village pressed between the forest and the wide green of the paddy fields. Its houses were never the grand longhouses of powerful tribes, but simple timber dwellings set close together.Its so close that a cough in one home could be heard in the next. Life there moved slowly. You could say their main purpose was just to find food and sleep.
Unlike the larger longhouses, where pride came from raising warriors or respected chiefs, Okodo valued something else. For them, farming came first, fighting second. The men knew how to use their hands better for planting rice than for wielding blades. Because of that, their sword skills were never as sharp as those in other villages. And unlike the warrior tribes, no heads were ever hung in Okodo's homes as trophies.
Each dawn, the villagers lifted their eyes to Gunung Kinabalu, a magnificent view of a mountain that always stood tall.What a clever way for the gods to show their grandeur. The mountain was never just stone to them. Some whispered it was the throne of gods, hidden in the clouds. Others believed it was the stairway for the dead, where spirits climbed with the morning mist. A few swore of a dragon from across the seas, resting there.
The tales did not match, yet no quarrels came of them.Belief, to them, was like food. Everyone needed it, but no two plates ever tasted the same.For all the talk of gods, death, and dragons, the people bent more often to the matters of rice, fish, and firewood. In the end, it was not truth that kept the village alive, but the patience to fulfill the hunger in their stomach.There is no used in telling which story of gods is better.
That morning had arrived as peacefully as any other morning, with the scent of damp earth rising from the paddies and mist curling soft against the forest line. The mountain loomed clear in the distance, as if the gods themselves had polished the sky for it.
Unfortunately, destiny had its own crooked sense of humor. Because somewhere between the sacred and the mundane, a cat had once again chosen a villager's roof as its personal latrine. The stench rolled down with the morning breeze.A mix of sharp, sour, and eye-watering, the kind of smell that clung to your tongue even if you tried to breathe through your mouth.
He could've just scooped it out with a dry leaf, but the cat's waste wasn't solid. It was thick, runny, almost tar-black, and the stench hit like rotten fish left in the sun. There was no saving it.He had to change that one stack of the rumbia roof with a new one.
Kudingking was reminded of this fact before the first sunlight touched their walls, as his mother's voice split the morning like thunder.
"King! Just change the roof again—I'll hold the ladder!" she shouted, waving her arms furiously. Then came the curses.So creative ,that even the angel would wept upon hearing it.
Kudingking grumbled, rubbing his empty stomach. He had no choice but to climb, patch, and endure the stench—all before he could even swing a sword. And sword practice mattered. More than anything.
.....
Later, in the clearing, Sakok's wooden blade nearly kissed his ribs.
"Damn," Sakok laughed between breaths, "is your house cursed by some cat or something? Why does this keep happening—hahahaha!"
"Shut up!" King snapped, throwing his weight into a counter-swing.
Wood cracked, arms strained, but Sakok was faster. He slipped aside, elbowed King's chest, then cracked his arm with a clean strike before finishing with a kick to the stomach.
The sound made their friends wince. One even muttered, "Ouch," under his breath.
King groaned, staggered up, eyes flashing. His wooden sword lay abandoned in the dirt.
"What the hell was that?! That's unfair!"
"There's no fair in battle," Sakok replied, calm.
Something tightened in King's chest.It is not just pain but also his pride. Instead of sulking, he snatched up a handful of soil and flung it at Sakok's face.
"Oi—!" Sakok staggered, rubbing at his eyes as the soil scratched against his lashes. The boys on the sidelines howled, some clutching their stomachs in laughter.
King wasted no time. He threw himself forward, shoulder slamming into Sakok's chest and sending them both crashing into the dirt. For a heartbeat, victory tasted sweet—raw, petty, perfect.
But Sakok wasn't one to stay down. With a growl that was half-annoyed, half-amused, he twisted his body, hooking his leg behind King's knee. In one swift motion, he rolled them over and pinned King flat beneath him.
"You little bastard," Sakok hissed, blinking the grit from his eyes. "Throwing dirt now?"
"It worked, didn't it?" King grinned through the dust, refusing to yield. His hand shot out, grabbing for his fallen wooden sword.
Sakok saw it coming. He slammed his palm down on King's wrist, pinning it to the ground. "You think your enemies will just sit still while you cheat? Learn to finish the fight properly."
"Better than just getting kicked in the stomach every time!" King snapped, trying to buck him off.
Their struggle turned into a chaotic sparring or fighting match?Knees digging and curses spilling out into from their mouth. The boys watching shouted encouragement like it was the best entertainmenta.Like it's even better for them to watch this than watching people dancing.
Finally, Sakok managed to twist King's arm behind his back, pressing just enough to sting. "Yield, King. Before I make you eat the rest of the dirt yourself."
Panting, face smeared with mud, King bared his teeth in a grin. "Never."
King then using all of his strength and willpower to turn his body around and bring Sakok to the ground.
THUD!
"Yes, fight him! Fight him!" one boy shouted, fists pumping in the air.
"Go! Go! Slam him, King!" another yelled, nearly falling over with excitement.
Their cheers only fueled the madness. King straddled Sakok, trying to pin him down, but Sakok twisted like an eel, flipping them until King's back hit the dirt. A chorus of "OHHH!" rose from the sidelines.
King grunted, shoved with all his strength, and rolled them again. Dust billowed around them, wooden swords forgotten as they wrestled like wild dogs, kicking up dirt and laughter.
"Don't let him breathe, King!" someone cried.
"Step on his stomach, Sakok!" another countered, doubled over with laughter.
The two fighters barely heard them as each of them caught up in their own stubborn pride. Sakok managed to trap King's arm, pressing it down with a grunt, but King kneed him in the side and wriggled free, both of them panting, faces smeared with soil.
"You fight dirty," Sakok growled, half-grinning through his breathlessness.
"You the one who teach me," King shot back, grinning wider.
The crowd of boys roared like they were watching heroes clash, every "OHH!" and "YESSS!" only making the fight spiral wilder.
Dust swirled, boys cheered, and King had Sakok in a headlock when a sharp voice cut through the chaos:
"Sakok!"
Every head snapped toward the paddy path. There stood Sakok's wife, hands on her hips, two toddlers clinging to her skirt. Her glare could have flattened a buffalo.
The boys around the clearing went dead silent, shuffling back like guilty chickens.
Sakok froze mid-wrestle, King's arm still hooked around his neck. "Ah…wife," he said quickly, forcing a grin. "We're just…training."
"Training?" she barked, marching forward. "You call rolling in a dirt .... training? Look at you—your face is full of mud! What kind of example are you giving our boys?"
One of the toddlers pointed at his father and giggled. "Tama dirty!"
The other chimed in, "Tama fight!" before collapsing into laughter.
King let go, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, trying not to laugh. "See? Even they think it's funny."
Sakok shot him a glare, whisper-hissing, "Shut up!" before turning back to his wife.
"Don't worry, I'll wash up. Really. Just… give me a moment."
But she wasn't done. She crossed her arms. "No, Dear. You promised you'd help cut firewood this morning. While you're here pretending to be a hero, who's supposed to keep the house running?"
The boys on the sidelines, sensing danger, began to scatter, muttering excuses about chores.
King snorted, picking up his sword. "Guess battle's over. You lost—not to me, but to your wife."
The toddlers laughed harder.
Sakok groaned, dragging a hand down his muddy face. "Today is your lucky day, King."
"Wife," Sakok started, still half-breathless, mud streaking his jaw. He sat up straighter, putting on his best serious face. "I need to help him… with… fighting? It's important. I'll do the firewood after, okay?"
His wife raised a brow so sharp it could slice bamboo. "Fighting? At this hour? You think rice will cook itself while you play warrior?"
The toddlers tugged on her skirt, giggling. "Tama fighting! Tama hero!"
King, still wiping dirt off his face, couldn't resist. "See? Even your boys respect your training."
Sakok shot him a glare that promised revenge, then turned back to his wife with a sheepish smile. "It's true. If King doesn't learn now, what kind of man will he be? I'm helping the village. Helping him. That's… good, right?"
His wife folded her arms, tapping her foot. "Good? Or just another excuse to roll around in mud like a boy who never grew up?"
"Wife, I promise—" Sakok tried again, hands raised. "One more round, then I'll chop enough wood for three houses. Deal?"
She sighed, muttered something about "useless men," and finally turned back toward the paddies, dragging the toddlers with her. "Half an hour, Sakok. Not a breath more. Or I'll bring the axe myself."
As soon as she was gone, King burst out laughing, clutching his stomach.
"Half an hour! You fight harder with her than with me."
Sakok groaned, burying his face in his hands. "One day, King… one day I'll actually kill you."
"Hahahahaha! I'm glad I'm not married!" King wheezed, slapping his knee.
"Oh, please," Sakok snorted, twirling his wooden sword like it was nothing. "You're just afraid to be a man. Must be nice, huh? Wake up, eat what your mum puts in front of you, nap like a cat."
"Hey! I don't just lay around, okay!" King protested, puffing his chest. "I… I do things. Well… things they tell me to do."
Sakok laugh loudly.
Sakok smirked, leaning closer. "See? You can't even name one decision you made yourself. You're just afraid of making them."
King's ears went hot. "Afraid?! Please. I'll show you afraid—" He lunged for Sakok, trying to tackle him again, while the boys cheered and circled like it was the grandest show in Okodo.
...….
If the rain could talked it would have mock at him.
The rain hit the rumbia roof in a steady, heavy beat. The leaves were stacked well, so no water got through, but the sound filled the whole house.The family just stay on the living room with a single candle in the middle of the living room.
King winced every time his mother pressed ointment onto his bruises. Purple marks were spreading across his face and arms, proof of his bad choices.
"Such a good son." Tarob muttered, arms folded. "Didn't you say you wanted to learn? Then why do you look like this?" Beside him, Gitom chuckled, clearly enjoying the show.
"How did it even turn into a fight? Do you hate him or something?" Tarob pressed.
King scratched his head and laughed awkwardly. He knew he was at fault. His father had allowed him to start learning gayang and instead he ended up brawling with Sakok. He could already imagine Dima, Sakok's wife, scolding him nonstop at their house.
"Well, it wasn't really a fight, Tama... more like joking arou—Arghhh!" His voice cracked as Dawana pressed harder on a swollen spot.
"Really? Then keep joking around," she said flatly, not buying it.
"Okay, okay! I won't do it again, Ina!" King groaned, finally giving in.
The winds from outside hollowing like a screaming pontianak.
Usually, the family retired early, with only the occasional glow of Tarob's sigup light breaking the night's darkness. But tonight, the relentless sound of the rain disturbed their peace.
"If it keeps raining like this," Dawana said, her eyes fixed on her husband, full of worry, "the rice won't make it."
Tarob took a sip of his rice wine—not much, just enough to warm his body. "Are you worried about food? You know I can just buy what we need from the market."
"With what? Money? If we can save the crop, we don't have to spend what little we have. We need to be frugal, dear.Even the yams that we planted aren't growing."
Tarob offered her his cup, a silent gesture to calm her. Both King and Gitom listened quietly to their parents' talk. King realized this must be what other people his age worried about—especially those, like Sakok, who had married early. Putting food on the table. Providing.
He had always just followed what his parents said, never making his own decisions. It wasn't that he didn't want to get married.He just wasn't sure of it. In his village,only him is still a bachelor.But then again...why should he get married? He don't feel like a man yet.He never even go to any battle.He don't even know how to properly make a house.Shoudnt he at least have more time to explore things around?
His mind drifted to a memory from two years ago.A beautiful girl from another village had come to visit, chatting pleasantly with his mother.
King had been so taken with her that he decided to ask his father if she was available.
The reaction he got was hilariously horrifying.
"You don't even recognize your own cousin?!" his father had exclaimed.
King didn't realize he had laughed out loud at the memory until both his parents turned to look at him, baffled.
"What's wrong with you?" his father asked.