ONE: THE SILENT WALK THROUGH THE FOREST
The forest has many sounds, loud in the quiet of the night.
Yet on this full moon night, the insects ceased to buzz and the trees seemed to stand still, almost at attention. They seemed to know what was at stake for these 20 men and women walking through the forest in complete silence.
Eleven-year-old Fitri and her brother, nine-year-old Agus, had been following this group for almost an hour. But it seemed like forever. They were desperate to somehow slip ahead. But it had to be done quietly, without anyone spotting them. So far they had been lucky; the two kids knew just how to blend behind every rock, tree and boulder, and become invisible in the forest.
Cold, prickly branches reached out, scratching against their skin. But the children did not notice much other than the outline of the mountain looming in the distance. Gunung Merapi was not just any mountain. Merapi meant Fire Mountain. It was one of the most dangerous volcanoes in Indonesia â and the world.
Fitri and Agus were born in the village Machuchak on the southern slopes of Mount Merapi.
The Merapi had been a friend to Fitriâs village, and to the others around the mountainside, for hundreds of years. The volcanic ash was good for the soil. Many families could grow their crops and live off the land.
Fitri and Agus had lived next to the volcano all their lives, and had never been scared of it. The volcano sometimes thundered and rumbled, but never like this. A week ago something had changed. Deep, deep inside the volcano, something was happening. The Merapi was awake and angry.
Both their parents were a part of the group walking through the forest that night. They were on the Tapak Bisu, the Silent Walk. It was a ceremony to calm down the Merapi, and it had to be done in total silence at midnight on a full moon night. Absolutely no children were allowed! Fitri and Agus were breaking at least a dozen rules simply by being there.
Iâm going to get it if Ayah finds out Iâm running around here in the middle of the night, Fitri thought nervously. She knew she would be in a hundred different kinds of trouble.
This would not be the first time. Just last month there had been the âdisasterâ at school.
Fitri was often in trouble and most of her escapades had to do with her brother. She had spent her life protecting Agus from the village bullies. Agus was a shy, quiet boy who kept to himself because he had been born with a funny face. It was not funny in a good way, but funny in a bad way. His upper lip looked like a knife had cut into it and carved out an entire piece. It made his face look odd and even ugly. But worse because his lip was only half there, he covered his mouth constantly with his hand, and he mumbled instead of speaking.
Just last month, Aditya, an older boy from the village, had yelled out, â Raksasa!â â meaning demon or monster â to Agus and tripped him at school. The school yard burst out laughing and Agus looked like he wanted to just disappear into nothing.
Fitri had felt a hot rage boiling up inside her and she went crazy. She grabbed Adityaâs hand and dunked it into an anthill. Adityaâs yells brought out the entire school, including the principal. His hand ballooned into the size of a small ball and Fitri landed up in detention for a month at school. She still cringed when she remembered how angry her father had been.
Fitri tripped on a stone, stubbing her toe, and snapped her attention back to the mountain. Their mother had told them many stories about the last major eruption, which occurred before Fitri was born. The story was the stuff of nightmares: fascinating, dreadful, and deadly. Hot mud came down the slopes of the mountain with such speed that it snapped trees like thin twigs, destroyed buildings, houses and everything that lay in its way. Hundreds of people were killed.
Every child in the village had heard these stories. Everyone
The forest has many sounds, loud in the quiet of the night.
Yet on this full moon night, the insects ceased to buzz and the trees seemed to stand still, almost at attention. They seemed to know what was at stake for these 20 men and women walking through the forest in complete silence.
Eleven-year-old Fitri and her brother, nine-year-old Agus, had been following this group for almost an hour. But it seemed like forever. They were desperate to somehow slip ahead. But it had to be done quietly, without anyone spotting them. So far they had been lucky; the two kids knew just how to blend behind every rock, tree and boulder, and become invisible in the forest.
Cold, prickly branches reached out, scratching against their skin. But the children did not notice much other than the outline of the mountain looming in the distance. Gunung Merapi was not just any mountain. Merapi meant Fire Mountain. It was one of the most dangerous volcanoes in Indonesia â and the world.
Fitri and Agus were born in the village Machuchak on the southern slopes of Mount Merapi.
The Merapi had been a friend to Fitriâs village, and to the others around the mountainside, for hundreds of years. The volcanic ash was good for the soil. Many families could grow their crops and live off the land.
Fitri and Agus had lived next to the volcano all their lives, and had never been scared of it. The volcano sometimes thundered and rumbled, but never like this. A week ago something had changed. Deep, deep inside the volcano, something was happening. The Merapi was awake and angry.
Both their parents were a part of the group walking through the forest that night. They were on the Tapak Bisu, the Silent Walk. It was a ceremony to calm down the Merapi, and it had to be done in total silence at midnight on a full moon night. Absolutely no children were allowed! Fitri and Agus were breaking at least a dozen rules simply by being there.
Iâm going to get it if Ayah finds out Iâm running around here in the middle of the night, Fitri thought nervously. She knew she would be in a hundred different kinds of trouble.
This would not be the first time. Just last month there had been the âdisasterâ at school.
Fitri was often in trouble and most of her escapades had to do with her brother. She had spent her life protecting Agus from the village bullies. Agus was a shy, quiet boy who kept to himself because he had been born with a funny face. It was not funny in a good way, but funny in a bad way. His upper lip looked like a knife had cut into it and carved out an entire piece. It made his face look odd and even ugly. But worse because his lip was only half there, he covered his mouth constantly with his hand, and he mumbled instead of speaking.
Just last month, Aditya, an older boy from the village, had yelled out, â Raksasa!â â meaning demon or monster â to Agus and tripped him at school. The school yard burst out laughing and Agus looked like he wanted to just disappear into nothing.
Fitri had felt a hot rage boiling up inside her and she went crazy. She grabbed Adityaâs hand and dunked it into an anthill. Adityaâs yells brought out the entire school, including the principal. His hand ballooned into the size of a small ball and Fitri landed up in detention for a month at school. She still cringed when she remembered how angry her father had been.
Fitri tripped on a stone, stubbing her toe, and snapped her attention back to the mountain. Their mother had told them many stories about the last major eruption, which occurred before Fitri was born. The story was the stuff of nightmares: fascinating, dreadful, and deadly. Hot mud came down the slopes of the mountain with such speed that it snapped trees like thin twigs, destroyed buildings, houses and everything that lay in its way. Hundreds of people were killed.
Every child in the village had heard these stories. Everyone
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