Keeper Of Two Worlds

Shaman Sastro

​That night, the sky above the small village seemed darker than usual.

Ajiman walked ahead, carrying an old flashlight whose light had grown dim. Sarmila held Arven’s hand behind him, occasionally patting her son’s shoulder when he yawned wearily.

“Elder Sastro lives at the edge of the village. We’ll be there soon,” said Sarmila as she stroked Arven’s head.

Arven nodded, though he was a little sleepy. He didn’t fully understand why he had to be taken to the elder’s house in the dead of night. His mother had simply said “to be prayed for,” and Arven never refused anything related to prayer.

The house finally came into view.

An old shack with a thatched roof blackened by age. Hanging in the yard were all sorts of objects: woven bamboo, carved wooden pieces, and several garlands of dried flowers. A thin wisp of incense smoke curled from the cracks in the walls, carrying a scent of spices unfamiliar to Arven’s nose.

Ajiman knocked on the door twice. “Elder Sastro, it’s Ajiman.”

Soon, the door opened.

An elderly man with nearly bald white hair greeted them. His skin was wrinkled like tree bark, but his eyes were still sharp, too sharp for a man of his age.

“Come in,” said Elder Sastro, his voice hoarse but firm.

Arven felt the old man’s gaze immediately fix on him, like a spotlight searching for something inside his body. Arven pressed himself close to his mother’s legs.

Inside the room, incense was already burning in the corner of a simple altar. Clay plates filled with flowers and frankincense were neatly arranged. Sarmila sat on a mat, holding Arven, who was starting to get restless, on her lap.

Elder Sastro sat cross-legged in front of them. He didn’t ask a single question. He simply looked at Arven with an expression that was hard to read.

“What happened?” Elder Sastro asked briefly.

Sarmila told him everything, from the red light on Arven’s hand when he was teased, to the fire that appeared in the bathtub, to the strange occurrences over the past year: lights turning on by themselves, the stove making small explosions, well water boiling without a flame, and the curtains catching fire when Arven cried.

Elder Sastro listened with his eyes closed. When Sarmila finished, he opened his eyes and looked at Arven.

“This child, let me examine him.”

Sarmila nodded and gently nudged Arven. “Arven, sit in front of Elder Sastro."

Arven complied hesitantly. He sat on the mat, facing the old man who was now holding out his left hand.

"Give me your right hand."

Arven held out his tiny hand. Elder Sastro gripped Arven’s wrist with his wrinkled fingers. His eyes were closed.

At first, the old man’s face was calm. It was as if he were feeling the normal pulse of a child.

Then a few seconds passed. Elder Sastro’s brow furrowed. His lips began to tremble.

Suddenly ....

ZAP!

Elder Sastro’s hand snapped away from Arven’s wrist as if he’d been zapped by electricity.

The old man jolted. His chest rose and fell rapidly. His mouth opened as if to speak, but what came out was a loud, prolonged cough. It repeated over and over until his body doubled over.

“Elder!” Sarmila cried in panic, half-standing.

Elder Sastro raised his hand, signaling for them to stay calm. After his cough subsided, he looked at Arven.

His eyes widened.

“Since when has this child been like this?”

Sarmila and Ajiman exchanged glances. Their hearts were pounding.

“Since birth,” Sarmila replied, her voice trembling. “But the odd behavior started to appear more frequently after he turned two.”

Elder Sastro shook his head. It wasn’t a shake of disbelief, but rather the shake of someone grappling with something he didn’t understand.

“Is there a jinn following him?” Sarmila asked.

The old man didn’t answer. He stood up, walked to the corner of the room, and picked up a small bowl filled with coarse salt. With slow, deliberate movements, he sprinkled the salt onto the floor, forming a perfect circle.

“Have this child stand in the center.”

Ajiman guided Arven into the circle of salt. The boy stood in the center, confused but obedient.

Elder Sastro surrounded the salt with a generous amount of garlic.

Seconds passed. The salt remained still. The garlic stayed clean and fragrant.

There was no rustling of the wind. There were no signs of disturbance from supernatural beings, which usually react to salt and cause garlic to rot.

Elder Sastro furrowed his brow even deeper.

Then he took a stick of incense from the altar. He lit the tip until it glowed red, and a thin wisp of smoke curled upward.

“This smoke will show the path of the energy,” Elder Sastro muttered. “If there are any evil spirits ....”

Before he could finish his sentence–

Blarr!

The flame at the tip of the incense stick suddenly flared up as if doused with gasoline. The orange flame shot high into the air, then went out in an instant. The incense stick was now just a charred stick. No smoke. No fire. Only a tense silence.

The room fell silent.

Arven stared at the incense stick with wide, innocent eyes. He didn’t understand what had happened, but he could sense something, the tension in Elder Sastro’s room, and a strange feeling in his chest. It was as if something inside him was responding to the incense stick.

Elder Sastro slowly took two steps back. His legs were trembling.

“Elder?” Ajiman called out hoarsely. “What’s wrong?”

The old man swallowed with difficulty. His eyes were still fixed on Arven, but now there was something different in his gaze.

It wasn’t fear or awe. Perhaps it was respect.

"I’ve been a shaman for seventy-five years," said Elder Sastro, his voice hoarse as sand. "I’ve faced jinn, black magic, and even spirits from every mountain. But this ..." Elder Sastro shook his head. "This isn’t a jinn’s doing. Nor is it black magic, or an ordinary creature."

"Then what is it?" pressed Ajiman.

Elder Sastro looked at Arven once more. For a long time. So long that Arven began to feel uncomfortable.

“I don’t know.”

“Huh?” Ajiman and Sarmila said in unison.

Elder Sastro rubbed his hands, which were still trembling slightly. “Inside your son’s body, there is something. Something very old. Very powerful. And …” He paused for a moment, searching for the right words, “I don’t dare say its name.”

Sarmila turned pale. “What do you mean, Elder Sastro?”

“The aura I sense from his body doesn’t belong to this world.” Elder Sastro shook his head. “I can’t explain it any further. My knowledge isn’t sufficient. But there’s one thing I’m certain of.”

Elder Sastro looked back and forth between Ajiman and Sarmila.

“This child isn’t being possessed. This child is the source itself.”

Sarmila covered her mouth with both hands. Ajiman fell silent, his jaw clenched.

Arven looked up. “Mom, I’m sleepy.”

Sarmila couldn’t answer. She simply hugged Arven tightly, as if the child might vanish if she let go.

Elder Sastro walked to the altar, took a piece of red cloth, and tied it around Arven’s left wrist. His movements were quick and decisive, like someone performing an emergency ritual.

“This is to hold it back,” Elder Sastro said briefly. “But remember this, okay.” Elder Sastro bent down so his eyes were level with Arven’s.

“Listen carefully, son. No matter what happens, you must learn to control your emotions. Never let yourself get angry. Never let your heart grow dark.”

“Why?” Arven asked innocently.

Elder Sastro swallowed hard.

“Because when your emotions can no longer be controlled …” He looked at Sarmila and Ajiman with a deep gaze. “It won’t just be your house that goes up in flames.”

*

The walk home felt quieter than before.

Arven was asleep on his father’s back, his head tilted against Ajiman’s weary shoulder. The red cloth on his wrist fluttered slightly in the night breeze.

Sarmila walked beside them, gazing at her son with a complex expression.

“Ajiman,” Sarmila whispered.

“Hm.”

“Elder Sastro said Arven ‘doesn’t belong to this world.’”

Ajiman didn’t answer. But his pace slowed.

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. We have to hurry home before it gets too late. Poor Arven. We’ll talk more about Elder Sastro’s words when we get home.”

They continued walking in silence. In the distance, a night bird let out a long whistle, a sound that seemed like a call from a place far, far away.

Behind Ajiman, Arven tossed and turned in his sleep. His lips moved, murmuring a word he had never spoken before.

“Shadow.”

The wind blew strongly. And in a corner of the dark sky, the full moon was suddenly obscured by a cloud.