We grew increasingly bewildered as we watched him draw a long breath, as if delving into something profound. We found ourselves stranded on a peculiar stretch of shore, unlike any common dock.
“How do we summon him? And who is he? Why is he here?” I whispered to Healer Cruz.
“It seems he is the guardian of this dock. I heard him speaking in another language, could it be Sanskrit?” Healer Cruz then attempted to approach the man and spoke something. Shortly after, she returned with a weary expression.
“What happened?” I asked, puzzled.
“I couldn’t understand what he was saying, but he referred to this mountain range as Kawi,” Healer Cruz showed me the photo she had brought.
The photo depicted a rugged mountain, its peaks shrouded in mist, invoking a sense of ancient majesty. The name ‘Kawi’ resonated with a mystical echo, hinting at tales untold and secrets veiled in the folds of time.
“We need to find a way to communicate,” I mused, my gaze shifting from the photo to the enigmatic figure by the dock. “There must be a reason he’s here, a piece of this puzzle we’re yet to understand.”
Healer Cruz nodded, her eyes reflecting the flames of our dwindling campfire. “I’ll try the old ways,” she said, reaching into her satchel to pull out a handful of crushed herbs. She whispered an incantation, and the air around us shimmered with a subtle energy.
The guardian watched us, his eyes gleaming with a knowledge that seemed as old as the mountains themselves. He began to chant in a rhythmic cadence, and the ground beneath our feet vibrated with the power of his voice.
As the chant grew louder, the sea responded, its waves lapping against the shore in harmony. A mist began to rise, swirling around us, cloaking the world in a veil of secrecy. Through the haze, we saw shapes moving, forms that were not entirely human, yet not entirely otherworldly.
“He’s summoning the spirits of the sea,” Healer Cruz whispered, her voice tinged with awe. “The protectors of Kawi.”
The guardian’s chant reached a crescendo, and the mist parted to reveal a path leading into the heart of the sea. It was a bridge of light, ethereal and fragile, yet it beckoned us forward with an irresistible call.
“We must go,” I said, my voice steady despite the pounding of my heart. “This is the path we were meant to take.”
With a shared look of determination, we stepped onto the bridge, the guardian’s chant still echoing in our ears. The spirits of the sea swirled around us, guiding us across the waters towards the shadowy outline of the island.
As we reached the halfway point, the guardian ceased his chant, and the bridge began to fade. Panic rose within me, but Healer Cruz remained calm, his hand gripping mine with a reassuring strength.
“We’re almost there,” she said, her eyes fixed on the island. “Just a few more steps.”
With a final burst of will, we lunged forward, reaching the island’s shore just as the bridge disappeared entirely. We turned back to see the guardian, his figure now a distant silhouette against the dawn sky.
But as we looked towards the heart of the island, a new mystery unfolded. There, in the center of a clearing, stood an ancient altar, and upon it, a relic that pulsed with an otherworldly glow.
The relic’s light grew brighter, casting long shadows across the ground. And from those shadows emerged a figure, its presence commanding and its identity unknown.
As it stepped into the light, we braced ourselves for what was to come. The figure raised its hand, and at that moment, we knew that our journey had only just begun.
“You have some nerve setting foot on this island,” the elderly woman’s voice growled with a tinge of anger.
“Please forgive us, but we’re in dire need of something here,” I murmured. “A Medley Of Seven Clumps.”
“You always come here just to exploit the resources of my island. I have no fondness for humans like you,” the old woman snarled.
Timothee clenched his jaw and bristled. “Just give us the ingredients, and we will leave your island.”
Without warning, Timothee began to stutter as if something was choking him. “Re-release me!”
I panicked, unable to counter whatever was happening to him. I covered my own mouth, confused by the sudden turn of events. At the same time, the old woman muttered again.
“Rude humans like you are truly disgusting. If you want something, mind your manners on someone else’s land!” she grumbled.
“Forgive us, ma’am. But could you possibly help us obtain those potion ingredients? We desperately need them, and I want to—”
“There is a condition you must fulfill to obtain the ingredients,” the old woman sighed.
“What is it, ma’am?” Healer Cruz inquired.
“You must fast for 40 days and 40 nights, and you may not consume anything except food that is white.”
The old woman’s words hung in the air like a heavy fog, and for a moment, we were silent, each of us contemplating the gravity of her condition. A forty-day fast was no small feat, and the restriction to only white food added an element of the arcane to the task.
“White food,” I echoed, my mind racing through the possibilities. “Rice, perhaps? Or white fish?”
Healer Cruz nodded thoughtfully. “It’s doable. But we must consider the spiritual aspect of this fast. It’s not just about sustenance it’s about purification, about proving our worth to the island and its guardian.”
Timothee, having recovered from his mysterious affliction, fixed his gaze on the old woman. “We accept your condition,” he declared, his voice firm. “We will respect the traditions of your island and undertake the fast.”
The old woman studied us for a long moment, her eyes narrowing as if she could peer into our very souls. Then, slowly, she nodded. “Very well. But be warned, the fast is only the beginning. The ingredients you seek are protected by the spirits of the island. You must prove your intentions are pure.”
With her cryptic warning echoing in our ears, we prepared for the fast. The days passed in a blur of hunger and meditation, each of us delving deep into our own resolve. The white food became our only comfort, a symbol of the commitment we had made.
As the fortieth day approached, a sense of anticipation built within us. We had adhered to the old woman’s conditions, and now it was time to face the spirits of the island.
On the final night, as the moon cast a pale glow over the island, we gathered at the altar where the old woman had first confronted us. The air was thick with the scent of the sea, and a gentle breeze whispered through the trees.
“We are ready,” Healer Cruz announced, her voice carrying a newfound strength.
The old woman appeared from the shadows, a faint smile playing on her lips.
“The spirits have watched you,” she said. “They have seen your dedication. Now, follow me.”