The Blood Canvas

Chapter #5 - Bone Brush Box

Heavy rain had soaked the windshield of Hamzadi's Proton Saga taxi. The wiper blades made a loud noise every time it moved left and right, struggling to ward off the rushing water. Outside, the view of Kuala Lumpur was deserted. The concrete jungle had been replaced by a real wilderness.

Hamzadi was walking through the darkness of the night on the winding roads of Hulu Langat, heading towards the inland area known as Dusun Tua. The roads here were narrow, dark and slippery. There were no street lights, just deserted dark roads. Only the yellow lights of the taxi gave direction, cutting through the thick fog that had begun to descend on the hills.

His thoughts were wandering. The image of the melted face of the Lady Wax Doll was still fresh in my memory. Andika was not just playing a psychological game, but he was showing power. He wanted Hamzadi to know that no place was safe. Whether in the middle of busy Jalan Petaling or at home, Andika's eyes were everywhere.

"Ustaz Ismail Bakri..." the name crossed Hamzadi's lips.

The last time he had met the man was five years ago. At that time, Ustaz Ismail Bakri had just lost half of his eyesight due to a counterattack when he tried to throw a tiger's saka from a famous political expert.

Since then, the man vowed to hang up his war beads and live a solitary life as a farmer, but Hamzadi had no other choice but to find him. He needed someone who understood the Art of Extinguishing Ancient Spirits. He needed a 'Shield' to protect him while he became a 'Sword' or in other words, when he attacked.

The taxi that Hamzadi was riding in jolted as it hit a large hole filled with water and suddenly the taxi engine stopped.

The taxi driver pressed the key.

Click. Click. Click.

Silence.

"Good. That's the right time," Hamzadi suddenly muttered when he saw the tour guide trying to start the engine.

He asked the tour guide for permission to get down there and just pay the fare. His breath was getting scarce. On both sides of the road were only large, lush trees, their branches twisted in the wind like giant hands trying to reach the taxi.

Hamzadi knew this was no ordinary mechanical failure. He had entered a gated area. Ustaz Ismail Bakri did not live in a normal residential area. He lived on land that had been isolated from the public eye and far away from all creepy substances since his retirement.

Anyone who came without the right intention, or carrying a heavy load of negative aura, their vehicle would surely die at this border, and Hamzadi carried a very dense negative aura, which was the remnants of the battle with the Ghost and the Wax Doll before, coupled with the cursed Bone Brush stuck to his waist, making him full of negative and powerful aura.

"I need to walk," Hamzadi whispered.

After making the payment, Hamzadi reached for his bag and black umbrella, but as soon as he stepped out of the car, the cold of the night immediately gripped his bones.

The rain here felt different, so different that it was sharp, as if every raindrop was a needle of ice.

Hamzadi stood by the side of the road. In front of him, there was a narrow red dirt path, leading into a dense forest. To the naked eye, the path was a dead end, blocked by seaweed and thorny trees.

Hamzadi closed his eyes.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of wet soil and rotting leaves. He needed to change the frequency of his vision. He needed to see not with his eyes, but with his feelings. In his heart, he prayed to find Ustaz Ismail Bakri.

"Assalamualaikum, sir, you have a place. I did not come to challenge, I came to try," Hamzadi shouted against the thunder.

He took out a handful of coarse salt from his pocket, the same salt he had used to fence himself in and proceeded to throw it at the seaweed that blocked the way.

"Open!"

Zzap!

A flash of lightning struck the sky, and instantly, the seaweed thickets in front of him seemed to change places. The illusion of the forest was shattered. The red earth tunnel that had previously seemed dead-end now opened wide, extending into the darkness of the deeper forest.

Hamzadi began to walk. His boots sank into the mud as deep as his ankles. Each step felt heavy, as if an unseen weight was pressing down on his shoulders.

This was Ustaz Ismail Bakri's "Gate of Intentions." The heavier a person's intentions, the heavier their steps, and Hamzadi's intentions tonight were full of revenge.

After nearly twenty minutes of walking in the rain, Hamzadi arrived at a clearing in the middle of the forest. There stood a beautiful traditional Malay wooden house, with tall pillars, with intricate carvings of clouds on each window frame.

Kerosene lamps hung around the veranda, burning brightly despite the strong wind, a sign that this was no ordinary fire.

However, Hamzadi could not get close to the steps of the house. In the courtyard, right in front of the steps, was a tiger. Not an ordinary striped tiger. This was a Dahan Tiger. It was slightly smaller than a Malayan tiger, but it was well-muscled.

Its fur was patterned like clouds. Its eyes were green, glowing in the dark. The tiger sat there staring at Hamzadi. It did not roar. It just started. Its tail swatted the ground and protecting the Malay wooden house.

Hamzadi stopped immediately. He knew this was no stray wild animal. This was the Khodam Penjaga Ustaz Ismail Bakri or Caretaker to ustaz. Not a descendant, but a forest spirit who had befriended the ustaz or perhaps a forest spirit who owed him a favor.

"I don't have time to play riddles," Hamzadi said slowly. His hand moved to his waist, holding the hilt of his dagger.

Grrrr…

The tiger woke up. Its growl was soft, but it shook Hamzadi's chest. The animal's aura was so strong that the rain around the tiger's body seemed to be refracted, not touching its fur.

"Don't pull out that knife," a harsh voice scolded from the veranda of the house.

Hamzadi looked up. On the veranda, stood an old man dressed in shabby white Malay clothes and a pelikat shirt. He was holding a black bag stick. One eye was tightly closed with a long scar on his eyelid, a sign of old memories.

Ustaz Ismail Bakri .

"If you pull out that knife, Rimau will think you are the enemy. And you know you will not win against him on your own soil," Ustaz Ismail Bakri continued calmly.

"Ustaz, I need help." said Hamzadi, in a rather seductive tone.

"You bring reinforcements, Hamzadi. I can smell it from afar. The smell of blood, the smell of carcasses, the smell of dead bones." His sharp eyes glanced sharply at Hamzadi's waist bag that held a set of bone brushes.

"Have you taken the opposite direction?" asked Ustaz Ismail Bakri.

"I have no choice. He is back. Andika is back," shouted Hamzadi, his voice drowned out by the sound of the rain.

Hearing Pandika's name, Ustaz Ismail Bakri's calm face turned cloudy. He fell silent for a moment. The tiger in the yard looked at his master, as if waiting for orders to attack or retreat.

"Come up," Ustaz Ismail Bakri said shortly.

The tiger slowly retreated down the house, disappearing into the shadows. Hamzadi breathed a sigh of relief. He climbed the wooden stairs with long strides.

His energy was almost exhausted from the journey. On the veranda, Ustaz Ismail Bakri handed him a dry towel. Hamzadi greeted him and wiped his wet face.

"Come in. We can't talk about hot things in a cold place," said the comedian Ustaz Ismail Bakri.

The space inside the house was compact. The floor was a loose mat. The walls were full of calligraphy of holy verses carved on wood. There was no modern furniture, only old furniture and books piled up.

The fragrant smell of Arabic incense somewhat calmed Hamzadi's uncertain soul. They sat cross-legged facing each other. Ustaz Ismail Bakri poured hot coffee from a copper pot into small cups.

"I remember you retired from being a hunter. I heard you were painting in Bukit Bintang. Looking for a halal livelihood," said Ustaz Ismail Bakri as he sipped his coffee.

"I've stopped hunting. But they come back and find me quickly," Hamzadi replied. He placed Andika's art exhibition invitation card on the mat. The card was damp from the rain, but the gold writing still gleamed proudly.

Ustaz Ismail Bakri took the card. His fingers trembled slightly as he touched Pandika Wirasa's name.

"Ten years ago... we failed. That night, I remembered that I had killed his spirit. I had been locked in imagining him.

But it seems that he had transferred his spirit into the painting Heart of the Heart before I could lock his body." Ustaz Ismail Bakri whispered softly.

"That's why he is still young, he lives in paintings. His body in this world is just an empty shell that he changes. He had regained his power through years of studying the mantra and spells." Hamzadi Gap.

Ustaz Ismail Bakri nodded.

"And now what does he want? He is rich, he is famous. What else does he want from you, a poor street artist?" Ustaz Ismail Bakri asked this question, apparently trying to find out the secret between Hamzadi and Pandika.

Hamzadi stared straight into Ustaz Ismail Bakri's single eye.

"He wants my eyes, Ustaz. And he wants me to prepare the final painting for him."

Hamzadi reached into his pocket and took out a Polaroid photo of Mak Ipah Lang. He placed it next to the invitation card.

"He attacked my family. He sent the Candle Statue this evening. He blew up my house with the Raya Ghost last night." Hamzadi complained again.

Ustaz Ismail Bakri complained for a long time. He closed his eyes, contemplating slowly.

"Do you know why I ran and sat in this forest, Hamzadi? Because I was scared. I admit, I was scared. Pandika's knowledge... he has surpassed the old books I studied. He combined Malay witchcraft with white witchcraft. He is undestroyable."

"I know. That's why I brought this."

Hamzadi opened his waist bag. He took out a wooden box that held a set of Bone Brushes. As soon as the box was opened, the fire around the house became smaller, almost extinguished. The atmosphere became gloomy.

Ustaz Ismail Bakri was shocked. He shuffled back.

"Oh my God! Hamzadi! That's the Gnomish Bone! Where did you get this cursed thing?"

"From the Master's spirit box. I know the taboo. Every time I use it, for example, a year of my life will be lost. But this is the only way to fight Pandika's 'art'. Fight fire with fire."

"You're crazy, you don't fight fire with fire.

You poured gasoline on yourself! This thing will eat you, sir. If you don't die from Pandika, you will die from this bush!" Angry Ustaz Ismail Bakri.

"After that, Ustaz, what do you want me to do? Wait for Mak Ipah Lang to die and be eaten by ghosts? Wait for Kuala Lumpur to become a den of demons?"

Hamzadi's voice rose. He no longer cared about manners. The desire to live was more important.

Hamadi held Ustaz Ismail Bakri's hand. The old man's hand felt cold.

"I didn't ask you to fight. I know you're no longer in good shape. I just asked you to be the Night Guard. Tomorrow night, when I enter the exhibition, I just want you to guard the gate...

Make sure there are no other objects that interfere with our fight. Make sure Mak Ipah Lang is safe from afar." Joking with Hamzadi.

Ustaz Ismail Bakri looked at the young man's face in front of him. He looked like a reflection of his former young self, when he was stubborn, brave, and stupid. He also saw deep sadness in Hamzadi's eyes.

The burden of being a guard was not kicked out. Slowly, Ustaz Ismail Bakri closed the Bone Brush box. He couldn't bear to see the black aura emanating from it.

"Do you know, your teacher's spirit once told me a message before. He said Hamzadi has talented hands, but his heart is fragile. He is a painter, he is sensitive. If he gets angry, his anger will produce the most terrible paintings." Ustaz Ismail Bakri said to Hamzadi, showing that he recognized Hamzadi.

Ustaz Ismail Bakri got up. He walked towards an old cupboard, took out a bottle of clear oil. White Cenuai Oil that had been brewed for 40 Fridays.

"I will not let you die in vain, Hamzadi, I will come with you." said Ustaz Ismail Bakri again.

Hamzadi looked up, surprised.

"Ustaz, do you want to come to the exhibition?"

"I will not enter the hall. I do not have an invitation card. But I will wait outside. I will build a Wind Fence around the State Arts Hall building. While I am breathing, no outside help can enter. Help Andika. You are with him, one by one." Ustaz Ismail Bakri smiled sarcastically.

Hamzadi felt a heavy burden lifted from his shoulders. With Ustaz Ismail Bakri controlling the outer perimeter, he didn't have to worry about being attacked by Pandika's friends. He could focus fully on the main enemy.

"Thank you, ustaz."

"Don't say thank you again. There are conditions," Ustaz Ismail Bakri interrupted.

He sat down in front of Hamzadi again. His face was serious.

"Before you use the bone brush... you have to 'bath' him first. The bone has been dry for a long time. He's hungry. If you use it when he's hungry, he'll eat your life first before he eats the enemy."

"Bath with what?" Hamzadi asked, even though he had already guessed the answer.

"Your blood. The blood of the new master. Tonight, before dawn, we have to perform the Blood Pact ritual. You have to make a pact with the servant in the bone. You become the master, he becomes the slave. Don't turn it upside down." Ustaz Ismail Bakri said.

Hamzadi nodded. He was ready to give up anything. Blood, age, life. As long as this grudge was avenged and the person he loved was safe.

"Okay. We will do it."

Outside, thunder rumbled loudly, as if nature was witnessing the dark pact about to be sealed. The tiger under the house let out a long roar, warning all the creatures of the forest that tonight, the king of the forest was no longer an animal, but two humans preparing for war.

Hamzadi looked towards the dark window. In his imagination, he could already see the beautifully decorated National Arts Hall. Tomorrow night, the building would turn into a battlefield.

The canvas would be torn, the paint would spill, and the secrets of the past ten years would be revealed.

"Wait for me, Pandika. Tomorrow, it will be your Death Day and I will paint a portrait of your death." Hamzadi whispered.

To be continued….