The Marks of the Engkanto

⋆༒⋆*༺༽ 𝟡 ༼༻*⋆༒⋆

The roots of the acacia tree were the dormitory area for the workers. The tattoo artists owned the rooms carved into the roots nearest to the bottom of the trunk. The assistants got the ones in the middle. And the cleaners, like Akali, stayed in the smallest ones at the ends of the roots, farthest from the stem.

It was a long walk to the tattoo parlor from her dormitory, and every day was the same routine. Akali stretched on her swing made of woven rattan, sweeping the sheets off her legs. She stepped out and touched her toes to the floor, feeling the cold wood that creaked beneath her feet.

Akali looked down at her lap and yawned. How many days had she been here? More than a month now, and she was still not near to what she had come for--her goals had even become more unreachable, like Bathala, the god of the gods.

She picked up her amenities and made her way out to the shared bathrooms to prepare for another day of cleaning--another day of wondering if she would ever get the chance to prove herself.

When she left her room, she found Makka waiting outside the door.

"Akali?" Makka said as soon as she saw her. She was already in her red sarong, waiting for her--the scarlet of her attire complemented the white of her skin. "Are you alright? You seem really down lately. Oh, no, no, no, very down." Her dark brows knitted with concern.

"I'm fine." Akali tried to smile. "I'm just tired. Were you waiting for me?"

"Yes!" Makka smiled. "I've come to walk you to breakfast. A good breakfast will do you good. Yes, it will do you good, good, very good." The small dwende nodded several times with a smile as if she was so convinced with what she'd said.

"I'd like that," Akali answered with a faint smile. "Could you get us some breakfast before it's all gone? I just need to get changed."

"Oh, yes, yes, yes. I can do that." Makka then slipped out of the dormitories and went up a root that led to the ground level, where breakfast would be served.

When Akali finished changing into her sarong, she followed up the trail. The hollow root was lit with sleeping santilmo at every curved corner. She had meant to go straight to breakfast--Makka would be waiting with bowls outside in the garden--but as she stepped into the lounge, Kayn stood in front of her.

She hadn't seen him there as if he popped out of thin air, and she nearly bumped into his chest.

"I know it was you," Kayn said without any greeting--no hello, no good morning. His face was set in disappointment, jaws clenched and eyes dark. He was fully clothed in dark trousers and tunic. Most of his tattoos were hidden except those that roped around his neck.

"It was me what?" Akali acted surprised, stepping back from him and raising her brows. But she knew exactly what he meant. She created another art the other day. The garuda had been so pleased, and she planned to claim it, but she couldn't move or speak. All she could do was watch and listen as Morga was praised for creating one of the most beautiful art in the parlor yet.

Kayn grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her to a corner behind a closed door that led to a supply room, stepping away from the lounge where early guests were entertained. "You know what," he said. His eyes were piercing.

Akali pressed her lips together, testing the words and wondering if she could say them. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth. "Alright, I did it. I created the tattoo on the garuda's back." She gasped and pressed her hands to her mouth. Her eyes went wide. It was only a whisper that Kayn might not even have heard.

But she could finally say it. She could claim the tattoo was done by herself. She opened her mouth again to shout it out, but the words froze in her throat like they did that day when she hid inside the cabinet.