The hanging brass gong bellowed like the thunderous voice of Mount Wardhana. The gigantic instrument sat on a pedestal in Sengkolo’s square. No Danker could miss the calling. Every fifth day of the week, when the sun was directly overhead, the male citizens of Sengkolo would gather at the summit of Hidayah Hill. Temple Bonsar stood there overlooking the city. It was the greatest temple dedicated to all the three Gods: Vhisa, Vahsani, and Visha. Vhisa was wise beyond measure, Vahsani was The Great Protector, and Visha’s unconditional love was unmatched. The Dankers prayed to them, the Almighty Three, for protection against the forces native to Mananggal. The priests, the Pandhitas, most of them were disciples of Great House Langgar, led the prayers. The sky was ashen with volcanic dust drizzling on Temple Bonsar premises. It was the season when Mount Wardhana’s ashes flew to the southwest.
General Sengkolo Sengkal Sing Olo Olo had noticed how Temple Bonsar became more crowded over the past couple months. He thought it was just his feeling. But peers in Great House Langgar, who managed and oversaw temple activities, confirmed his observation. He sat with legs crossed at Temple Bonsar’s porch along with thousands of other Dankers. He wasn’t paying attention to the ongoing sermon. All his focus was allocated to beseech the Almighty Three.
Though they renamed the second greatest city in Mananggal after him, Sengkolo saw himself no better than everyone else. He thought he was just fortunate. He had seen countless sleepless nights to get to where he was. His labor was acknowledged by the Almighty Three, and his fame and power were merely a reward for it. He might not have known Them in person. But he knew that They were the one that allowed it. The notion made his devotion comparable to the High Pandhitas.
The howl of Mount Wardhana shook Temple Bonsar. Many Dankers looked over their shoulder, the general included. The massive volcano hid under the horizon. But its presence stretched across the island-continent. One could always see the subtle conic-pattern of the clouds in the distance. It was like a big arrow that pointed toward the summit of Mount Wardhana from above. The sermon wasn’t interrupted one bit by the volcanic tantrum. Rather, the Pandhita used the sudden rumbling from Mount Wardhana to make his point.
When the prayer session was over, General Sengkolo found himself as one of the last to leave. His heart was shaking, his eyes were shut, and his hands were raised. He sought guidance from the Almighty Three. He locked his hands together and let his forehead touch his thumb.
“General.” A man called him.
Sengkolo looked up, a Danker clad in a ceremonial robe stood before him. The robe was brown overall with golden sewings resembling a beautifully assembled Bodja petals. On his head was a brown blangkon with pearly trinkets attached. Sengkolo stood up. The Dankers shook hands.
“Mbah Riffin.”
“Oh come on,” Riffin chuckled. “Riffin is enough.”
“You shouldn’t have addressed me with my rank then.” Sengkolo replied.
Mbah Riffin was the lead for the prayer session. He was about sixty years old and wore a pair of glasses. Sengkolo often came across Riffin whenever he prayed at Temple Bonsar. The general was easily bought by the Pandhita’s generosity in giving a smile. The two walked side by side on the porch’s ceramic floor. Riffin seemed aware that Sengkolo had to return to his desk as soon as possible, which was why he started walking first.
“How are things in the house?” Sengkolo asked.
“Which one?” Riffin asked in return.
“Both.” Sengkolo said. He was referring to his actual house, and Great House Langgar.
“Which one would you like to hear first?”
“Whichever.”
“My son is having trouble picking a profession. He doesn’t fancy Pandhita like I do. He seems to be into magic though. I reckon the problem was picking between mage, wizard, or sorcerer.”
Sengkolo failed to see the difference between those three terms. They were all spellcasters able to alter nature to their liking with their Tjakra.
“Have you ever told your son to just roll a dice and see?”
“No, no, no,” Riffin shook his head. “Juno didn’t work like that. Everything has to be right. He has to pick the one that weighed more to him in terms of benefits. I like the idea, but it’s getting concerning since he has been at this for years without any fruit.”
“I can use that meticulousness in The Legion.” Sengkolo commented.
The two Dankers walked past a giant gate of the temple. The casing protruded inside and outside. The dark gray hue gave a flavor native to the wastes of Mananggal. The refined basalt was encased in brass. On top of the triangular arch were three symbols representing the Almighty Three. The walls were cut in a diamond-like pattern that allowed breeze to cool Temple Bonsar inner premises.
“I believe Juno is an explorer at heart.” Riffin said. “He wishes to make a breakthrough in the colleges of magic. Perhaps an expedition could do that? If yes, I might recommend him to join The Legion as well.”
The Legion had a branch named ‘Search and Discover Corps’, whose purpose was to uncover the secrets of Mananggal. Their worth was as immeasurable as the dangers they had to face during their expeditions. Sengkolo was reluctant to put his friend’s son on life-threatening responsibilities. But he needed all the help that he could get.
“We’ll see.” Sengkolo said, trying to act neutral about it. “How is the other house then?”
“Not much really.” Riffin rubbed his chin. “Except, maybe there is this rumors on how they are planning to ramp up temple activities.”
Sengkolo’s eyes widened. “What happened?”
They reached the stairway leading down the Hidayah Hill when Sengkolo uttered that question. Riffin turned his sight toward where Mount Wardhana supposedly was. Sengkolo followed his gaze.
“I think you know why.” Riffin said. “Mount Wardhana has been acting lately. We’re facing another cataclysm with a war still ongoing. Those were enough reasons for everyone to run back to the Almighty Three–Glory and Exalted are They.”
“No, it was them.” Sengkolo said. “Great House Thong was up to something.”
“I don’t know if it’s really them. I have consulted the Almighty Three–Glory and Exalted are They–but they haven’t answered.”
Sengkolo frowned. “Not to discredit our Lords and Saviors, but they lived at the heart of that volcano. It had to be them.”
“If that’s what you believe,” Riffin turned a welcoming smile toward Sengkolo. “Godspeed then, friend.”
Sengkolo made his way down as soon as Riffin left him. A legion of smooth elliptic pebbles protruded along the stairway. It was mandatory for the Dankers to traverse this stairway barefooted. Other than maintaining sanctity, they also provided free reflexology. These kinds of stairways were found in all temples across Mananggal. Imperial scholars believed that they gave the Dankers their unusual longevity. For Sengkolo in particular, they were a great stress relief.
Sengkolo’s strides were quick and wide. Everyone else’s pace paled in comparison. No one dared to get in his way. They simply understood what he was up to and decided not to hinder. During the working hours, interaction between him and the locals were limited to waving hands and exchanging smiles. However, the general was in a hurry this afternoon. He galloped his two legged-lizard mount toward the city hall and only kept his attention on the road.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Nyambek was a lizard species native to Mananggal. They were as tall as an average Danker. Their body resembled an oversized tadpole. Their hides were thick and heat-resistant. They moved on two-legs. Their two hands each had three fingers as thin as the trunks of infant trees. They were mainly used as cattle, but they could function as a ride and a cargo-holder as well. Their diets were fruits and all sorts of seeds.
The paving of the city hall’s plaza was a mosaic of polished limestones. They were flanked by bushes deliberately shaped like blocks. Flowers of all kinds decorated them. There was a large weeping fig in the middle, the pavement enclosed it. The whole place could hold thousands of Dankers. The plaza was meant for recreational means dedicated to the officials who worked at the city hall. But on normal occasions, it was often crowded by non-officials. It was common for Dankers of Sengkolo, the city, to hold events at the plaza outside of working hours.
The stone cladding of the city hall’s interior was light gray. They were refined out of the frozen lava mined straight from Mananggal wastes. The lava came from the belly of Mount Wardhana. Being inside the city hall was an experience akin to exploring the caverns of the volcano. Chiseled and cylindrical pillars held the ceiling. The main hall was as tall as eight times Sengkolo’s height. Dark gray arches connect the pillars’ top. They were holed in a diamond-like pattern similar to those found in Temple Bonsar’s walls. During dusk and dawn, when the skies were clear and no lighting were lit, crepuscular rays would shine through those holes in a way as if the Almighty Three themselves blessed the place.
Sengkolo returned to his office at the right alley furthest from the main entrance. The building was two stories high. He let the city’s mayor occupy the high, more luxurious office, on the second floor. The city may be named after him, but he wasn’t the official who ran the city. He just had a soft and fluffy carpet covering his entire office floor to indicate that it was his office. The carpet was an excellent mix between dark maroon and beige patterns. Its intricate golden embroidery could only be sown by hands with decades of experience. It was an expensive decoration costing about his annual salary. Other Danker officials insisted on putting the carpet there as an acknowledgement of the essential role he played in the sultanate.
There was a circular teak table in his office. An ornate silver stand held a hand-sized purple crystal on its crown. He reached for a key from his pouch and opened a drawer. Two more of those purple crystals sat there, albeit smaller. He inserted them into the slots on the silver stand. It could hold as much as five of the smaller crystals, but Sengkolo only needed two at the moment. He then initiated a Resonance to summon his two comrades on the other side of the world. The central crystal glowed brighter. He had notified his comrades before the prayer with a similar method. He had told them of its urgency; he was certain that they would respond to the summon in a moment.
While waiting for the Resonance to be established, he scrambled his desk to search for his notes. He also grabbed a map of Mananggal and opened it on his desk. The two smaller crystals glowed one by one, indicating the presence of the contacted party on the other side. He tuned the silver stand so that the central crystal projected their figures into the office.
Map of Mananggal, the Land of Monsters [https://i.imgur.com/5yRwfrO.jpg]
“How have things been brewing?” asked one.
General Santoso Ing Ngarso Lan Tulodo was clad from head to toe with his armor, the same one that Sengkolo was wearing. The chestplate had a charcoal hue. The pauldrons were sharp on the edges. There were turbulent carvings of leaves and vines on them. Their protruding golden attachments were shaped into curved triangular patterns that made his armor seem even sharper. Underneath that armor was a loose overtunic of plum hue that stretched to his ankle. It covered a layer of mail shirt that was strong enough to shrug off arrows. His helmet was pointy at the top; a crimson plume stuck out from it. Santoso was currently not on a frontline. He was just proud of being in that armor.
Sengkolo met him in the eye. The stack of five hyperbolic golden ornaments on Santoso’s helmet were as conspicuous as the two diagonal scars across his face. The Danker always had a bitter expression. Both of his swords were sheathed on the left side of his waist. Given the way he held it, he could draw and shed a drop of blood in a second.
“This better be worth the interruption to my study.” stated the other.
Sengkolo turned to his right, to the other projected figure. The Danker had a golden mask on his face. It had an intricate batik pattern carved on it. But it wasn’t actually a mask, as the story flew. The Danker turned himself into gold. Sengkolo heard no further than that. He wore an exquisite purple robe with golden stripes along the arms. Gems of all kinds glittered around the mouth of his gloves, which covered his forearms. A fuming golden pipe was tucked on where his mouth was. He had a single column of hair that curved slightly to the front. They were as still as his facial expression. His name was Sulistyo Alon Nanging Setyo, Grandmagister of Great House Dalem.
“By the Almighty Three, wouldn’t you think that I won’t play around with all the responsibilities on my shoulder?” Sengkolo said to the golden-headed Danker.
Santoso, who was also Grandmaster of Great House Pringgitan, crossed his arms. “You’re not a Pringgitan, I can’t vouch for you on that.” Santoso scrutinized him.
“Well I don’t need your vouch.” Sengkolo replied, knowing that his actions and decisions spoke for themselves.
“You know, I’ve been pretty bogged down with securing imperial support in our cause against Great House Thong.” Sulistyo said. His voice echoed as if he was talking through a metallic filter. “With our lack of progress, The Emperor didn’t look upon my requests favorably despite my contribution to their arcane knowledge.”
“Alright, listen…” Sengkolo calmly said. “Listen…my son brought me news. It was a report from his Search and Discover Corps unit.”
Santoso and Sulistyo traded curious looks.
Sengkolo picked up his note. “The expedition squad he sent a month ago have reached the Mount Wardhana region undetected.”
Santoso took a deep breath. He was trying to keep a straight face but Sengkolo could tell that the Pringgitan Grandmaster was flabbergasted too. Firdha Ridge was a natural barrier separating the fertile lands of Mananggal and the mass wastelands–The Hong Steppes. Ever since the Legions’ retreat to the ridge, the followers of Great House Thong–the Wankers–were free to consolidate grounds in those regions. They blocked access to both military and civilians. The Dankers could no longer travel through the Hong Steppes without alerting them. The only path they left unguarded was a pilgrim path. But they knew that the Dankers wouldn’t use it against them. The expedition squad somehow managed to slip through without using that path.
“Are you sure that the report isn’t forged by the Wankers?” Sulistyo pointed at the note.
“My son had confirmed it to be true many times before sending it to me. It says that the squad is resting for now. They’re preparing to scout the place for points of entry so that they can venture further down without getting through the Wankers.”
“Remind me why you sent this squad on a life-threatening quest.” Santoso said.
Sengkolo explained. Mount Wardhana’s volcanic activity had grown unusually violent over the past ten years. Everyone thought that the Almighty Three had gone mad, which led to the surge of temple attendants. But Sengkolo knew better: Great House Thong was responsible. Their headquarters resided within Mount Wardhana. The apparent calamity was merely their scheme to shake the will of the Dankers.
The day marked the sixty-third year of war between the Makmu Sultanate and the traitorous Great House Thong. The enemy had been idling for the past ten years. This reinforced Sengkolo’s conviction that they were brewing something underneath the volcano. Sengkolo wanted to find out. He couldn’t let the enemy have even a sliver of an advantage.
“I failed to see the urgency.” Santoso responded to Sengkolo’s explanation.
“We have to be prepared to take action. As soon as the next report comes, I want every one of us to react as quickly as possible. Our people are at stake.”
“Tell that to Mangkuprawan V.” Santoso chuckled.
Sengkolo sighed and wiped his forehead. “I wouldn’t hold this meeting if he was willing to listen one bit to me.”
“I expect you to have some hindsight of a plan in mind for whatever would come out of the expedition team you sent.” Sulistyo added.
Sengkolo retreated to his desk and glanced at the map briefly. He then gave a disappointed look toward Santoso and Sulistyo. “I don’t.”
Santoso unsheathed his sword in a split second. His figure walked closer toward Sengkolo. “And you dare to label this meeting as urgent?”
Sengkolo remained firm when Santoso laid down his disillusionment. The situation across the front was difficult. The Makmu Sultanate was unable to dislodge the Wankers of their holdings in Hong Steppe, let alone defeat them decisively. The only thing standing between the sultanate and their doom was the network of fortresses along Firdha Ridge. Officers aligned to Great House Pringgitan were often found there, and they kept the Legion’s fighting spirit up.
“Calm down, Santoso.” Sulistyo said to the wrathful Danker. “There is no need to get violent.”
Mangkuprawan V didn’t run the sultanate, his aides did. But they were more sympathetic to the Wei Han Empire than his own people. The Danker Legions were stuck on the defense. The resources meant to preserve them were given to the empire as a sign of ‘friendship’ and to guarantee their protection if things went haywire. In truth, Mangkuprawan V only wanted protection for himself. As the Commander-in-Chief of the Legion, Sengkolo often received decrees from the sultan to reform the Legion. But the ‘reform’ that he always proposed would only make the Legion weaker. He had to do it, regardless. If not, someone would take his place–someone who would most likely make things even worse.
Sengkolo was struggling to preserve the legacy of Mangkuprawan I. Every time he dealt with a problem, two more took its place. He asked the Almighty Three for guidance. He sought the answers in The Kawi. Neither quenched his worries.
The Wankers had grown even more powerful than before. The bombardment on fortresses along the Firdha Ridge had increased for the past year. Defectors swelled their ranks. The war fatigue drove the Great Houses away from the sultanate’s cause. Sengkolo was scared for the fate of his realm. It would all be over if the state’s ruling entities fell to disunity. His charade must go on. He still had to convince everyone that victory was still possible.
Great House Pringgitan had already shunned the sultanate for being weak. If not due to Santoso, they would do their own thing–asserting independence, and conduct their own war against Great House Thong. On the other hand, Sulistyo exported magical expertise abroad to gain support for the war. The Dalem Arcane Institute, the greatest magical and technical college in Mananggal–second in the world–had expanded their foreign quota as an accommodation. And it was Sengkolo that ordered them to do those. The deeds had stirred some displeasure among members of the respective Great Houses. Hence, both Santoso and Sulistyo had the rights to hold Sengkolo accountable. If Sengkolo no longer believed in victory, then what reason did the two have to align their Great Houses toward him?
Sengkolo could only do so much. He hadn’t come up with a plan because he was clueless. The sheer number of his obligations gave him no break to think. Despite his efforts to keep the sultanate together, things were still steadily crumbling. He needed help. They needed help.
“Sengkolo!” Santoso cried his name.
The general snapped back to his office. Santoso was glaring at him. Sengkolo dared to glance back.
“I don’t believe you don’t have a plan.” Santoso said. “You must be playing around with me.”
Sengkolo cleared his throat. “I…kinda was.” He chuckled. It was a lie. “I will tell you what could be my plans after the expedition squad brings us something new.”
Santoso smiled.
Sulistyo nodded confidently.