The Marks of the Engkanto

⋆༒⋆*༺༽ 𝟠 ༼༻*⋆༒⋆

More days passed, and Akali still had no opportunity to prove herself as a tattoo artist. She was tired of scrubbing, sweeping the floor, and shaving hairy backs. She was miserable. She hated being a cleaner to the point that she wanted to pull her hair out, wondering why she was doing it.

Akali sighed, getting out of the room and breathing in the dry air of the hallway. "What am I going to do?" she asked herself.

If not for her dream to become the best tattoo artist, she would have already run back to the Southern Forest, to the arms of her loving family, telling her father that he was right--that she should not have come here because it was not meant to be.

"There you are," Makka said, coming from a corner that led to the stairwell. "Let's go. I'm hungry. Yes, very, very, very hungry." The small dwende nodded several times and rubbed her growling belly, pivoting to go.

"I'm not," Akali said, and Makka stopped in her tracks. "You should go without me."

"What's wrong? Are you not hungry, too?" As soon as Makka said it, Akali's stomach grumbled. "Oh, you must be. Surely, you must be." Makka looked to Akali, brows rising on the white skin of her round face.

"I just need to walk to get some fresh air. I might just be tired. Toilet duty last night was exhausting," Akali answered, making an excuse and not wanting to share what was truly bothering her. "Don't worry about me. I'll survive without a meal." She tried to smile, but it failed and might have only looked pitiful on her face.

Makka paused for a moment but then nodded. "Alright, alright, alright. I'll bring you a cup-shroom. You'll like those." She searched Akali's face for confirmation and perhaps a willingness to share what was wrong, but she didn't prod her.

"That would be great." Akali tried to smile again, and this time, she was able to produce a decent curve on her lips for the dwende's effort.

Then she turned on her heels and walked to the stairs, intending to go down to the ground level, but before she reached the steps, she stopped as if someone or something had called her. She had passed by an open door. It was the same room where she had given the tikbalang a tattoo. But instead of a tikbalang, a garuda laid on his front. His bird head bowed to the floor, and his large white feathered wings splayed on its sides. His top human body was naked such that Akali could see the dark muscles of its back.

The garuda was waiting for a tattoo artist.

Akali blinked and swallowed. Something was pulling her in. Her fingers twitched at the sight of bareback and at the tools that sat on the table beside him. Excitement surged through her arms, making her raise her hand, eyes focusing on the ink bottles.

She clenched her jaw and stopped as if fighting her own body. But then her mind cleared.

What if this was a sign? Her first tattoo in Pinta was celebrated. It had brought more clients to the business. What if this was her chance to prove herself, show what she could do, and finally claim the credit for her work?

She stepped over the barrier and closed the woven bamboo door behind her. She came to stand beside the garuda and glanced again at the table beside him. A stencil with the image of a carabao's head was prepared. It might be what the client wanted.

This was it!

Akali picked up the stencil and didn't try to stop herself as she placed it on the creature's back. The garuda murmured but stayed still, and she continued without hesitation. She grabbed a small piece of cloth, dipped it in black ink, and began to trace. She followed the curves of the pattern until the design formed into the carabao's long horns, round snout, and strong jaws.