INVESTIGASI DUKUN GUNTUR

Matahari baru naik setinggi tombak ketika seorang lelaki tua dengan jubah hitam muncul di gerbang Dusun Karang. Di belakangnya, dua orang pembawa usungan berisi berbagai ramuan dalam guci-guci tanah liat. Pak Teguh yang menerima tamu itu di balai desa, mengerutkan kening. "Dukun Guntur dari Desa Cibadak?" Lelaki tua itu mengangguk, matanya menyipit memindai sekeliling. "Aku dengar desamu diserang hama. Banyak yang terluka. Sebagai sesama dukun, aku datang membantu." Nini yang dipanggil segera, berdiri di samping Pak Teguh. Matanya menatap Guntur dengan waspada. "Terima kasih, Kisanak. Tapi kami sudah tangani." Guntur tersenyum, senyum yang tak sampai ke mata. "Aku hanya ingin memastikan. Lagipula, sudah lama aku tak bertemu dukun lain. Bisa bertukar ilmu."

Sepanjang hari itu, Guntur berkeliling desa dengan alasan melihat kondisi korban. Dia mengunjungi rumah-rumah yang warganya terluka, memberikan ramuan "sumbangan" yang sebenarnya tak diminta. Tapi matanya—matanya selalu bergerak, mengamati, mencatat. Dia bertanya pada ibu-ibu, "Kalian pakai ramuan apa?" Mereka menjawab, "Nini yang buat." Dia bertanya pada petani, "Bagaimana bisa ladang kalian selamat setengah?" Mereka menjawab, "Kami kerja keras." Guntur mengangguk-angguk, tapi raut wajahnya menunjukkan ketidakpuasan. Dia tak mendapat jawaban yang dia cari.

Sore harinya, Guntur berjalan sendirian ke pinggir desa. Konon katanya mau mencari tanaman obat. Tapi langkahnya membawanya mendekati bengkel Nini. Dia berhenti beberapa langkah dari pintu, mengangkat tangan, meraba udara seperti meraba sesuatu yang tak terlihat. Matanya terpejam. Lalu dia bergumam, "Mana di sini begitu kuat. Seperti... 30 tahun lalu." Tiba-tiba suara di belakangnya membuatnya tersentak. "Mencari sesuatu, Kisanak?" Nini berdiri dengan tongkat di tangan, wajahnya datar. Guntur berbalik, tersenyum canggung. "Ah, Nini. Aku hanya... merasakan energi yang aneh. Mungkin tanahnya subur." Nini mendekat. "Tanah di sini sama seperti di tempat lain. Mungkin Kisanak terlalu lelah. Istirahatlah."

Di rumah Baran, Laras menyembunyikan Aryan di ruang dalam. "Jangan keluar dulu, Nak. Ada tamu." Aryan mengangguk, tapi matanya menerawang. "Bu, tamu itu... dia jahat." Laras tertegun. "Apa maksudmu?" Aryan menggeleng. "Aku tak tahu. Tapi dia... dia seperti bayangan hitam. Dingin." Laras memeluknya erat. "Apa pun yang terjadi, Ibu akan jagain kamu." Tapi di hatinya, ketakutan merambat. Jika Aryan sudah bisa merasakan aura orang, berarti kekuatannya semakin besar. Dan orang seperti Guntur—yang juga dukun—mungkin juga bisa merasakan Aryan.

Malam tiba. Guntur dipersilakan menginap di balai desa, dengan alasan kehormatan. Tapi Baran menempatkan dua pemuda untuk berjaga di luar. "Awasi dia. Jangan sampai ke mana-mana tanpa sepengetahuan kita." Pemuda itu mengangguk. Tapi tengah malam, saat bulan tertutup awan, Guntur bergerak. Dengan gerakan lincah yang tak terduga dari usianya, dia menyelinap keluar melalui jendela belakang, menghindari penjaga yang mengantuk. Langkahnya membawanya ke bengkel Nini—tempat yang sejak siang menarik perhatiannya. Pintu bengkel terkunci, tapi Guntur mengeluarkan sejumput bubuk dari sakunya, menaburkannya di ambang pintu, lalu bergumam pelan. Kunci berdetak, pintu terbuka.

Di dalam, Guntur memeriksa peralatan—lumpang batu, arang, sisa-sisa tanaman. Lalu matanya tertumbuk pada tumpukan cangkul di pojok. Dia mendekat, meraba salah satunya. Dan dia merasakannya—sihir. Sihir asli, bukan sekadar ramuan. Matanya membelalak. "Jadi benar," bisiknya. "Mereka punya penyihir." Tangannya gemetar—antara takut dan girang. Informasi ini sangat berharga. Tapi saat dia berbalik hendak pergi, pintu bengkel terbuka lebar. Mbok Ranti berdiri di ambang, dengan tatapan membekukan. Di tangannya, tongkat kayu dengan ukiran ular melingkar. "Kau masih ingat Perang Besar, Guntur?" suaranya berat, penuh ancaman. Guntur membeku. "Mbok... Mbok Ranti? Kau... kau masih hidup?" Mbok Ranti melangkah maju, pintu di belakangnya tertutup sendiri. "Aku bertanya. Kau masih ingat?"

Guntur mundur, punggungnya membentur dinding bambu. "Aku... aku hanya ingin membantu—" "Bohong." Mbok Ranti memotong tajam. "Kau datang untuk menyelidiki. Siapa yang mengirimmu? Apakah Serigala Malam sudah pulih?" Guntur diam, keringat dingin mengucur di pelipisnya. Mbok Ranti mendekat, tongkatnya diangkat. "Dengar, Guntur. Apa yang terjadi di desa ini, urusan kami. Bukan urusanmu. Bukan urusan siapa pun. Kalau kau berani bicara satu kata pun tentang apa yang kau lihat di sini..." Dia tak menyelesaikan kalimat, tapi ancamannya jelas. Guntur mengangguk cepat. "Aku... aku tak akan bilang siapa-siapa. Aku bersumpah." Mbok Ranti menatapnya lama, lalu menurunkan tongkat. "Pergi. Dan jangan kembali."

Guntur berlari meninggalkan bengkel, tubuhnya gemetar. Tapi saat dia mencapai balai desa, dia berhenti. Di balik ketakutannya, ada rasa penasaran yang membara. Mbok Ranti masih hidup. Berarti Nini juga—Nini yang katanya mati di Perang Besar—mungkin juga hidup. Dan mereka menjaga sesuatu. Sesuatu yang sangat berharga. Guntur duduk di dipannya, berpikir keras. Dia bersumpah tak akan bicara. Tapi sumpah di bawah tekanan, tak selalu ditepati. Terlebih jika ada yang menawarkan imbalan lebih besar. Di luar, angin malam bertiup, membawa bisik-bisik lama. Perang Besar mungkin sudah usai, tapi lukanya masih terbuka. Dan anak-anak yang selamat dari pembantaian, kini tumbuh dewasa—atau melahirkan keturunan. Guntur memejamkan mata, membuat rencana baru.

Keesokan paginya, Guntur pamit. Alasannya: urusan mendesak di desanya. Pak Teguh melepasnya dengan sopan, tanpa menunjukkan kecurigaan. Tapi setelah Guntur pergi, Baran, Nini, dan Mbok Ranti berkumpul di pondok Nini. "Dia tahu sesuatu," kata Baran. Mbok Ranti mengangguk. "Dia lihat cangkul-cangkul itu. Dia tahu kita punya penyihir." Nini menghela napas panjang. "Ini baru awal. Kalau dia bicara pada orang yang tepat, kita dalam bahaya besar." Laras, yang ikut hadir, bertanya, "Lalu apa yang harus kita lakukan?" Nini menatap masing-masing. "Kita percepat persiapan. Perkuat pertahanan. Dan... kita ajari Aryan. Mulai sekarang."

Di luar, di balik jendela, Aryan mendengar semuanya. Tangannya mengepal. Dia tak ingin jadi beban. Dia ingin membantu. Tapi dia juga takut—takut pada kekuatannya sendiri, takut pada apa yang mungkin terjadi jika dia tak bisa mengendalikannya. Di sampingnya, Buyung diam-diam mendengar juga. "Aryan," bisiknya. "Kamu... kamu penyihir?" Aryan menunduk. "Aku tak tahu. Mungkin." Buyung diam sebentar, lalu memegang tangan Aryan. "Aku tetap temanmu. Apa pun kamu." Aryan menatapnya, matanya berkaca-kaca. "Makasih, Buyung." Di luar, burung gagak terbang melintas, membawa pesan yang tak terucap. Bahwa badai sedang mendekat. Dan tak ada yang bisa menghentikannya.

SHAMAN GUNTUR'S INVESTIGATION (English Version)

The sun had just risen to spear height when an old man in a black robe appeared at the gate of Dusun Karang. Behind him, two bearers carried stretchers filled with various potions in clay jars. Pak Teguh, receiving the guest at the village hall, frowned. "Shaman Guntur from Cibadak Village?" The old man nodded, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the surroundings. "I heard your village was attacked by pests. Many were injured. As a fellow shaman, I came to help." Nini, immediately summoned, stood beside Pak Teguh. Her eyes watched Guntur warily. "Thank you, sir. But we've handled it." Guntur smiled, a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I just want to make sure. Besides, it's been a long time since I've met another shaman. We could exchange knowledge."

Throughout that day, Guntur wandered the village under the pretext of checking on the wounded. He visited houses where villagers were injured, offering "donated" potions that weren't actually requested. But his eyes—his eyes were always moving, observing, recording. He asked the women, "What potions did you use?" They answered, "Nini made them." He asked the farmers, "How did half your fields survive?" They answered, "We worked hard." Guntur nodded along, but his expression showed dissatisfaction. He wasn't getting the answers he sought.

That afternoon, Guntur walked alone to the village edge. He claimed he was looking for medicinal plants. But his steps led him near Nini's workshop. He stopped a few paces from the door, raised his hand, feeling the air like one might feel something invisible. His eyes closed. Then he murmured, "The energy here is so strong. Like... 30 years ago." Suddenly a voice behind him made him jump. "Looking for something, sir?" Nini stood with her staff in hand, her face flat. Guntur turned, smiling awkwardly. "Ah, Nini. I was just... sensing strange energy. Perhaps the soil is fertile." Nini approached. "The soil here is the same as anywhere else. Perhaps you're tired, sir. You should rest."

In Baran's house, Laras hid Aryan in the inner room. "Don't go out yet, son. There's a guest." Aryan nodded, but his eyes were distant. "Mom, that guest... he's evil." Laras froze. "What do you mean?" Aryan shook his head. "I don't know. But he's... like a black shadow. Cold." Laras hugged him tightly. "Whatever happens, Mom will protect you." But in her heart, fear crept. If Aryan could already sense people's auras, his power was growing. And someone like Guntur—also a shaman—might be able to sense Aryan too.

Night fell. Guntur was invited to stay at the village hall, supposedly as an honor. But Baran placed two young men on guard outside. "Watch him. Don't let him go anywhere without our knowledge." The young men nodded. But at midnight, when clouds covered the moon, Guntur moved. With agility unexpected for his age, he slipped out through the back window, avoiding the drowsy guards. His steps led him to Nini's workshop—the place that had drawn his attention since afternoon. The workshop door was locked, but Guntur took a pinch of powder from his pocket, sprinkled it on the threshold, and murmured softly. The lock clicked, the door opened.

Inside, Guntur examined the equipment—stone mortars, charcoal, plant residues. Then his eyes fell on a pile of hoes in the corner. He approached, touched one. And he felt it—magic. Real magic, not just potions. His eyes widened. "So it's true," he whispered. "They have witches." His hands trembled—with fear and excitement. This information was invaluable. But as he turned to leave, the workshop door swung open wide. Mbok Ranti stood in the doorway, with a freezing stare. In her hand, a wooden staff carved with a coiled serpent. "Do you still remember the Great War, Guntur?" her voice was heavy, threatening. Guntur froze. "Mbok... Mbok Ranti? You... you're still alive?" Mbok Ranti stepped forward, the door closing behind her. "I asked. Do you remember?"

Guntur retreated, his back hitting the bamboo wall. "I... I just wanted to help—" "Lies." Mbok Ranti cut sharply. "You came to investigate. Who sent you? Have the Night Wolves recovered?" Guntur was silent, cold sweat dripping from his temples. Mbok Ranti approached, raising her staff. "Listen, Guntur. What happens in this village is our business. Not yours. Not anyone's. If you dare speak one word about what you saw here..." She didn't finish the sentence, but the threat was clear. Guntur nodded quickly. "I... I won't tell anyone. I swear." Mbok Ranti stared at him for a long moment, then lowered her staff. "Go. And don't come back."

Guntur ran from the workshop, his body trembling. But as he reached the village hall, he stopped. Beneath his fear, curiosity burned. Mbok Ranti was still alive. Which meant Nini too—Nini who was reportedly dead in the Great War—might also be alive. And they were guarding something. Something very valuable. Guntur sat on his bed, thinking hard. He'd sworn not to speak. But a oath given under pressure isn't always kept. Especially if someone offered a greater reward. Outside, the night wind blew, carrying old whispers. The Great War might be over, but its wounds were still open. And the children who survived the massacre were now grown—or had produced offspring. Guntur closed his eyes, making new plans.

The next morning, Guntur took his leave. His reason: urgent matters in his village. Pak Teguh saw him off politely, showing no suspicion. But after Guntur left, Baran, Nini, and Mbok Ranti gathered in Nini's hut. "He knows something," Baran said. Mbok Ranti nodded. "He saw those hoes. He knows we have magic users." Nini sighed deeply. "This is just the beginning. If he talks to the right people, we're in great danger." Laras, who was also present, asked, "Then what should we do?" Nini looked at each of them. "We accelerate preparations. Strengthen defenses. And... we teach Aryan. Starting now."

Outside, behind the window, Aryan heard everything. His fists clenched. He didn't want to be a burden. He wanted to help. But he was also afraid—afraid of his own power, afraid of what might happen if he couldn't control it. Beside him, Buyung had also been listening. "Aryan," he whispered. "Are you... a witch?" Aryan looked down. "I don't know. Maybe." Buyung paused, then held Aryan's hand. "I'm still your friend. Whatever you are." Aryan looked at him, eyes glistening. "Thanks, Buyung." Outside, a crow flew past, carrying an unspoken message. That a storm was approaching. And nothing could stop it.

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