It’s like the whole world stopped. No ice falling, no panicked running, no pandemonium of chaos. The cuts and the bruises I incurred made little impact on me. All I could see is that woman, lying on the ground, her neck oozing crimson blood. She’s dying. It hit me like a truck. I’m seeing someone dying right in front of my eyes.
It’s a surreal experience, seeing someone die right in front of your eyes. You literally see the life leaves their body, their breathing stops, their chest ceases to rise and fall, their eyes are blank. That’s what I see, that woman’s eyes are blank.
And then there was brightness. It’s as if heaven itself opened to embrace the soul of the departed. Light floods the entire field. Bright, warm, white light, cascading down from the heaven, bursting like a waterfall.
Oh no…
Am I dead now?
I think so. I don’t think heaven opens up and randomly heals people. And that’s how I feel, healed. And not metaphorically. I’m physically healed. All the cuts and the bruises hurt no more, my twisted ankle isn’t throbbing, my chest isn’t heaving from running too much, and I feel light and ready to spring to action.
So, is this it? Did I die in a hailstorm, right after I died and survived a flurry of torture tornado?
“Amilyn, your anke! How’s your ankle?” Mary excitedly asks me.
Okay, why is Mary with me in heaven? Not that she’s a bad person, just…. I assumed we would all get separate heavens.
“Amilyn! Are you here?” I see the silhouette of the hand waving in front of me.
“Yeah I’m here, wherever here is,” I manage to reply, still blinded by the flooding light.
“What do you mean where here is? You’re still here, in the field. It’s just bright and you can’t see well.”
“Oh, I assumed I died again. Sure feels like heaven to me. You sure this aint heaven?” I manage to quip.
“No dummy. Though I sure get your bewilderment. This is a healing spell. Is your ankle fine? My head is all patched up,” Mary announces.
“Yeah it’s fine. In fact I feel like I could outrun a horse. What kind of healing spell is this?” I ask.
“A big one. And it stopped the hailstorm. Only one person could possibly manage this. He’s…” Mary stutters off.
Because lo and behold, the flooding of light has stopped. Heaven has closed off and has ceased its shower of grace. We’re back in the field, where bewildered and formerly wounded people scatter here and there, muttering to themselves.
My attention immediately turns to the woman who was just now choking on her own blood. If we’re healed then she must be…
To my dismay, she’s still laying on the ground. I kind of expected her to be back on her feet, as springy and healed as the rest of us.
An old man has appeared at the scene. Old is the only negative thing I can say about him, though being old is not at all negative. But besides being old, he’s built like a tank, tall and ripped, his muscles showing beneath the open vest much like the ones the entourages wore. His entire body is covered in tattoo. His hair is pure white and partially let down in the front, braided in the back.
There’s something about this man, a presence so powerful it beckons to everyone present. He’s here, and his mere existence announces itself.
The man is holding the dead woman in his hands.
“Is she…” Mary asks.
“Not yet,” says a boy from behind us.
We turn to see a boy about our age, with white hair and a fair complexion. He’s taller than both Mary and I, and his eyes are the lightest shade of brown.
“Who are you and how do you know that?” Mary inquires of the newcomer.
“Lilith Mallory Basilio. And I know that because the human brain doesn’t die three minutes after the heart stops beating. If he can get the heart beating again within those three minutes, the girl will live,” the newcomer explains nonchalantly, casually observing the scene unfolding before him.
“And who might HE be?” I ask this time.
“Datu Undajan. That’s the man over there,” the boy replies.
Just my luck. My first official day as a pinili and we’re…wait, what IS happening?
All I know is that something is falling, said something hurts, and we’re running for makers know where from makers know what. Honestly, I’m just trailing after Mary (or the blur of light brown hair I assume to be Mary), hoping I don’t get crushed to death, stomped on, run over, or otherwise impaled as we go.
I take one glance at the sky. It’s still clear, now light blue with specs of white here and there. I don’t see any planes that could drop nukes at us, or spaceships that could abduct us. Aside from some of the falling things here and there, there’s no sign of trouble. So back to my original question. WHAT IN THE WORLD IS GOING ON?
Mary and I run as fast as our feet could take us. We’re not too far from the river, but there’s no hope of being rescued there. I see no form of shelter nearby. I’m not really sure where exactly we’re running to, but right now being mobile seems like a better idea than sitting ducks and waiting for unknown projectiles to hit us.
The chaos started a good thirty minutes after we arrived, so there’s already a decent number of pinili on the surface when it all began. Everyone is running in all directions, seeking shelter from the attack.
“Agaaaay! Ay yawa kaw!” I hear Mary scream as she run.
I can only assume she was hit.
I, as well, apparently make for good target for the falling projectiles. As I run, I feel smaller stone-like things graze me, and some larger ones hitting me where it hurts the most. Still, I keep running. In my mind, I know for sure staying still will only make things worse.
Then of course, shit does gets worse.
My foot hits a protruding rock, causing me to stumble and lose my balance. I fall to the ground face first, kissing the brown earth as I go.
I immediately try to get back up, struggling on my feet, only to fall back down as pain shoots up from my ankles. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, of all well-timed cliches to choose from, I chose the one that would best suit my situation, getting a sprained ankle while on the run from unknown projectiles.
“Amilyn!” I hear Mary scream.
She’s noticed my predicament and is now running back toward me.
“Ahh!” I scream out as a decent-sized one hits my back, right where the spine is.
I arch back in pain, swallowing another yelp.
Mary runs toward me, reaching my side in a matter of seconds.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Can you still run?” she asks as she helps me get up.
“Ouch!” another one falls right on top of my head.
But I don’t think Mary is in a much better situation. There’s a big cash across her forehead, bleeding and almost covering her left eye.
“You should go. It won’t do good for the both of us to stay here,” I say, trying to sound brave while hiding the shaking in my voice.
My ankle hurts like crazy, my spine just took a hit, and I’m sore all over. But like I said, one victim is better than two victims.
“No way! We’re both getting out of here. Now get up so we can walk. I don’t think this storm is gonna wait for us to recover,” Mary determinedly replies, grabbing me by the waist.
Honestly, I don’t even need to be told twice. I struggle to to feet, careful not to put too much weight on my bad ankle.
All around us, people are still running, screaming in various languages, panicking in all fronts.
“Let’s go. Just one step at a time. That’s it,” Mary encourages as we engage in the most awkward three-legged race of all time.
More and more of the stones hit us, causing a chorus of grimaces and ouches. Mary must be having a hard time taking on most of my weight, but she doesn’t complain. Onward we go, despite being battered by the falling stones on every front.
Then we hear it. A gut-wrenching scream piercing the air. It’s that kind of scream, you know, the one filled with horror, the one filled with fear, the one anyone would recognize as a scream of desperation.
It doesn’t take too long for me to find the source of the scream. Not too far from us, a woman is lying on the ground, her entire body covered in blood. Another girl is sitting beside her, desperately trying to patch up her open would. But it’s no use.
Even from here I can see the gravity of the situation. The victim is heaving, obviously laboring with every breath she takes. There’s an open wound on her throat, which is gushing out blood. I can see her try to breath, but all she can manage to do is cough up more blood. She;s visibly trembling, choking. Beside her is a white boulder the size of a human head, with streaks of blood on it.
Mary and I freeze on the spot, trying to digest the scene before us.
She’s dying, I realize as I look, horror aptly striking me right in the face. She’ll run out of blood, or she’ll lose the ability to breath, or she’ll drown in her own blood. Whatever the cause may be, one thing is profoundly obvious to all of us. She’s dying.
All around us, ice, yes, I now realize that it’s ice that’s falling from the sky, ice of all sizes and shapes are still falling. But it doesn’t matter, at least, not to us onlookers. What matters now is the woman whose neck is bleeding out.
That’s when the heavens open and light floods the field.
Not having much to do while we wait, I get the opportunity to observe the datu’s entourage.
Looking closely at them, I realize that the group is comprised of men and women from all ages. I see some who look about fifty, while others are about twenty five. They’re all wearing some sort of similar clothing.
The majority of their clothes is red. The men are wearing some sort of long-sleeved blazer with nothing beneath it, red in color, with patterns of blue and yellow. They have some heavy-looking beaded necklaces on, varying in thickness for each person. Their shorts are knee-length, made of the same cloth as their shirts. The pattern is not so clear from here, but I have a feeling that it’s similar to the cloth hanging from our hut.
The women are also wearing clothes and skirts of red with patterns of blue and yellow. The sleeves are blue. Their hairs are tied up in a neat bun, and from here, I can see that they all cut their bangs. In addition to the bangs, their hairs are decorated with tuffs of cloths and beads falling from their head. Hanging from their necks are necklaces, one of which is a large circular pendant made of silver. On each of their arms are numerous bracelets alternating black and white.
“Woah look. That one has so many batok. I think it’s Bagani Amara. And that one beside her must be Bagani Dos. Cool. Heard all about them but never saw them this close,” Mary excitedly exclaims, staring at the datu’s entourage.
“Bagani who? And what is a batok?” I ask, trying to get a glimpse of what she’s looking at.
“Bagani Amara and Bagani Dos, two of the most famous bagani in Pinag-adlawan. Heroes of the Battle of Semarang,” she explains, still in awe.
“Battle of what?”
“Semarang. A colony of kapre in Indonesia decided to take over a city. The two of them fought on their own against a legion of a hundred. Turned out victorious of course. So cool. Look at their batok. So many. I bet I could never achieve even a quarter of that. Ah, ayusa uy!” she continues, giving googly eyes to whoever she is talking about.
“Again, what is a batok?” I ask again, trying to peer at whatever she is referring to.
“Batok. Tattoos. You get them whenever you make a contribution or an achievement. Some are won in battle, some through discoveries, others through good deeds or in service to the gods. Symbol of bravery, courage, ingenuity, prowess, stuff like that. The more you have, the more notable you are.”
“We’re supposed to get tattoos?” I shriek in disbelief.
“Yeah. It’s the highest honor.”
“But…won’t that…like…hurt?”
Mary looks at me, blinking in disbelief.
“Haven’t you heard what I said about it being the highest honor?”
“Yeah but… will it hurt?”
She crunches her face.
“Well now that you mention it. I think it actually might. I mean, it’s done using a needle of course, so maybe? Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m fairly certain any amount of pain will be worth it to get one of those.”
Don’t know about that, I silently say to myself as I continue observing the group.
Anyway, it sure is refreshing sitting here, just staring at the nothingness. Mary decided to lay down, so I followed suit. The early morning sky is bluish gray, with dots of white clouds here and there. Some stars speckle the view here and there, slowly fading into the background. There is no sign of sunlight above us yet, but in the far horizon I can clearly see the sun looming just peeking through the clouds. The air is fresh, cool, and soothing. I can hear the rice stalks sway to the hymns of the wind.
And of course, there’s the…
“Aray!” I hear Mary exclaim, cutting my line of thought.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Something hit me. Right in the…ouch!”
“Ow! Hey! Watch it!” someone else says to our right.
“What’s going on? Mary?”
“Sumilong ang lahat! Silong! Ngayon na!” someone commands.
I can see the datu’s entourage scatter in all directions, waving their hands and shouting.
Then it hit me…literally. I mean, something me right in the middle of my eyebrows.
“Ow!” I exclaims.
Beside me, Mary abruptly gets up. She grabs me and yanks me up.
“They’re telling us to take cover. Come on!” she says, already running.
I get dragged behind her, not quite sure what’s happening. Still, I fugure it’s better to follow her than get hit by some unknown object while sitting idly in the middle of the field. And so we run.
“So what’s this whole festival thingy? Seems like a big deal around here, with the mandatory attendance and all,” I ask Mary as we walk toward…well, somewhere.
“Oh yeah. It is a big deal. The harvest festival happens once a year, and is the biggest yearly gathering of bagani-kind around the whole world. Everyone comes home to celebrate it. Basically it marks the end of the harvest season, and we get to thank the deities for the bountiful harvest of the year. I heard it’s really fun, games and all that,” Mary replies as she leads the way to our destination.
Hmm, so like some sort of intramural? That sounds nice. A nice, multi-hair-color intramural with fun games and recreation. That should be nice and normal enough, right?
Boy was I wrong.
First off, the ride to said event is on some sort of …boat?
I’m not sure if it qualifies as a boat. First of all, it’s shaped like a giant egg, but half of the the shell has been removed and all that remains is the jelly-like membrane to separate the outside from the inside structure. The oblong structure is divided in two: the upper part and the lower part. The upper part is see-through, protected by the aforementioned jelly-like substance, and the lower area comprising of some sort of white wall. There are several of such structures floating above the river.
“There it is. Lucky we got here early. Any later and we’ll have to compete with a hoard to get on those,” Mary enthusiastically exclaims as she heads for the structure.
“Uhh…what is that?” I manage to ask as I not so enthusiastically follow her.
“That,” she replies, pointing at the structure, “is our ride back to the surface. We call it a bangka. It’s Tagalog for boat, though I know it’s not so boat-looking. It’s made of bakunawa eggshells from ancient times. The ancestors who dwell in the seas converted them to boats because the shell is made of really sturdy stuff,” she explains as she approaches one of the boats.
That’s one big egg, I think to myself as we approach.
I wonder how big a baby bakunawa is to come out of such a huge egg.
Then again, I’m not really looking forward to meeting something that’s already this big as a baby. Imagine how much larger it would be fully grown.
We both enter the nearest so called boat. The inside is as you would expect a giant shell to be shaped as. There are no edges inside. Seats are arranged in small rows of threes on both sides, all facing the part where the driver is supposed to sit.
But now that I look closely, there is no driver’s seat. The entire interior is filled with passenger seats, but no room for the man on the helm.
“But how does it run? I don’t see any sails or engines? And where is the driver supposed to sit? I don’t see anyone.” I ask.
“Oh, this entire thing is pulled by giant flying fish. And the driver is under water, some siren or syokoy from the cove should be manning it somewhere. They don’t like to be seen, their kind,” Mary replies, choosing a seat near the door.
“Sirens? We have sirens? Those are real? And flying fish? Are they magic too?” I excitedly ask, somehow eager to meet more supposed-to-be mythical creatures in the flesh.
“Yeah, sirens are real. But don’t get too excited about them. It’s pretty rare to see one, even with us living next to a colony. And about the fish, no, they’re not magic. They’re just really big fish. The sirens raise them in the pens near their cove.”
Oh, so no chance of seeing magic siren or magic flying fish. Too bad, I was kinda looking forward to it too. I mean, at least they don’t sound as dangerous as giant egg baby or whatever we have to use centipedes for.
It doesn’t take much longer for more people to arrive. In fact, a few minutes later and a cue for the boats finally starts to form. Mary helpfully informs me that about ten thousand pinili study at Pinag-adlawan at any given time, and thus there are ten thousand students that these boats have to bring to the surface. Apparently, there will be dozens of similar boats in five of the main rivers (there are eight main rivers, but three aren’t accessible to the public).
After our boat fills up, the journey begins.
The boat lurches forward, and slowly, we dive.
This time, we use a much more spacious passage, enough for the boat to comfortably glide past without bumping into the walls. Fishes swim beside us, curiously eyeing us as we go. Just as I remember, the walls of the cave light up in a dull white glow, highlighting various formations here and there.
Once, we pass by one of those dragon-snake hybrid that guards the entrances. It lets us pass, swimming to the edge of the cave to allow more room for us. It’s just as huge as I remembered it to be, long enough to match the size of the boat. Just as before, it doesn’t harm us.
Not long after, we make it to the main river, and up we go to the surface.
The boat breaks through the water, and we are greeted by the warm sunlight. One by one we exit the boat. I take one look back, just in time to see one of the fish that’s dragging the boat emerge. And boy Mary sure did mean it when she said they are huge. Those things are about the size of a fully-grown human!
We emerge to what looks like a large field. From here I can see that it does indeed look like harvest season has just ended. I see rice stalks cut in half, the entire scene colored by a dull yellow turning light brown. The air smells like freshly-cut grass.
Being the first boat to depart, I expected us to be the first ones here. To my surprise though, there are about fifty people here, busily milling about.
“The datu’s entourage, here to prepare for the festival,” Mary explains when she sees a big question mark on my face.
“The WHAT’s entourage now?” I ask, still eyeing the men.
“The datu. You know, the highest-ranking official of Pinag-adlawan? The leader of the bagani? The strongest fighter? The GOAT? Big old man? That ring any bells?”
“I didn’t know we have a king here.”
“Of course we do. Well, kind of. He’s our leader. Who would manage such a large organization if we didn’t have leaders? But he’s more like a president than a king. You know, duly elected instead of being born into power. We’re a democracy, that’s what we are,” she further explains.
“Ah. I guess that does make sense.”
“I think they’re preparing to summon Dumangan. Great view we have here. We can clearly see them,” Mary comments, settling down on a slab of rock.
“Summon who?”
“Dumangan. God of harvest. He’s the main thing every festival. Can’t have a harvest festival without the god of harvest now, can we?”
“So we get to see an actual god? Like, in person?” I ask in disbelief.
“Yeah, that’s what I said. Sit down here. When the crowd’s all gathered they’ll summon him.”
“So you actually get to meet the gods here? Is that a normal thing?” I ask again.
“Yeah. So far I’ve met Mankukutod when he was blessing the coconut trees at the base, and apparently we’re supposed to meet Apolaki when we start classes. Plenty more gods and goddesses, plenty of opportunities to meet them. Come on, sit down. Let’s get comfortable while we wait. Here I brought some suman,” she invites, handing me the familiar snack.
I gladly accept, eagerly grabbing the snack, already looking forward to meeting one of the gods we’re supposed to be serving.
We head back to the hut, passing by many more different-color-haired pinili on our way. According to Mary, we went to the barracks pretty early, so as to avoid the crowd. In the peak hour, the place is apparently packed to the brim. Glad to know I avoided a major crowd on my first morning here.
“I hope you know how to wash your clothes by hand,” Mary calls out from her corner of the hut.
“Uhh…why? Are there no washing machines here?” I ask, already fearing the worst.
Mary laughs.
“Of course not, silly. Bagani are supposed to be self-sufficient, so not that much machine down here. You gotta learn to live off the land. I take it you don’t know how to wash your clothes?”
“No,” I reply, defeated. Life here is just beginning and I already have something to not look forward to, aside from centipedes during classes.
“Don’t worry, I’ll teach you. It’s not too difficult. Just gotta scrub all the stain away.”
Mary emerges from her area wearing a…wait, what the hell is that?
“Uhh…what are you wearing?”
Mary looks down on herself, as if seeing nothing wrong with the fact that all she’s wearing is some kind of towel wrapped around her body covering her private areas. On her hand is some kind of bat, her dirty clothes, and a basket.
“What? Which one? What’s wrong?” she asks, looking for anything amiss.
“Well…” I reply, mentioning at her general area.
Finally, she seems to get it.
“Well you don’t wanna go to the baths naked, do you? They used to do that but I highly advise against it. And this,” she says, raising the bat, “is called a palo=palo. It’s used for washing clothes. Just smack that bad boy and viola, clean clothes. These,” she adds, mentioning at the small basket she’s carrying, “has tabangaw, used as soap for washing clothes. And here we have gugo, for shampoo. Then a bottle of coconut oil for conditioning. Plus some soap. And of course, can’t forget my go to rock for exfoliating,” she finishes.
“Uhm…” I can only say.
“Oh don’t worry. You have a starter kit in your basket. We’re all given a month’s worth of essentials before school where we learn how to make them. Go and check.
I hesitantly abide, and sure enough, inside the topmost rectangular basket is a smaller basket filled with all the stuff Mary just showed me. Inside the large basket is a large piece of patterned cloth much like the one Mary is using to wrap herself.
“I’ll close the curtains. Take off your clothes and use the malong…yes, that piece of cloth, it’s called a malong. It’s kinda like a tube. You get inside and tie off the excess cloth to secure it. And yes, I did say take off. How will you wash your clothes if you don’t take them off? Can’t wack them when they’re on you, can you now? Hurry, we want to be the first ones at the river,” Mary says in rapid fire succession, closing off the curtain.
I look at the space where she was standing at just now, back at the thing called malong, then back at the space.
I’m supposed to what now?
There is no way I’m gonna go out just wrapped in this thing!
“Amilyn? If you don’t hurry we’ll be caught in the crowd. Trust me, bathing with a couple dozen people is the worst,” Mary shouts from somewhere.
“How about I skip the bath for today? I don’t think I’m mentally prepared to go out in…this thing,” I reply in a weak voice.
“Well that’s understandable. Except you can’t not take a bath today. It’s the harvest festival, gotta be extra clean when you attend,” my roommate replies.
“Then can I not attend?”
“Hell no! Attendance is a must. Sorry, but you gotta bear with it. It’s not so bad. You’ll get used to it soon.”
Urgh.
Seeing no way out of my predicament, I resign myself to my horrible fate.
---
Bathing was…definitely an experience.
We walked clad in those malongs toward the river at the border. To be fair, no one spared us a double take, which I assume meant it’s perfectly normal to be walking around near-naked.
Sure enough, we arrived at the river to find two other early birds clad in the same costume as ours.
Next I learn exactly why Mary told me I can’t wear my clothes. That is, I learned how we’re supposed to be washing clothes: by finding a large flat rock, placing the wet dirty laundry over it, pouring a good amount of tabangaw juice over it, and smacking the living daylights out of the poor clothes.
“No no no. You gotta put more force into it. Wack it like you mean it. Here, let me show you how it’s done,” Mary interjects once she sees me half-heartedly whacking my laundry.
She then proceeds to slam the palo-palo against the clothes with all her might, so much that I can see her veins bulging from the force.
When our laundry is taken care of, or shall I say when we’ve managed to beat the crap out of the poor linen, we proceed to take our bath.
Now, bathing itself was as how you would expect a bath in the river would go. First we went to dip our entire body in the cold water, then we go to the shore to use the gugo. It’s a bark that is soaked in water and then squeezed to release the soapy extract, which is then applied to the hair. Then we use the soap, which is apparently made of animal fat and coconut oil. Mary even went to find me a rock that I was supposed to use to exfoliate. The entire exfoliating process left my skin raw and red, but I kept the stone out of respect to Mary’s effort in finding it.
Then we went back to the river to remove all the soap. Once more, we went ashore to douse our hair in coconut oil. After once more removing the oil, bathtime is finished.
Now comes the most embarrassing part, walking back to the hut with wet clothing that is doing its best to stick to my skin like a persistent wrapping. Walking is slippery, my hair is still dripping, I’m shivering from the cold, and I’m doing my best to keep the wet fabric of the malong from sticking to my skin.
We finally make it back to the hut, where I find that I am also provided with a set of clothes that fit me to the T. It’s a simple brown shirt and a pair of shorts, which is complimented with a pair of red slippers.
I emerge from my corner, relieved that the whole bathing ordeal is over. Not looking forward to doing that again tomorrow.
“Oh, you done?” Mary says from behind me.
“Yeah. All done,” I reply.
“How was it? Not so bad huh?”
“It’s…well, something I should get used to.”
Mary laughs a little.
“At least you’re a good sport. Come, the festival is about to start.”
I look expectantly at Mary, eagerly waiting for her explanation. I figured if I’m gonna live a life here at Pinag-adlawan, I might as well learn all I can about life here. It could give me an advantage, or make my life easier. And who knows? Maybe there’s a pop quiz on the first day. I don’t wanna be the only one who doesn’t know the correct answers.
“Hmmm, hain magsugod?” Mary mutters under her breath.
“Uhh…,” I start, unable to tone down my curiosity any further.
“Yeah?” Mary asks.
“What language is that? The one you’re using, I mean. I assumed it was Spanish, cause your name sounds very Spanish. But now that I listen to it more, it sounds a bit different. Are you, like, Mexican? Or Portuguese?”
“Oh, no no no. I’m a full blooded Filipina. I’m a native of the Mandaya tribe that belongs to the far side of Mindanao. The language is called Mandaya, or Kinamayo, depends on who you ask,” she replies matter-of-factly.
“But…your name sounds…I don’t know. Not Filipino, I guess?” I object, genuinely curious.
“Well, the Philippines was colonized by the Spanish for three hundred and thirty three years, hence the influence in name and language. But we’re very much a people of our own, so you better not make the big mistake of mistaking us for Spanish. It’s a bit of a sore topic for us, you know.”
“Ah, I guess I get it,” I reply, though not quite sure I understand why this would be a sore topic. “But…if you’re Filipino, how come you can understand me? And you speak fluent English at that.”
“Well that’s because I went to a regular school before coming here. Here in the Philippines a great deal of importance is given to English. It’s kind of a second language. You know, we were occupied by the Americans when Spain sold the country to them for a few measly bucks. So we were trained to speak in English,” Mary replies.
“Sold? You mean the country was sold?” I ask in disbelief.
“What, you need a course on Philippine history as well? Yes, sold. But the Spanish didn’t wanna lose face so they staged a mock battle and all that stuff. We were under American regime for a few years while we were supposedly being trained for self-governance. That part is still under debate though. Some would argue that America never intended to let us go independent. Something about being a state or stuff like that.”
“Wow, that sounds intense.”
“Hmm yeah. Spanish colonization, American occupation, Japanese invasion, then there was a brief British rule. You can say we’ve been through a lot.”
“But… how about the bagani?”
“What about the bagani?”
“I mean, surely the bagani could have helped in keeping the country safe, right? They’re powerful and all. If they wanted, they could have prevented all that stuff from happening.”
“Ah, I told you that’s a sore topic. Yeah, some believe we should have done our part in keeping the country safe. But bagani aren’t supposed to interfere in the war of men. We can’t direct humankind’s history, so we aren’t supposed to be involved in stuff like that. Some say letting the country get invaded was sacrilege to the first land, but according to the law, we belong to all nations, not just the Philippines, so we aren’t supposed to take sides,” Mary explains.
“Sounds complicated,” I comment, scratching my chin.
“Sure is. Anyway, we’re getting way out of topic. Amilyn, allow me to explain how the world and Pinag-adlawan came to be.”
“Right. Yeah, please go ahead,” I reply, making myself comfortable and ready for the impending lecture.
“So, in the beginning, there was nothing, right. There were three gods who roamed the nothingness. They were Bathala. Ulilang Kaluluwa, and Galang Kaluluwa. At first, Bathala and Ulilang Kaluluwa met and had this huge argument over who would rule over the universe. They fought and in the end, Bathala came our victorious and thus became god of all creations. His enemy’s ashes landed on the earth. Many years later, Bathala met Galang Kaluluwa, and the two hit it off right away and became super bestest buddies. Unfortunately, Galang Kaluluwa dies of a disease even Bathala could not cure. Before his death, he requested to be buried where Ulilang Kaluluwa fell. Where the two were buried, a tree grew. The leaves reminded Bathala of Galang Kaluluwa’s wings, and the trunk of Ulilang Kaluluwa. That tree was the first coconut tree, the first tree in creation, the tree of life. Later on, Bathala created the first man and woman from bamboo shoots that he planted as a sign of peace with Aman Sinaya, another goddess. Oh, and before I forget, Bathala had another fight with Aman Sinaya and threw boulders from mountaintops which resulted to the archipelago that we live in now. So fast forward a few years later, humanity is thriving, some new gods and goddesses are born, and the country that was first occupied in this world was called the kingdom of Maharlika. So everyone lived in peace until the beings of evil came. Now, there are several theories of where they come from. Some say they are from the void from which the first gods emerged from, others say they are failed deities, while some say they are humans who were corrupted by greed. But for whatever reason, they wrecked havoc in the land. Now, the kingdom had no means of fighting back. Why would they, they literally had no enemies before that. They were being decimated, turned into mobile lunch packs, stuff like that. So the gods and goddesses intervened. They chose youths who were sixteen moons old and fed them the water of the first coconut tree. This gave the youth the ability to fight back. And thus the war between good and evil began. In the fight, the island of Maharlika sank to the bottom of the ocean, but the inhabitants more or less won the fight. So now they dwell in the bottom of the sea, a kingdom separate from mankind. Meanwhile, the forces of chaos continued to propagate and multiply, wrecking havoc here and there. The gods and goddesses continued to assign mortals of sixteen moons to fight them, training them in the underwater kingdom and sending them to the surface to fight. Which later became, you know, a bother. Who likes a swim before a fight? The ancestors didn’t, that’s what I know. So they trained a massive army of pinili, and with the help of the gods, they returned portion of Maharlika to the surface, if only to bring the soldiers closer to the fight. By this time, the world has already forgotten about them and has already lost all traces of magic. In order to not shock the rest of the world, the lost kingdom decided to live in hiding, right here, in Pinag-adlawan. Some people came to occupy the surface through land bridges, and viola, Philippines was born. So they live up there, have their own history, and we live down here, continuing to train and stop evil from wrecking havoc. And that, Amilyn, is how Pinag-adlawan came to be,” Mary finishes with a grand gesture.
I try to absorb all that she said. An ancient kingdom risen from the depths of the ocean, power dwellers living in hiding. That sounds like…
“Sounds kinda like Atlantis, with all this ancient kingdom talk,” I openly comment.
Mary slow claps.
“Man, you are good. Yup, that’s where the Atlantis thing came from. Several non traditional historians made that connection some time ago you know, before they were stopped by Pinag-adlawan from propagating their ideas more. Kamoteng kahoy?” she asks, offering me the white tube of something she’s dipping in a sauce of some kind.
“Uhh… that smells fishy. What is that?” I ask, pointing at the gray sauce.
“Ginamos. Small fish fermented in salt. Good partner for any kind of rootcrop,” Mary replies, dipping her Kamoteng kahoy in the ginamos again. “Wanna try?”
“Urgh, maybe later.”
“So what do you think? Understood the topic?”
“Aside from the plenty-syllables of names, yeah, I think so. Ancient kingdom, fighting evil, stuff like that,” I reply, still trying to wrap my hand around the idea.
“Hmm, you’re good. Don’t take too long adjusting. You’ll do well here. Don’t worry about the names, you’ll have plenty of time memorizing the entire pantheon plus a few hundred beings. Peachy, right? You looking forward to it?”
“I guess so?”
“Good. You finished? We’d better go and head for the baths. You don’t wanna take a bath in a crowd, do you?”
Not sure what she means, I decide that I do not, in fact, want to take a bath in a crowd. We both get up, pick up our trash, and head out.
I wake up the next day to the knowledge that I am, after all, not dreaming.
I was expecting to wake up and find myself back at the apartment, the sun peeking through the window, nana greeting me with her signature warm smile. I expected to be back in my old, regular, non pinili life, where the worst of my worries is my grades is math, followed closely by my worsening acne.
To my surprise however, I woke up and found that I am still inside the bizarrely shaped hut, in the embrace of an unfamiliar bed. Maybe it was too much of a wishful thinking to even hope that I would find a familiar setting when I open my eyes.
I was woken by the sound of an alarm clock going off. You know the one, that annoying beeping sound that makes you want to throw the alarm to the other side of the room, the one that is annoying enough to make you get up from bed groggily, if only to turn it off and stare blankly at the ceiling for the next fifteen minutes.
Opening my eyes, I notice that the sun is already up, its warm rays peeking through the gaps in the walls of the makeshift room.
Sure enough, it’s still that place, the small space surrounded by patterned pieces of cloth hanging from the ceiling, red, blue, yellow, and white forming intricate details on the fabric.
There is some shuffling to the room next to me. Then I remember that I have a roommate. A brown-haired one, with a name that sounded Spanish.
Mary, right. That’s what she asked me to call her.
“You awake, Amilyn?” she calls out tentatively.
“Wide awake,” I reply, holding back a yawn.
“How was your first night here at the base? All good? No centipedes crawling over your skin in the dead of the night?”
“Sorry WHAT?” I ask abruptly, standing up.
“Centipedes. Nasty little ones. Found about three on my first night here. They’re supposed to be useful in class, so authorities don’t eradicate them. But they sure are annoying to deal with when you want to sleep peacefully.”
“We’re supposed to use centipedes in class?”
“Sure. In pagbabalyan. They’re all the rage when it comes to witchcraft,” Mary nonchalantly replies.
I fall silent, imagining myself handling a handful of centipedes on my first day of class. I did not envision that when I was told I was to train to become a warrior. Why would warriors need centipedes?
“You okay?” Mary asks after a few seconds of silence on my end.
“Yeah. Just thinking about centipedes and stuff like that.”
“Oh don’t worry. You’ll get used to it. Besides, much worse things than centipedes are in store for us. We have a whole lot to look forward to.”
“Not really sure I look forward to any of that,” I reply, only half joking.
Mary laughs a little. She rummages around her cot for a few more seconds before poking her head beyond the cloth that separates our rooms.
“You ready? Let’s go. Coffee is the best when it’s freshly brewed. Today is a big day, always best to start big days with coffee.”
“Uhh…go where?”
“The yard, for breakfast.”
“Breakfast? But the sun is already high up.”
“Well it’s always high up, remember? It’s still four in the morning. In the outside world it’s still dark.”
“Oh right,” I say, remembering the big ball of fire at the center of the entire base. We have our own sun in here, up 24/7.
“Come, let’s start your pinili journey the right way,” Mary invites again.
Seeing no chance in the hope that I’m only dreaming, I resign myself to the fact that I am indeed here at this place called Pinag-adlawan, and I am indeed a pinili.
I stand up and follow Mary down the wobbly set of ladder. She leads the way around the uncountable number of uniform houses, taking twists and turns here and there, merrily making her way to her destination as I obediently follow her.
All around us, pinag-adlawan is beginning to open its eyes. People of all ages make their way down their houses, all sporting hairs of different colors and shades. Some are wearing pajama pairs, some topless and sporting jersey shorts, others covered in blankets and comforters, some donning statement shirts, and are even wearing lion clothes. They greet each other in various tongues I cannot even begin to name, waving and exchanging pleasantries. They all walk groggily toward a similar destination, where I assume Mary and I are headed as well.
I smell our destination before I see it. It’s the distinct smell of coffee, wafting through the air like an unseen seductress. My stomach grumbles, and I remember that I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday, and that I vomited what I ate the day before. I’m definitely looking forward to having my fill for this morning.
“There it is. Welcome to the barracks, Amilyn,” says Mary.
I peek behind her to get a better view of what she’s talking about.
It’s a simple place, this space called the barracks. An open area littered with tables and chairs of all shapes, sizes, and materials. Some are long, rectangular, tall, some are round, others square and draped in cloth, while some irregular in shape. I see some of the early arrivals are lounging on slabs of rocks, while others are sitting directly on the grass. Some are swinging on hammocks, some casually sitting on branches, and one is even levitating, literally sitting in the air.
All in all, it’s the most disorganized, and also the coziest-looking cafeteria I’ve ever seen.
Mary and I make our way toward the edge of the space, where I see adults manning large steaming jars.
“Ay uy. Gasayo gani ako tas madaigay gihapon yang utaw. Unan oras kadi dapat magmata, alas-dose?” I hear Mary mumble to herself.
That did not sound Spanish at all. Maybe Portuguese?
“Here we go Amilyn, right over there. I assume you don’t want rice for breakfast?” she turns to me.
“Uhh… no. No rice,” I reply.
“Okay. How about some sweet potato? It’s good with tablea coffee,” she asks again, making her way toward one of the jars.
“Sure, coffee is good.”
She nods.
“Dalawang kamote, tsaka dalawang tasa ng sikwate. Paki sama na rin ng saba at kamoteng kahoy,” she tells the woman manning the jar.
“Sauce?” the woman asks.
“May ginamos? Paki lagay ng sili tsaka suka,” Mary replies.
The woman whips up Mary’s order. Placing all of the food on a tray, she hands it to Mary, who accepts it and heads for one of the nearby empty table.
She puts down the tray and takes a seat. I follow.
“Sweet potato, should be familiar enough, right?” Mary says as she hands me a steamed sweet potato.
I nod and accept the crop. She also sets one of the mismatched cups in front of me. Inside is a dark kind of liquid. It smells sweet and full of luscious aroma.
I take a sip of the mystery coffee.
Hmm, it’s kinda like hot chocolate. Sweet, a little bitter, strong, with a distinctively chocolate-y aftertaste. Now this is definitely my kind of drink.
Delighted, I take another sip.
“You like it?” Mary asks as she devours her own cup of coffee.
I nod eagerly, turning my attention to the cup in my hands.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Sikwate. It’s pure grounded cacao beads with no added preservatives. Sweetened by natural, freshly squeezed sugar cane. It’s a Filipino treat,” she explains as she takes a bite off one of the white pieces of something off her plate.
I nod, turning my attention to my piece of sweet potato.
“Question,” I say.
“Fire away,” says Mary.
“Why are we eating Filipino treats?”
She looks at me as if not quite sure what she’s hearing.
“Uhh…did I say something?” I ask again.
“You don’t know? Anything?”
I shake my head.
“Wow, you really are clueless. Poor you,” she mutters under her breath.
“Why? What am I missing?” I ask again.
“We're in the Philippines, Amilyn. Hinatuan river is in the Philippines. The deities we follow belong to the Philippine pantheon. We’re what remains of the ancient brand of warriors who fought to protect the earth from the evils as told in the stories in what is known to the outside world as Philippine Mythology,” Mary explains.
She looks at me, as if wondering if I can process what I just heard.
I try to think for a few seconds.
Philippines. A small tropical archipelago in Southeast Asia, most known for beaches and singers. Why would a small, seemingly insignificant country in the far side of the world hold such importance?
“So you’re telling me that the evil and stuff that we’re being trained to fight are Filipinos?” I ask, not quite sure how to believe.
Mary looks at me, then she sighs deeply. She straightens her back, shoves a stick of something in her mouth, and clears her throat.
“Listen closely Amilyn. I’m about to tell you how the world came to be. Consider this your early introduction to the history of the world.”
Having successfully delivered our pick-up to her new home, Gab and I make our way out of the residential area, walking toward the common are about a few kilometers out.
Then I remember something. I stop dead in my tracks, facing Gab, who looks at me quizzically.
“What?” she asks.
“We forgot to tell Amilyn about her roommate,” I reveal.
Gab thinks about it for a few seconds, then sighs.
“Ah bon, une petite erreur. I’m sure she can sort herself out,” she says.
“Hmm, you’re right. Oh well, I guess that part couldn’t be helped. I hope she got a nice roomie though. Things are better with a nice roomie.”
“She will have a good roommate, kalangitan allow. No need to worry about her. Now, we should hurry.”
“Yeah, let’s get going.”
We continue to walk.
Goodluck, Amilyn. I hope you have fun here, I silently say. The kid could use some well wishes after all.
***
AMILYN
“Uhh…hi?” I tentatively say to the surprise guest.
Well, seeing as she got here first, I think I’m the guest in this situation. She must have been surprised to have someone barge in on her while she is sleeping. I know I would if I were in her shoes.
The girl looks at me as if calculating her options. With my luck, she could decide to dice me up before I am even allowed to explain why I’m here, not that I’d do a good job explaining anyway.
I look at her expectantly, deciding that I’m better off not talking, hoping that I’m skilled enough in ocular communication to convey that I am in no way a threat to her existence.
I carefully inspect her. The girl looks about my age, a bit taller than me, and also much skinnier. She has a pair of large, round, brown eyes, a small, rather flat nose, and a pair of thin lips. Her skin is on the darker side of brown. Her hair is…a light shade of black? Maybe a little orange?
Oh, it’s brown!
Wait, brown? I thought she would have blue hair like me. I thought everyone would have blue hair.
Anyway, I don’t think it’s a good time to ask, seeing as she’s still appraising me.
Finally, she nods, as if arriving at a decision. I hope it’s one that is favorable to me.
She stands, popping her neck as she goes like a trained gangsta about to wallop me whole. I instinctively inch back.
“English?” she finally asks.
Her accent sounds neutral, almost absent. She could be from anywhere and lost her native language’s inflection.
“Uhh…yes, English,” I reply, glad that the first topic we come to is not which part of my body I’m willing to part with.
The girl nods. She extends a hand.
“Welcome to Pinag-adlawan. My name is Maria Isabella Salvacion de Silva. You can call me Mary. I guess we can both safely guess that we’re roommates,” she says.
I take her hand, shaking it vigorously.
“Amilyn Verity, pleasure to meet you,” I reply.
“Well Amilyn, feel free to settle down. I already took the left side, I hope you don’t mind. Sorry for my reaction, I wasn’t expecting anyone to arrive in the middle of the night,” she says, stifling a yawn.
“No it’s fine. I also wasn’t expecting anyone to be here. Sorry for surprising you,” I reply.
“Ayos lang. I mean…it’s okay. Sit down, I’m sure you had a rough day. You get picked up today?”
I take her advise and plop down on the spare bed, which I assume is now my bed. To my surprise, it’s made out of foam. It’s soft and comfortable. I assumed that like everything here, they would go traditional on the bed and make us sleep on some kind of mat.
“Uh yeah, I guess I was…picked up today. You? How long you been here?” I reply, still marveling at the softness of the mattress.
“Three months. Been here since my sixteenth birthday, like everyone else.”
“Three months? That’s a long time. So everyone who turns sixteen gets picked up?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Some have been here longer. As long as you turn sixteen before the second full moon of April, which is when the harvest festival is celebrated, then you get picked up. Any later that year and you get picked up next year on January. So some spend their sixteenth at home, although their anitos are already gone. But for you and me, we spend it here. I guess you turn sixteen today?” she asks.
“Uh, I guess so,” I only reply.
Truth is, all my life I assumed that my birthday is on May 20, since that’s when we celebrate it. But nana did mention something about me being a month old when she got me, so I guess today IS my birthday. Wow, that’s just now sinking in. I’m sixteen today. What a way to spend your birthday.
She must have heard the doubt in my voice, but Mary doesn’t push the topic of my unsure birth date.
She lets out a yawn, and I turn to see her scrolling through a phone.
Wait…a phone?
“Uhm…” I start, not sure how to continue.
She side eyes me. I pick up my courage.
“Is that a phone?” I manage to ask.
“What, you don’t recognize what a phone is?” she asks, waving her phone.
“I do!” I defend. “Just…I didn’t know we could use phones here. We’re underground and we’re…not human, right? Can we use phones?”
She looks at me in disbelief.
Then…she laughs.
Now I find myself stupid. I mean, I just assumed we couldn’t use phone!
“You read Percy Jackson?” she says in between laughs.
“Uh, yeah? Why?”
“That’s where you picked up that particular nugget of knowledge. I don’t blame you, it’s a good series. Lots of fun to read.”
“Right? And it’s so helpful! I mean, my teachers think I’m a Greek mythology connoisseur and all I did was recite the order in which Kronus barfed out his children. I got an A+ in our lit class.”
Mary laughs again, clutching her stomach, gasping for air.
“What? You agreed it’s good!” I defend.
“No, it’s not that…just…oh well, how do I say this. It IS good, for a read I mean. But you can’t use it as reference material for yourself. I mean, we can definitely use phones, that’s one. And we’re not children of the gods, that’s a bit out of there, even for us. Besides, if we start getting messages on rainbows, our lives would be so much easier,” she explains.
“So…we’re allowed to use phones?” I ask again.
“Sure we can. Not much reception down here though. But it’s good for keeping us preoccupied. Plus it’s a better alarm clock than a rooster,” Mary replies.
“But…how do you charge it? I didn’t see any power lines on my way here,” I continue asking, mystified.
“Oh, we use solar and hydro power. Very handy when we have our own sun and several kilometers of flowing water. There’s no shortage of power here.”
I sigh. My imagination really got the best of me. I just assumed phones would spontaneously combust in our hands, so I left mine at the apartment. Now what do I do?
“What’s the matter, no phone?” Mary inquires.
I nod, slumping back on the bed.
“Don’t worry. It’s not that difficult to get one here. I’ll get you one tomorrow. Think of it as a late birthday gift. I’m sure today was a roller coaster ride for you, you probably didn’t have that much time to think about gifts. You’re new to this whole thing right? All the pinili stuff I mean.”
I nod in reply.
“How did you know?”
“Wild guess.”
She stands up, heading for the corner in front of us. She approaches a large earthen jar, opens it, and takes something from inside. Then she walks towards me and hands me something. I accept her offer.
The ‘something’ is a tubular piece of stick wrapped in banana leaves. It is about six inches long and an inch across. I watch as Mary peels off the banana wrapping, and I follow suit. Beneath the wrapping is a yellow, sweet-smelling thing. It’s kinda sticky, but looks appetizing.
“Eat. It’s called suman na kamote. Steamed grated sweet potato with macapuno in the middle. It’s a traditional kakanin from my tribe,” says Mary as she takes a bite off the tube.
I dutifully obey, taking a tentative chunk off the piece. The food is sweet and savory, soft and juicy, and the center is a creamy sweet jelly. Delighted, I take a second bite, and a third, and a fourth, until I demolish the entire thing. My hands are sticky, but I’m happy enough to ignore it.
“Want another one?”
I eagerly nod. Mary smiles and gets up to get me another.
“So, ready for tomorrow?” she asks as she walks.
“What? What day is tomorrow?” I ask in return, not fully paying attention.
“Harvest festival. Biggest gathering of pinili and bagani. Happens only once a year.”
“Uhh… is it something I have to prepare for?”
“Hmm, not really. Might just take you by surprise, seeing all shades of hair colors and stuff like that. I heard it’s quite the sight.”
“Hair colors? As in, multiple colors?”
Then I remember that I was wondering why her hair is brown.
“Yeah. You didn’t know? There are six possible colors all in all that a pinili can get when he turns of age. They are a reflection of the person’s overall demeanor.”
“Kinda like houses? In Hogwarts?” I ask, curious.
“Well, yes, and no. You see, we’re not divided according to our color. As you might have noticed, your hair is blue, mine is brown, but we’re roommates. But yes, our hair color does tell of our main characteristics,” Mary replies, returning to sit beside me and handing me another treat.
“So your hair is blue, that means you’re mind is deep and unfathomable, like the ocean. Mine is brown, which makes me resilient and determined, like the earth. Some have white hair, meaning they’re free and unbound, like the wind. Some are green, which makes them kind and giving, like the tree. Some have red hair, which makes them fiery and brave, like the sun. And then there’s the minority, gold, the catalonan-in-the-making. Our hair color describes our main trait, but we’re not supposed to let ourselves be confined within them. In the six years we will train here, we will be taught to adapt the characteristics of other hair colors, thus making us the ideal warrior,” she explains.
“Wow, you know a lot. That was kinda hard to memorize,” I reply, dumbstruck.
She lets out a hearty laugh.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll get used to it.”
I stifle a yawn. Mary notices. She gets up, heading to her corner.
“Time to sleep. You must have had a long day. We’re supposed to get up early tomorrow,” she says.
“Uh, right. Thanks for the food and the brief explanation,” I respond, taking off my shoes and lifting my feet into the bed.
“Sa way sapayan.”
Okay, did not understand that, but I’ll wing it.
“Yeah. And uhm…I hope we get along,” I add.
“You like Harry Potter and Percy Jackson, that’s a good start. Tomorrow after the festival, I’m sure we’ll have a lot to talk about. Well then, goodnight.”
“Yeah, goodnight.”
Mary pulls the covers on her corner, and with that she’s out of view. I lay in my bed, tired and sleepy.
Tomorrow is another day. If I wake up and find this was all a dream, then what a dream it was.
Somewhere in my mind, for the first time today (despite all the weirdness I have been through), I silently ask myself if I AM dreaming. Maybe I am, after all.
Am I? Do I have it in my capabilities to dream stuff like this up? Am I creative enough to conjure it in my messy little head? Because you know, I know myself, and I most certainly DO NOT know myself to be the most creative of the bunch.
Still, the question does merit being asked. Because…well, because this place is too out of this world to be real.
I feel someone touch the top of my head, and suddenly the chill I didn’t know I was feeling dissipates. Now I find myself dry despite just having finished a really impressive diving stint. I turn to see Gabrielle smiling reassuringly at me.
“How are you feeling? Okay?” she asks.
“Uhh…” I manage to reply.
Not very coherent, I know. But bear with me. If seeing my nana topless, losing her a few minutes later, having two strangers fetch me to confirm her ramblings, said strangers having me ride an ultra-sonic Angelie, then diving eighty feet to meet a thirty-foot-long red snake does not boggle my mind, then this place certainly takes the cake.
I take one sweeping look around, not sure where to start. The space is a domed area, equipped with crystallized rock formations in the ceiling, hanging precariously overhead. But that’s not the weirdest part. The sound of flowing water can be heard all around, accompanied by crickets chirping, the wind softly blowing, and something that sounds like a gentle humming from the distance, which somehow calms me down. Still not the weirdest part. The space spans farther than the eyes can see, like an entire city under that river, which, to be fair, is entirely plausible. The air smells…sweet? It’s like it’s blooming season for some sort of good-scented flower and we’re right on time for the wind’s special perfume delivery. Still, I guess underground caves have a warrant to smell nice. Not too out-of-the-ordinary.
Oh, there. That, I decide, must be worth asking first.
I turn to face both Gabrielle and Arnel, both looking at me as if expecting me to turn tail and run off back to the surface.
“Uhm…is that,” I say, pointing at the big floating ball of fire in the middle of the cavern, “the sun?”
The two of them blink a few times, looking alternately at me and the object I’m pointing at.
What? I mean, it’s a valid question. How many people have a big, round, fiery…thing floating in their backyard cave? Even batman doesn’t have one. The ball of fire is yellow in color, giving off a warm, bright glow. Stalactites of all sizes and impressive formations all reflect light in its wake like bizarre disco balls. It floats in the middle of the very, and I mean VERY, spacious cavern, seemingly serving as the center point for…well, everything.
Finally, the two look at each other and nod knowingly.
“Hmm, you certainly are a blue-head. Your inner workings are a wonder,” Alren quotes, nodding.
“Well, that depends on what your question means. To the dwellers of Pinag-adlawan, yes, that is the sun. Araw, suga, as they call it here. But in your subjective view, which I’m assuming you are asking from, no, that is not THE sun. Not the one you see outside anyway. That is A sun, given to Pinag-adlawan by Apolaki when he lost a bet to the third Datu. Apparently, he took some sunlight from his eyes and imbued it to his breath, et voici, here it is,” explains Gabrielle.
I nod, as if I understand.
“Apolaki is the god of the sun. Also our patron here in Pinag-adlawan, since he’s the patron of warriors. He, together with the first datu, founded this place,” she further says.
Well honestly, it’s gonna take more than that to explain this place.
They must have read the big question mark on my face, because they both put a hand over each of my shoulders.
“Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it after some time. Think of it like this, this is like Hogwarts, only without the wands. Imagine the wonderful things you’ll find here. The personal sun is just the beginning. There are loads more to see here,” Alren assures me.
I’m not sure I’m up for seeing more. Seeing the…well, A sun up close like this already feels out of this world. It’s like sitting in a large 3D space museum, only this is a more realistic experience. I can actually feel the warmth of the sun touching me. I look around and everything is casting a shadow away from the center. There is no need for torches here, the sun is a free-for-all light source. Even the trees are…
Wait, trees?
I squint to get a better view of what I just saw. And sure enough, about thirty feet from us, beyond a river, is a small forest. The tallest tree is about twenty feet tall. From here, I can see small movements in the bush. There are, I suspect, live, actual, land animals hiding just over there.
How can there be trees underground?
I decide not to ask. If there’s a mini sun here, I guess it’s acceptable to have trees. It’s a whole freaking biosphere!
“Alright, let’s get going. Amilyn, you should settle in for the night. Gab and I have some stuff to do,” says Alren.
I nod, eager to have the day over with. Maybe a good night’s rest will change my disposition towards all the weirdness of this place.
We walk. The ground, I notice, has transitioned to soil about five feet from the corners of the cavern. There are small wildflowers and grass growing freely, and a small, beaten track which we take.
Upon reaching the banks of the river, I notice there aren’t any bridges nearby. The river itself is clear, and I can see fish swimming around at the bottom, it doesn’t look that deep, so maybe we’ll take another dip?
“Enchanted river is a saltwater river, but the rivers here are mostly freshwater. You can use them for bathing and washing laundry, plus you can always grab a quick meal if you’re a decent fisher. Most of the fish are edible, and the ones that aren’t usually tell you they aren’t for eating,” explains Alren.
I nod again, as if it’s all sensible to have fishes tell me I can’t eat them.
“All of Pinag-adlawan is surrounded by rivers. If one is not welcome, the rivers serve as our first level of defense,” adds Gabrielle.
Alren conjures a small knife from his necklace. He holds out a palm, and runs the knife through it. Droplets of blood fall into the water below. Fish gather to examine the red droplet.
He hands the knife to Gabrielle, who does the same. Then they both look at me, as if expecting something.
“What? I’m not gonna…” I start to protest, suspecting what they want me to do.
Before I can finish however, Gabrielle grabs my hand and thrust it over the river. With one expert swipe, she slices my palm open, causing blood to ooze out.
I yelp in pain, and she let me go. Inspecting the wound, I find that it has already healed, and is, to my embarrassment, no longer painful.
“The beings in the river sense ones intentions, and will act in defense of Pinag-adlawan if they sense a threat,” explains Alren.
Suddenly, the river swells, and I duck back, afraid that perhaps the river sensed some unknown threat in me and has decided that the it’s time for the fish to have some snack.
However, the river does not eat me alive. Instead, the water morphs into a bridge spanning from one side of the bank to the other. Alren nonchalantly steps into the transparent bridge, followed by Gabrielle. Sensing that I’m expected to do the same, I follow suit.
Having crossed the river successfully, the three of us wordlessly carry on with out walk. We follow a beaten path through the forest (where, for some reason, the sun doesn’t penetrate and it is obviously nighttime). Past the forest is a fenced-off area. The fence is made of thin twigs and branches held together by some brown stuff and dried mud. Beyond the fence are an uncountable number of what I assume to be houses.
The houses stand on stilts, about fifteen feet above the ground. They are supported by thin stands protruding from the surface of the earth. The house itself is a rectangular space covered by what looks from here like tree barks held together to form walls. The roof is made of dried coconut leaves. A ladder made of knotted vines hangs from one of corners of the house.
We walk past several houses of the like, until we stop in from of one on the far right corner of the space.
“Here you are, Amilyn. Home sweet home for you,” declares Alren.
I look at him, not quite sure what to do.
He looks back at me expectantly.
“Well?” he says after a few seconds.
“What?” I ask.
“Up you go. Pip pip. We have to hurry off,” he replies.
I point to the ladder, then to myself, then back to the ladder. He nods.
Oh well, here goes nothing, I say to myself as I put a foot on one of the steps of the knotted ladder. I take one step up, and the ladder swings.
“Best hurry. You can get motion sickness if you stand idly. Comme vous l'avez peut-être remarqué, the ladder swings,” says Gabrielle.
I abide, taking one step next to the other up the ladder. I make it into the room without falling to my demise, a success I am willing to count.
Inside, I can see that the house’ floor is made of bamboo stalks. There are leaves growing on one corner, which leads me to the assumption that the pillars of the house are in fact, live trees.
Looking around, the house is made up of one room, a single space divided by pieces of cloth hanging from the ceiling. To one side are two of such spaces. One of the two is open, the other closed off. The open one displays a made bed that is lying directly on the ground. Beside it are what looks like several rectangular baskets of varying sizes. There is also a big jar of some sort. To the other side is a small table, over which is a mirror. On the head of the bed is a window propped open with a stick, allowing the sunlight in.
Upon closer inspection, I notice that the cloth dividing the spaces is familiar. It’s like the one hanging from our door back at the apartment.
I approach the clothing, suddenly feeling nostalgic.
Suddenly, the cloth moves.
I instantly inch back, expecting another out of the ordinary being to emerge, maybe half a bat half a moose, I don’t know.
To my surprise, a very not-so-out-of-the-ordinary girl emerges from beyond the cloth.
“Eh? Sino kaw? Unan hinang mo ani?” the girl asks quizzically.
I’m gonna die for the second time around in a single day, that’s the thought that came into my mind two seconds into the ride on these…what did they call them again? Angelie? Angsty? A…something. Yeah, let’s call it A-something. I’m definitely gonna die a second time again for the day. That must be a record.
I think that guy named Alren did warn me about something before the ride. I was definitely not paying attention, too starstruck by the arrival of the regal, jewel-adorned, semi-unicorn semi-centaur of a being. It wasn’t my fault. First the woman bagani whips up some magic beads, then she dices a chicken’s neck in some shamanistic ritual, then this cloud appears out of nowhere (the bagani system must really be into clouds). By the time the guy was explaining about some juice, the view in front of us morphed like a melting picture, and then these…beasts…no, calling them beasts sounds disrespectful…being, comes into view. I didn’t really have time to process what was going on with the French lady talking in squirrel and the A-somethings looking all majestic with their tatas out in open view (again, these bagani people must really not like the concept of brassieres).
By the time the Alren guy was saying some pre-flight reminders, I was too busy trying to wrap my head around the series of events that took place in the last ten minutes. Who can blame me? Certainly not…well…me. There has to be a threshold for weirdness a pinili has to go through on her first day.
Anyway, why am I too busy defending myself from an unknown accuser when I’m probably about to die riding this last minute ferry?
The ride itself reminds me of the time nana took me horseback riding. Only there’s no guide gently prodding the horse along, making sure it allows for a very comfortable, enjoyable ride. And only this ride feels like it’s going a hundred kilometers per second.
Everything around me looks like they’ve been stretched horizontally, all blurs of colored lines as we pass by. Not that I have that much time to look around, as I’m too busy hanging on for dear life, praying to whatever gods exist out there to not let this be my first and last day as a pinili.
I instinctively pull my feet as close to the A-something as I humanly can, with the gnawing feeling that they will 100% be ripped off if I don’t stick to the ride. Once again, I feel the whipping force of the wind on every exposed inch of skin on my body, threatening to slice and dice me as easily as the French woman diced that poor chicken’s neck. As we zoom into the horizon, I hear a cackle, something like a high-pitched laugh. I realize that it’s the ride, let’s call her Angelie, laughing at me. She says something else in squirrel, probably mocking me, but I don’t bother trying to understand, because I am too busy trying to keep myself alive.
Wait. My chest feels heavy, tight, like it’s gonna explode. And not in the metaphorical sense like I meant earlier when I lost my nana. I mean literally, I feel like my chest is about to explode. Something is missing, something…. Alren reminded me of before I was unceremoniously placed over Angelie (wow, that sounds so wrong). Something very important, he said. What is it? I try to rack my brain as my chest tightens more and more.
Then I realize it.
Breathe! I haven’t breathed yet since I was flown into the wind! I can’t believe I forgot about something very important.
I try to open my mouth, doing my best to bite at the air in front of me like some rabid animal lunging at a prey. But no can do, as the wind threatens to rip my mouth open upon my attempt.
Now what? I ask myself, panicking, as my chest constricts even more. I feel like I’m being squeezed alive, at the same time, I feel like I might just blow up anytime soon.
Think, Amilyn, think. Breathe! You have to breathe!
Instinctively, as if I’ve been intentionally holding back, I inhale through my nostrils, having reached my threshold for not breathing. The attempt is painful, like I’m breathing in something solid instead of air. But it suffices. The pressure in my chest lightens, even for the smallest bit, and I feel not-so-blowing-up.
And like that, the journey went on. Whenever I can no longer take the pressure of not breathing, I force myself to open my nostrils and breathe.
I notice water spraying all around us, and deduce that we must be passing through the ocean. Angelie’s species must be able to walk over water.
Breathe.
We hit solid earth again.
Open sesame nostrils.
The surrounding blur becomes greener. We must be passing by a forest.
Inhale, exhale.
I don’t know how long the journey went, but as soon as I felt Angelie slowing down, and I can take two sips of air without having my nose ripped off my pour face, I thank all the deities I have yet to know.
We come to an abrupt halt, and I forced my feeble body off Angelie (again, sounds wrong).
And ladies and gentlemen, I relieve my stomach of every meal I’ve had the last week, probably the last month, in a very undignified fashion. I am just hurling out vomit like an open faucet, hands on my knees, haunched over, puking.
I feel a hand pat my back, and realize that the bagani must have arrived. They’re probably more used to the fashion of travel, so they don’t unburden themselves of any meal.
“That ride was NOT human friendly,” I weakly declare once I finish my…well, troubles.
“Yeah, sorry about that. We wouldn’t have gone that direction if we had any other choice,” Alren’s voice says.
“At least you can’t say I haven’t gone through fire yet,” I reply, clearing my throat and trying to salvage what remained of my dignity by standing up as straight as my shuddering spine can carry me.
“Oui, the worst has passed. Now we are near the camp,” Gabrielle replies.
I look around. I was right, we are in the middle of the forest. Trees cover the sky, but I can safely proclaim it’s nightime here. Thankfully, there’s no rain.
“The camp is in the middle of the forest? Like Camp Half-Blood?” I ask.
“No, silly. It’s near here. Come on, let’s get walking,” replies Alren.
“Where are we anyway?” I ask again as I follow.
“Hinatuan, Surigao del Sur. Look, there’s the entrance,” he responds, pointing at something beyond.
I look. He is pointing at a river.
“The camp is a river?”
“Close. The camp is under the river. Welcome to Hinatuan Enchanted River, or Sacred River, some call it. Some locals caught wind of something out-of-the-ordinary going on around and called it enchanted. Little did they know they are very much on point,” says Gabrielle.
I take a closer look at the said enchanted river. The water is crystal clear, that much is obvious even under the night sky. But other than that, I can’t find anything enchanted about the place.
“Uhm…” I start.
“There is a cave system under the river, only very partially explored. To ensure the safety of the dwellers and the maintenance of the untouched tradition, the ancestors decided to settle there. It spans around five hundred square kilometers, the dwelling space equipped with all that is needed to sustain life underground. Its safety is ensured by magical barriers and guards in all entrances and exits,” Gabrielle explains.
“So we’re gonna…” I trail off.
“Yup, we’re gonna dive to it,” finishes Alren.
“Not to be pessimistic or anything, but I’m not much of a diver, and the river looks really deep. Unless being a pinili allows one to breath under water, I doubt I can make the trip,” I protest.
“Oh, ne vous inquiétez pas. It’s just like you said, being a pinili allows you to breath under water, so to speak. Here, drink this,” Gabrielle replies, handing me a flask.
I look at the flask nervously, worried it might make me sprout gills or something. With my luck, the gills turn permanent and turn me into some human-fish hybrid.
“Don’t worry. It’s not that bad. You only grow gills and fin for about an hour. The effects wear off, usually,” Alren says, reading my mind.
She must have read the horror in my face, because Gabrielle threw her partner an irritated look.
“Don’t worry about what he said. It only allows you to absorb the oxygen in the water and take on the pressure of being eighty feet under water. You won’t feel too much. And you won’t definitely grow gills and fins,” she assures me.
I nod, not too sure, but seeing no other choice. I take the flask, taking a swig of the liquid inside. Immediately, a warm feeling washes over me, like I’m bathing under the sunrise. I look at my hands, no fins. I touch my neck, no gills.
Gabrielle smiles at me, as if saying ‘see? No harm done’ in French.
“Ready?” she asks.
I nod, suddenly finding courage.
“Okay, let’s go. Alren, you go first.”
“As you wish, mademoiselle,” says Alren, and then he dives into the water.
“You next. I’ll be right behind you,” Gabrielle tells me, mentioning me to go on.
I nod again. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and jump into the water.
It’s a peculiar feeling. Just like I’m on the surface. I open my eyes and see various rock formations all around me, and the surrounding has a blue hue to it. I’m definitely under water, and I’m not breathing, but I don’t feel any pressure in my chest whatsoever. I feel light, like a leaf in the wind. I take experimental twists and turns, and my body follows my instructions with ease. Unknowingly, a smile appears on my face. So this is what it feels like to be one with your surroundings.
I feel someone poke me. I turn and see Alren pointing downward.
Right, we have somewhere to be, and the effects of the potion only lasts for an hour.
I follow him, swimming downwards. The water is clear and easily parts for me as I make my way. From what I learned in class, the deeper you are under water, the more the pressure builds. But I don’t feel anything out of the ordinary at all.
We continue making our way downwards for who knows how long. The surroundings grow darker and darker, until I can’t see where I’m going anymore. Alren looks back and must have noticed me stop, because I feel him poke me again. No, he is writing something on my forehead. A second later, the surrounding rock formations start to give off a dull, white glow.
Now able to see my surroundings, I continue with the dive.
We swim until we reach the bottom of the river. Here, the glow of the rocks indicate many entrances, of various sizes, in all directions. We make our way towards one on our left, a small opening about five feet wide, and enter.
Forward we go, traversing the various twists and turns of the cave, passing through large caverns and narrow passages. I see stalactites and stalagmites of all shapes and sizes, but am left with no time to be in awe at their beauty, as Alren doesn’t stop to admire them.
Finally, when my arms and feet start to get tired from all the swimming, and when I’ve decided to give up on my effort to memorize the way, we stop.
We’re in front of a large opening, the path beyond unlit. I notice movement amid the dark. Something is making its way towards us.
I must have let out an audible gasp, because I feel Gabrielle’s reassuring hand over my shoulder. She nods at me, as if saying it’s alright.
The creature in front of us is somewhat like a snake, only about thirty feet long and about two feet across, with many horns. It is red, with something like a crown, or a crest on its forehead. Its eyes are milky white, and the mouth is fully equipped with razor sharp teeth. From beyond, I can see it whip its tail, one that looks like that of a mermaid’s. In short, it looks like if a dragon and a snake had a baby.
Alren and Gabrielle are unfazed though, so I decide it’s not too courageous to turn tail and run for dear life.
The creature comes close, as if sniffing the three of us. I freeze, my eyes following its every move, alert for any signs of hunger in its eyes. However, I find myself more in shock when it nudges Alren with its snout, gently, like a pet recognizing a master. Alren pats it, and looks back at me with a big grin on his face.
He mentions for us to continue, so I decide I no longer want to be in the presence of big scary snake, and lunge forward enthusiastically.
We continue to swim, this time passing by a narrow canal only four feet across. After about twenty feet, we emerge into a small cavern of air.
The three of us surface.
“Sorry we forgot to tell you about the ibingan. He can be scary to first-timers,” Alren says nonchalantly as he starts making his way forward.
No worries, I try to say, but all I manage is a nod.
From there, we walk. The cavern leads into a tunnel. Torches line the walls on each side, giving off a bright white glow. We walk wordlessly for some time, until we arrive.
I mean, if this is IT. Then I must say, it was well worth the journey, ride on Angelie involved.
“Welcome to Pinag-adlawan, Amilyn,” says Gabrielle, as the three of us pause to take in the view.
We arrive back at the apartment soaking wet, having been caught in the storm still raging on outside.
“I don’t think this will let up anytime soon,” I comment to my companion as I utter a simple spell to dry myself.
“Oui. It has been like this for the past few days. The weatherman always predicts sunshine, but the clouds tend to disagree,” Gabrielle replies, also having dried herself.
I open the door to the apartment, eager to get out of here and back in the warm, unconfusing, weather controlled climate of Pinag-adlawan.
To my (or maybe our) surprise, we find our pinili haunched on the ground, hugging herself, and very obviously crying.
Gabrielle and I look at each other, unsure what to do. I mean, I can understand the kid, it IS hard to lose someone whom you’ve depended on all your life, we both know that. But even if we both went through the pain of losing a guardian anito, our anitos weren’t our only family. Gabrielle’s anito was her nanny, and mine was (I thought) a jolly distant uncle twice removed. We both had other families during our early youth, but this pinili solely relied on her anito. It must be hard.
“Uhm…” I start, inching forward hesitantly.
“Chère?” Gabrielle also says in the softest voice she could manage.
The pinili. Wait no, her name is…what was it again? Something non-Asian…starting with an A.
Oh right! Amilyn!
Anyway, Amilyn turns around as Gabrielle and I make ourselves known. Upon seeing us, she hastily wipes her eyes and stands up. Her eyes are bloodshot. Gods know how long she’s been crying. Has she been like that since we’ve been away? Yikes!
Amilyn clears her throat, still sniffling and drying her tears.
“I’m ready,” she says in a bare whisper.
“Are you sure? We can stay for a little bit. You won’t see this apartment again, you know. Authorities at Pinag-adlawan will make it so you and your nana, along with this apartment, never existed. You can take your time looking around,” Gabrielle says encouragingly.
Amilyn shakes her head.
“No. I’m ready. We can go. You said something about missing a festival if we don’t hurry. Wouldn’t wanna miss that….whatever it is. Besides, if we stay longer, I would…it’s gonna hurt even more. We should go. I’m ready,” she repeats defiantly, sounding as if she’s trying to convince herself.
Gabrielle nods with understanding.
I guess we’re going then.
“Come then. Let’s get out of here,” Gabrielle says, holding her hand out to the pinili.
Amilyn takes it. Gabrielle smiles at her reassuringly, nodding with encouragement.
“It’s gonna be okay, chère. You’re being very brave. Maybe you should be a redhead instead,” she jokingly adds.
Why this woman! Who says we blueheads can’t be brave? I’ll have a word with her about discrimation based on hair color someday. Anyway, I should let it slide today, just today. We have an emotional pinili to deal with, and a festival to catch.
Gabrielle leads the pinili out the room. Amilyn lets herself be led away, slowly inching towards the door. Once she reaches the doorway, she turns her head, taking one last sweeping look at the apartment she grew up in. With a defiant sigh, she turns to look ahead of her.
Down two flights of stairs we go, out the building, where we are once again exposed to the beating rain and flashing lightning.
“Is there a forest nearby? Anggitay don’t like coming to crowded places,” I ask, looking around.
“Yes, well, maybe. There’s a little park with some trees a few blocks from here,” Amilyn responds.
“Alrighty, lead the way. Oh, and full disclaimer, we tried using umbrellas earlier, yeah, not really worth the effort of trying to keep them upright. The wind just likes turning them into makeshift satellites,” I say.
“Il a raison. We’ll have to brave the rain. Besides, with the anggitay, rain won’t be the least pleasant phenomena we’ll have to deal with today,” Gabrielle agrees.
“Uhhh…okay?” Amilyn replies wearily.
And thus, we thrust ourselves out into the open, rain, wind, thunder and all.
Amilyn leads us to an (understandably) abandoned park. When I say understandably, I mean, who would put a park this far away from the nearest residences? Just coming here is an exercise in itself, given the distance. And in that rain? Phew! Amilyn said “a few blocks”, and she has a different definition of the phrase.
The “park”, if you can call it that, if full of overgrown grass and rusting metal that I presume used to be playthings. Trees have obviously long since crossed the their threshold and decided to crawl towards the center of the place, so their roots scurry through the path, crisscrossing here and there.
Anyway, we arrive, and Gabrielle points to a shed hidden amid the bushes. She mumbles something inaudible amid the rain, but I get her point. In order to summon the anggitay, we’ll need to start a fire, and to start a fire, we’ll need somewhere dry. The shed is the only relatively dry place we can find, so we make our way towards it.
We arrive shivering from the cold.
“You should do it. I’m almost out of steam, and I never did well in summoning spells at school,” I tell Gabrielle.
She rolls her eyes at me, muttering some very rapid French under her breath. I doubt they mean anything good, but hey, we can’t risk me summoning a bentohangin instead of an anggitay here.
Gabrielle kneels, taking a bead from her bracelet. She brings the bead to her lips, muttering a spell under her breath. The bead glows, and then turns into a cauldron. She does this a few times, summoning, in order: a few bottles of herbs, a special set of stones, a bottle of rice, salt, and a live chicken.
Beside me, I notice Amilyn look at the scene with awe.
Right, always a wonder for the first timers.
“It’s called ornamentation. You can turn anything into an ornament. As you might have noticed, those beads return to their previous state when a spell is chanted. You’ll learn it at Pinag-adlawan,” I explain in a whisper.
“I’ll learn how to turn a chicken into a bead?” she says, sounding dumb-founded.
“Well, you’ll start with simple things, like a stone into a bead. Live stuff are more complicated, they come in the later years,” I answer.
She nods, though I’m not quite sure she understands.
In front of us, Gabrielle continues with the ritual. She mixes several ingredients in the cauldron. Then, she summons her kalis once again. She starts chanting under her breath, chicken on one hand, kalis on the other.
Gabrielle raises the chicken over the cauldron. Then, in one swift motion, she slits the being’s neck with her kalis. Blood squirts out the open wound like a red fountain, dripping down on the cauldron. Amilyn lets out a gasp.
The cauldron starts to emit black smoke. The smoke swirls over the lid of the jar like a miniature cloud. Flashes of lightning light up the small, dark cloud. Gabrielle continue chanting under her breath.
The cauldron shakes and rattles. The smoke above it continues to swirl, now a mix of black and red, flashes of lightning still evident within. The pungent smell of blood, herbs, and the familiar scent of sagangan lurks in the air. Then suddenly, the smoke drops to the ground forming a ring around the cauldron. Cracks start to form on the earth around the earthen jar, growing wider and wider by the second. The smoke seeps into the cracks, billowing like cloth as it disappears into the darkness within.
And then everything goes back to normal. Gabrielle stands, discarding a still writhing gutted chicken to the ground. She reaches for her bracelet, takes a bead and brings it to her lips. The bead bead glows and transforms into a flask.
This one I’m familiar with. Gabrielle takes a swig off the flask. I turn to Amilyn.
“We call it the juice. It’s like autotranslate in liquid form. There are lots of languages in the world, and then the supernatural have a language of their own, so it can become quite a drag to learn all the languages in pursuit of comprehension. This liquid allows you to understand all known languages, and speak them at the same time. Very handy, even trickier to make,” I explain.
Just as I finish, they arrive. We first hear the unmistakable sound of hooves hitting the solid earth in haste. Then a blur appears in front of us, as if reality has become liquid. Then they appear: three fully grown anggitay, ready to take us home.
Beside me, I hear Amilyn gasp again, and I can’t really say I blame her.
Anggitay are a sight to behold. Kinda like centaurs, but imagine female, and with a single horn protruding from their forehead. Like many of the supernatural, they don’t see the need to cover their…well…intimate parts, so their bare chests are in full frontal view. They are adorned with all manners of shiny stuff, rubies, emeralds, diamonds, gold, some shiny seashells, you name it. Supposedly, the queen is the flashiest of them, though I can’t say that from experience. I think every new one I meet is flashier than the other.
Anyway, Gabrielle walks forward to the three, lets out a series of chirps and whistles, and the one in front replies. The bewildering exchange goes on until Gabrielle turns to us, nodding. That means they agree.
“So, remember to hold on tight, no matter what happens. Make sure to tuck yourself in as much as possible, don’t let your feet and arms dangle, hide your head, and make sure to not forget to breath. The last part is very important,” I tell Amilyn.
“What?” she replies in a blank tone, still looking at the anggitay.
I lift her up by the armpits and unto one of the anggitay. This isn’t the recommended form of travel for a newbie, but we really have no choice. Besides, they won’t know fear until they know what to fear. This is good exercise.
“Wo….woah!” Amilyn yelps out as I tuck her in.
“Safe travels!” I bid her.
Her ride takes that as her go signal, and off into the wind she goes (literally). The last I hear of Amilyn is her ear-splitting scream. Ah, first timers. Those are the good old days.
“Let’s go. We need to be there when she arrives,” Gabrielle says.
The two who call themselves bagani leave, something about fetching us a ride home, and I am left all alone in the apartment.
I stand in front of our happy wall, looking at the empty space where nana’s used to occupy in the picture in front of me. This picture was taken when I lost both my front teeth at the same time. I was devastated, sure that they would never grow back and I would look like an incomplete reverse-rabbit all my life. Nana, as she always does, took it upon herself to cheer me up.
She brought me outside to the park, we played games together, and she brought me ice cream. “Padayon,” she told me. Continue, go on, a bad minute doesn’t mean a bad day, a bad day doesn’t mean a bad life, she told me. If you walk further, you’re bound to find a beautiful sunset, a promising sunrise, an ending worth all the bad things, a beginning worth all the suffering. So go on, don’t stop at where you feel it’s worst. The brightest sunrises come after the darkest hours of dawn. Padayon, she said.
We laughed, and at the end of the day, my missing two front teeth are forgotten, and I have a huge smile planted on my face. We posed just as sunset came.
The picture captured the moment perfectly, us, in the moment, perfectly happy. It was a reminder that no matter how bad a day would get, there was always hope of cheering up before the day ends. Whenever I was down, nana would bring me to this picture and remind me that just as on that day, she would always be there to cheer me up.
But now…
What now? She’s gone. All the traces of her is gone. Her smiling face on the picture is gone, her hand resting on my shoulder is gone. What now?
And now of all times, when I need her the most, when I am about to have my whole life uprooted and turned upside down. When some people come barging in to tell me I’m something I’ve never even heard of, destined to serve gods I didn’t even know existed. Now, of all times, when I need her to remind me that everything will be alright, that things aren’t as bad as they seem, that there’s hope amid this bleak-looking future. Now, of all times, when I need her the most, she’s not here. Even the picture that reminds me of our best times together is gone. What now?
Tears threaten to fall from my eyes again. I look up, forcing myself not to cry, forcing the tears to roll back up. It’s no use crying now, she’s gone…forever. That woman named Gabrielle said so, and somehow I believe her. I’m never gonna see nana again, she’s not here to comfort me anymore.
Why didn’t she tell me earlier? Why didn’t she at least prepare me for this moment? Why did she make me depend so much on her when she knew that she would one day leave me forever, and leave me at the edge of an unknown world?
I hate her for it….I hate her for leaving me…for leaving me clueless, leaving me hurting, leaving me alone. I hate her…and I miss her. It hasn’t even been an hour since I last saw her but I already miss her so much, and the knowledge that I’ll never see her again is crushing my heart.
I close my eyes, trying my best to imagine her. Her warm smile, her comforting gaze, the home I feel in her touch. I visualize every wrinkle on her brown face, every gray strand of her hair, every word that ever came out of her thin lips. And I hurt even more. The memory of her hurts me, the fact that memories are all I have of her hurts me even more.
Nana. What now?
Outside, thunder rumbles. Sheets of heavy rain crash against the walls of the apartment. The weather is agreeing with my breaking heart, mourning with me. Nana, what now?
“Padayon.”
I open my eyes abruptly, sure that I heard a voice…her voice. I look around. I’m alone.
Is it the wind? Is it my imagination? Is it just my wishful thinking? my desire to her again? Am I hearing things? Am I finally going insane?
A gust of wind enters the apartment, blowing through the closed window, ruffling the curtains. The wind chimes sing. A lullaby, a memory of a warm sunset, an image of a smile. The gust of wind reaches me, touching my cheeks softly. This doesn’t feel part of the storm raging outside. This gust is soft, gentle, kind, comforting. It passes by me, engulfing me in a warm embrace. I didn’t know winds could ever be warm, nor do I know them to ever give embraces.
I close my eyes again.
Padayon.
Her words. The only foreign words she ever said, the words that apparently mean to continue. Continue for the worthy sunset, a promising sunrise. A bad phase isn’t the ending, the ending is never a bad phase.
She always said that every time I’m down. Padayon. Rest if you must, but never quit. Always continue.
Did she say that to prepare me for this eventuality? Did she actually prepare me for a life without her with a single word? If she did, will it be enough?
Nana, can I really go on without you?
Padayon.
Nana, can I do this?
Padayon.
I close my eyes again, visualizing her again. Nana…nana.
The last image I have of her, her last words. She said she was proud to have raised me.
The gust of wind passes by me again, softly caressing me. Comforting me. She said she was proud of me. Her last words to me…
No, her last words to me…the last word she said to me is…
Padayon.
Tears fall from my closed eyes. And this time, I no longer put any effort into stopping them. I fall to my knees, sobbing my heart out. In pain, in acceptance, in defeat, in mourning, in understanding.
Nana…thank you…for everything.
And I will…I will continue.
Like that, I stayed, for God, or gods, know how long, crying.
We decide to leave Amilyn at the apartment before we head out. It’s not safe what we’re about to do, and as a pinili, she’s still helpless in the situation we’re about to put ourselves in.
Si nous n'étions pas dans un tel besoin, I wouldn’t agree to this solution. Still, desperate times call for desperate measure.
See, what we’re about to do is to attack a monster and collect its prize, and use said prize to catch a ride home.
Allow me to explain. When a being of the supernatural dies, it leaves behind precious jewels. The bigger and the more dangerous the being, the more jewels it leaves behind. Our plan is to kill such a monster and summon an anggitay to ferry us home.
Supernatural creatures can be classified into three: the good (those who serve the deities), the bad (those who wreck evil), and the neutral (those who simply exist and act and react to situations as befitting the dilemma). An anggitay is a neutral species. They have the upper body of a female human and the lower body of a horse. They can travel at such speed and run over water. And most importantly, they love jewels. Anything that sparkles, they go for. So for us to fetch a ride home on an anggitay, we need jewels.
Now, a monster to kill isn’t that hard to find. In fact, I’ve sensed one the moment we stepped in the block. And you might ask, why am I complaining? Isn’t my job basically to get rid of monsters? Well, mon ami, I happen to have just had my nails done, and the monster is a big one, by the looks it. I don’t fancy getting my nails damaged today. But well, it is what it is.
I checked the news just to confirm our suspicions. Sure enough, there’s been some disturbances at some abandoned building just east of the apartment.
And so we go, drenched in the rain, in search of our very own monster. Quelle heureuse pensée !
“Are you sure this is the place? There seems to be nothing here,” comments Alren as he looks around.
Truth be told, he seems to be right. The dilapidated building isn’t the typical place for a kapre to appear. For one, it’s not in the middle of the forest, where huge trees like the balete tree where the infamous kapre lives are found. Two, we’ve been here for minutes already, and nothing is attacking them. Rule of the thumb is as soon as baganis emerge, monsters always immediately jump out of their resting place to devour them; it’s just how things are, baganis are delicious lumps of meat for all monsters. Just as we bagani can sense the supernatural, they too can sense us. But in this case, there’s nothing but the occasional howling of the wind and our own footsteps.
We need this monster, and we’re already drenched in the rain. It’s cold and time is of the essence. And we can’t leave here empty-handed.
“Old building two hundred meters from the apartment, this is it. I’m sure this is the place,” I reply as I continue to look around. “Maybe it left?” I suggest as she takes a turn.
“No, it’s still here. I’m sure you can sense it as clearly as I can,” Alren replies. “But it sure is taking its time showing up.
His complaining is answered by the roof of the building suddenly caving in. Pieces of cement and plumes of dust came flying toward us. We immediately jump out of the way in reflex. In swift and practiced motions, we both summon our weapons before they even land on the ground.
Alren pulls a crystal ball from a series of other stones hanging around his neck. As soon as the ball is free, it lights up and turns warm. In a few seconds, a huge single-edged sword is in his palms. The sword is dual pointed and with a carved hilt, heavy and forty inches long made of pure steel. This sword is called a kampilan, a sturdy sword that can take out two human heads in a single swing, not that it’s meant for human head cutting.
I take out a single pearl from her bracelet. Like my partner’s crystal, the pearls glows and starts to warm before morphing into her own weapon. Not too long after, a kalis appears in my hand. The sword is a double-edged sword with a single tip. It is straight from the tip down and wavy near the handle, finished with a wooden handle.
“Well well well, look who decided to show up,” Alren comments although he can’t really see what they’re facing.
“Oh shut it, will you? Don’t anger the…hooooooooooooly….”
I’m not able to finish her sentence as Alren drags me to the side, just in time to avoid a giant fist landing on where she was standing just now.
The dust clears up a little, giving us a better view of what we’re facing. In front of us is a giant humanoid monster, about thirty feet tall. The creature is hairy all over, and is sporting a huge cigar in its mouth. Its eyes are red and the size of a human palm, and its body is all covered with black hair.
“That’s one huge kapre,” comments Alren as the two inch backward, preparing to evade the giant’s next attack.
“You don’t say,” I reply. “Wanna do the honors? We shouldn’t wait for it to keep on attacking us.”
“By all means,” says Alren, raising his sword. “Well then, here goes,” he adds, cracking his neck and then…running straight toward the monster in front of them.
Kapres depend on their brute strength to defeat their enemies. They can’t see well because of the hair all over their eyes, and their moves are slow and wobbly. Even for a giant as big as this, it’s not too difficult to get in between the feet and start getting to work slicing and dicing. Which is exactly what Alren intends to do. But first, he needs to get up close, which is where I come in.
I start chanting under my breath while simultaneously ducking to the side to avoid the kapre’s next attack. A few seconds later, a ball of light emerges from her hand. The light grows larger and larger until it’s the size of a basketball. I then raise my hand and throws the light at the giant. The light hits the kapre right in between the eyes, causing it to scream out in pain. Even when on the move, I fancy myself a good aim.
The kapre howls in a loud booming sound, causing all nearby glass structures to break. I fall to my knees and cover my ears with my hands.
I always hate this part, no matter how many times I do it, I tell herself as I curl up to a ball. No matter though, I’ve done my part superbly.
The light itself is harmless, but being creatures of the night, kapres are sensitive to light, it burns their eyes. Getting hit by a ball of light near the eyes hurts just like having your eyeballs gouged out.
“Now!” I scream, struggling to be heard over the kapre’s howling.
“You don’t need to tell me that!” replies Alren.
During my distraction efforts, Alren made it right below the giant. And he starts with the task at hand. He attacks the limbs first. With a mighty swing of his kampilan, he strikes the giant’s right leg. One swing is enough to cut the leg off cleanly. The giant howls out in pain some more, but Alren isn’t done yet. Avoiding the giant’s hands that are attempting to grab him, he draws his attention to the left leg, also slicing it in one clean swing. The giant falls to the ground face-first. Blood spurts out from both severed limbs like a waterfall of black goo, as the giant writhes around in pain.
Alren takes the opportunity to climb the giant’s hairy chest. In one push, he drives his sword right into the giant’s chest.
The giant gives off one last shudder before finally dissolving to a pile of dust. In it’s place are four shining golden nuggets. Alren, who was until now riding atop the giant, falls to the ground. He walks toward the nuggets, collecting them in his hands.
“Well, that wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” he comments, playing with his prize.
“You don’t say. How many this time?” I reply, referring to the golden nuggets.
“Four. Should be enough to fetch us a ride home.”
“And I didn’t ruin my nails. Quelle chance!”
“Right, lets go fetch our pinili and get out of here,” declares Alren.
We arrive at the scene just as the storm takes its worst turn. The apartment, located in the second floor of the complex, was hard to miss.
“Room 201, this is it,” Alren says as he points at the door.
“Oui, un morceau de dagmay accroché à la porte, et une poignée de couleur bleue. This must be it,” I reply.
Alren sighs heavily, crossing his hands and looking at me with a hint of exasperation.
“Lady, how many times have I told you, when you’re not on the juice, stick to a tongue I can understand,” he says.
“Oh s'il vous plait. I’m sure you understood the context of what I said. Don’t get so grumpy over it,” I say, waving my hand at his nonsense complain.
“Today I do. What if next time you say some gibberish against me. How would I be able to defend myself if I can’t understand what you’re talking about?”
“Well, not to worry. If I ever decide to talk against you, I will make sure I say it in perfect English so you can understand every word and thus formulate the perfect response. Now, we should get going and get this pinili all sorted, s'il vous plait. I do not want to be caught in this horrible storm.”
He motions as if to protest, but I raise my finger to his lip.
“Tut tut tut. No more complaining. Let’s get this sorted, shall we?” I cut off.
Without waiting for a reply, I mutter a spell under my breath. Knowing that the residents of this room is an anito, I assume it’s magically sealed off against forced supernatural entrance. Sure enough, I feel the faint sensation of a warding dissipating as soon as the door opens.
It doesn’t take us too long to find the pinili. There she is, sprawled unconscious on the floor, naked, shreds of her clothing strewn all around her. A white, luminous cloud of dust is surrounding her, floating above her.
“Bravo, la conversion a déjà commencé! Now we just wait for her to wake up,” I announce as I make my way inside.
“Hey, close your eyes. I’m sure she wont appreciate you seeing her in her …..uh….current state,” I warn Alren as he too makes his way inside.
He dutifully abides. Eyes shut, he waves his wands in front oh him, feeling his way as he enters the room.
“I suggest you stay there. I’ll go get something to cover her up first. Juste une seconde.”
I open one of the rooms I find, which appears to be the pinili’s room (the standard teenager’s room), and grab a blanket. I approach the young girl and cover her with the blanket, leaving her face exposed so we can be alerted once she wakes up.
“Alright, you can open your eyes now,” I tell Alren.
“Hmm, blue. Nice,” he says with a knowing nod, looking at the pinili.
I realize he’s referring to the pinili’s hair color, or her spirit color. And he’s pleased because he has the same color, underneath that black wig of his.
“Well, we better get comfortable. J'ai besoin de reposer mes genoux. Who knows how long it will take for her to wake up.”
I take a seat on the floor near the pinili, looking at her face. Alren sits beside me.
“She looks Asian. I thought she would be Canadian, seeing as her anito settled her here,” I note, noticing the young lady’s features.
Now, I know many Asians from back as school, she definitely fits the bill. Maybe they migrated here?
“Well, from now on it won’t matter if she’s Asian or Canadian or Marsian, will it? As soon as she wakes up, she’s a pinili. Whatever identity she had before will be unimportant, and she’ll train her ass off to kill monsters and whatnot,” Alren replies nonchalantly.
“Nana says say bottom instead of ass,” a weak voice replies.
“Yeah, bottom sounds more appropriate, mon ami,” I reply.
“.….wait what?” I add, looking around for the source of the voice.
“Nana says….” the voice starts again.
“Oh good, you’re awake,” Alren says, looking at the pinili.
I look as well. Her eyes are barely open, and she’s weakly trying to remove the blanket from her bare body.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You don’t have any clothes underneath that blanket,” I warn.
“What do you mean I don’t…” she weakly adds.
Then her eyes abruptly open wide, as if she’s been hit by a sudden surge of energy. She looks at us, then at herself, peeking under the blanket, then back at us.
Cue the hysterical screaming.
“Ahhhhhhhhh!”
“Not really the kind of reaction I was expecting. People usually see me and say ‘bonjour magnifique’,” I quip.
“Who are you?! what are you doing in our apartment?! why am I na….Oh my god! I’m naked! I’m naked! Oh my god!” she starts rambling.
“Actually, it’s ‘oh my gods and goddesses’. You have to be respectful to all of them, they can get quite touchy about not getting recognized properly,” Alren replies.
“What? What are you talking about? Who are you? Why are you here? And WHY on earth am I naked?” she shouts.
“Easy there, you’ll make the whole complex think you were raped or something else happened. Chill, you’re all good,” says Alren.
“Yeah, calm down, chérie. Would you like a glass of water?” I ask.
“No, I do NOT need a glass of water. I need to know what happened here. And who are you guys?” she asks again, more forcefully this time.
Alren and I look at each other, not quite sure where to start.
I decide I better take the lead here.
“Don’t you remember anything, chérie? A dust of pearl razing you? Maybe a little talk with your anito? Drinking something from a jug?” I start, trying to sound as helpful as possible.
A puzzled look appears on her face.
“I…” she starts.
Then the look of realization dawns on her.
“There was this tornado. It spun around me and slashed me,” she says, slowly, as if wondering if her words are even true.
“Yeah, that part hurt like the mother,” Alren comments.
I elbow him, mentally warning him not to interfere.
“Go on,” I say encouragingly.
“Then I had a dream about my nana. She said something about my parents dying and a goddess sending her to save me. And then she went on about being a bagani. Then she gave me this drink. And then….”
“And then you wake up here, naked, with two strangers in your house,” I finish for her.
She nods absent-mindedly.
“I’m sure if you rack your brain hard enough, you will remember that your nana told you that you are chosen by a god or goddess to be a bagani, a warrior who will fight against the forces of evil. I’m sure you’re still wondering if that was all a dream. Well, it’s not. Your nana who raised you, who you said was sent by a goddess, was an anito, and she was assigned to raise you until you reach the age of sixteen, by which time you are ready to become a pinili, a bagani in training. Yes, gods and goddesses are true, monsters are true, spirits are true, your hair changing color is also true. We… I mean that guy and I, are bagani. And we’re here to take you to Pinag-adlawan for your training,” I explain.
She looks at me, blinking a few times, as if wondering if she should believe me or not.
Finally she sighs.
“I knew it was too weird to see my grandma topless in my dreams,” she says in a defeated voice.
Alren and I manage a laugh at that.
“Yeah, anito don’t wear any top gear. They let their….you know…bounce freely,” Alren comments.
“You’re taking this on quite well. Others usually deny it for a long time. I remember slapping the bagani who fetched me, just to see if I was still dreaming,” I say with a smile.
“My grandma says the same. But I don’t have the imagination to dream this up. Besides, that torture tornado’s pain delivery was too real to be a dream,” she replies.
I smile again. She’s a sensible kid. A fine addition to our ranks, I’m sure.
“What’s your name?” Alren asks.
“Amilyn,” she responds, pulling the blanket tighter against her bare body.
“You don’t look like an Amilyn,” I say.
“I know. I think I’m Korean, but I don’t know my Korean name.”
“Ah,” I reply, deciding not to further ask why she does not know of her own nationality and name.
To each her own, I guess.
“Well, now that we’re all good and oriented, we better get going. Plane leaves in an hour, and traffic must be crazy right now due to the rain,” announces Alren.
“You better get dressed first, Amilyn,” I tell the pinili.
“Yeah. And I need to talk to nana. Not topless this time,” she replies.
Alren and I look at each other, communicating our mutual discomfort at the topic raised. Amilyn notices the gesture.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
I don’t know what to say. The anito who raise us become close to us, they become our family. But after we become pinili, they leave, never to be seen again. I couldn’t quite accept this at first, and it still hurts to remember I won’t see my old nanny, but that is what it is.
“Well…about your nana,” Alren starts. “You…won’t see her again, ever. She’s gone.”
“What do you mean she’s gone? She can’t be gone,” says Amilyn, her voice laced with panic.
“Her duty is over. She’s returned to nature. It’s just how things are,” I say softly, placing a hand over her shoulder, doing my best to comfort her.
“But that’s….”
“It’s unfair, I know. But they’re not meant to stay in this world for too long. Their species of anito do not belong here,” explains Alren. He too is speaking in a soft voice.
Silence. Amilyn looks up at a large portrait on the nearby wall. It’s an image of a young girl missing her two front teeth. She’s smiling so happily. But there’s a peculiar space behind her, a space I assume someone used to occupy.
“Even her pictures are gone,” Amilyn says under her breath.
“They can’t leave a trace here on earth,” I explain.
“Then what do I have to remember her by? What proof do I have that she even existed?”
She’s now on the verge of tears.
“She was the only family I ever had. She raised me. And now you’re saying I’ll never see her again. Just like that, she’s gone. I…”
“Of course she existed. You have all those memories with her, good ones, I’m sure. And you have you. What you are, who you turned out to be, is proof that she existed,” I say.
Tears continue to flow down Amilyn’s eyes.
Alren and I look at each other, not daring to say a word. We leave her in silence.
---
It took a whole of five minutes for Amilyn to stop crying, get up, and head to her room. Minutes later, she emerged fully dressed, though her face is still laced with sorrow.
“Should I pack?” she asks, her voice hollow.
“No need, they’ll provide you with everything you need there,” I reply.
She nods.
“Trouble,” Alren announces.
“What?” I ask.
“Our flight’s canceled. The storm got worse and all no planes are taking off.”
“Merde!” I exclaim. “What now? We have to get back to Pinag-adlawan today or else we’ll miss the harvest festival.”
“We do have another option. But you’re not gonna like it,” says Alren.
“Any option is good to me right now. Fess up, I’m all ears.”
What is there beyond life? That’s the first question that comes to my mind when I finally regain consciousness.
My eyelids are heavy, but I’m awake. Or am I?
I’m dead, I’m pretty sure I’m dead. I’ve been ripped to shreds by a tornado and now I’m dead.
Tentatively, I open my eyes.
Light, blinding light. It takes some seconds for my eyes to adjust, and I blink a few times before I finally regain my sight.
I look around me. Green. The ground is littered with moss and small wildflowers in full bloom. A gentle wind blows, carrying the sweet scent of flowers with it. The leaves rustle in the wake of the wind’s kiss, accompanied by the soft chirping of birds.
I seem to be in a clearing of some sort, a small, round patch of land surrounded by century-old looking trees that race up to the sky. Their sturdy trunks span about a few feet across, roots crawling downwards like veins. High up above, their canopies span proudly against the sun’s blaring light.
Rays of sunlight peek through the trees’ crowns, providing both light and warmth, raining down showers of golden glow.
The whole scene is like a painting, a perfect picture.
Is this it? heaven?
I don’t think I’ve done good enough in my life to deserve heaven. Well, not that I’ve done bad enough in my life to deserve hell anyway. I sort of just…went with the flow. But this place doesn’t seem like the place for people who simply existed without leaving a mark in their lives, or people who were stupid enough to die via personalized torture tornado.
So the question is, where am I?
“When there is a question, ask. An answer will never provide itself for minds who fear curiosity,” says a voice from behind me.
I know that voice. Kind, warm, a little raspy, but reassuring and comforting. A voice who always tells me to drink my morning cocoa and asks me if I want my toast buttered or not.
I turn around, and there she is, standing with her hands behind her back as if she’s been expecting me. A kind smile is planted on her face, her long white hair cascading down her worn and wrinkled face, down her chest, reaching her waist. She’s wearing a white skirt that seems to be a long piece of cloth wrapped around her waist. To my surprise, I realize she isn’t wearing a shirt. Her long hair is covering her tatas, so as to spare me from the view.
“Nana! What are you doing here?” I ask, dumbfounded.
“Is that really the question you want to ask?” she says knowingly, still smiling.
“I…wha…” I try to say.
She continues to smile encouragingly, nodding.
She’s always been like this, never directly telling me things, always only leading, prodding. Even in death (if we are dead), she doesn’t seem to have any plans on being straightforward with me. And by the looks of it, she’s been expecting me here. She knows something, somehow. And I know she won’t tell until I ask the right question.
I try to think. What is this place? Some sort of afterlife? If so, then am I really dead? Is that the question?
“Am I…?” I try to start.
“No, not yet. But that may come to pass, depending on what you decide,” she replies.
“What I decide?”
She smiles again.
“I have guided you for nearly sixteen years. The time has come for you to know the truth. You are sixteen today, you have come of age. Oh, look at that. Blue, I always thought you would be white, carefree like the wind. But maybe blue suits you too, deep and unfathomable like the ocean,” she says.
She’s referring to my hair, I realize. So she’s been expecting my hair to change color? It isn’t just some sort of prank? And what’s this about me turning sixteen? As far as I know, I don’t turn sixteen until next month, my finding day, the day nana found me.
Yes, nana isn’t my real grandma. She found me on the roadside when I was just a baby, and has raised me ever since. So we just celebrated my birthday on the day she found me. I never knew my real birthday.
“You have many questions, I know. And as much as I would like to spend the time to have you ask the right ones, we are short in time. The kalagitnaan is not a place for one to dwell in for a long time,” she says.
“The what?”
“The kalagitnaan. The in-between. The space between life and death, accessible only to those who have been offered to the gods, to those who may, if they choose to be, become bagani.”
She must have read the question mark on my face. Nana beckons me to sit down, and I do so.
“It’s not true that I found you on the roadside when you were a baby. The truth is…you were given to me, assigned to me, you might say. I was posted to become your guardian, to raise you until you came of age.
“I was given to you? You mean I was given away? Did my parents do it? Did they give me away?” I ask, half dumbstruck, half horrified.
“No dear. Oh no, that’s far from the truth. Your parents loved you and would never give you away. The truth is far more painful than a story of neglectful parents. No, your parents loved you so much that their pleas to save your life was heard by the gods.”
I’m left speechless, not sure what to say. I never really thought about my parents. Nana always provided for me enough that I never really lacked any familial love. But now…
“It was a fateful day, that one,” nana continues. “You were just a babe, barely a month old. You and your parents were travelling back to Korea when the worst happened. The ship you were riding was caught in a storm. There was nothing to be done. Everyone was helpless. And your parents held on to you as the ship slowly sank. And they prayed, prayed so fervently, not for their lives, but for that of their daughter. They would do anything, anything to save her, to save you. When everything was about to be lost, they prayed that you may be found. And she heard. Anagolay, she heard. She heard the prayer that the lost be found at whatever cost. And so she sent me down to save you, the lost, but at a price, as all answered prayers must come at.”
Silence. Nana… or whoever she is, is giving me time to digest what I just heard. So my parents died in a shipwreck. And I was saved by a…
“Who is this Anagolay?” I finally manage to ask.
“A goddess. The goddess of lost things. She was the one who sent me to save you and to keep you safe until you come of age. You see, I am an anito, a nature spirit, and I abide by the command of my mistress. So I took you, took care of you, until today, the day that you must pay the price for that which was lost but was found, for the answered prayer.
“Nana, what are you talking about? Goddess? Anito? What price?”
“Yes, goddess. They exist. Gods and goddesses and spirits and more. They exist in this world, intertwined with its course. And the price… the price that must be paid…is your life.”
“My life? Is that why I’m dead? This goddess wants my life?”
“You’re not dead. You are in the In-between, the place of crossroads. Here you will choose. Will you choose to move on and end your life here, or will you accept your destiny and become a bagani, a sworn warrior of the gods?”
I think on it. Goddesses, prices.
“If I die, then that means I get to be with my parents, right?”
“No. You have been marked as an offering to the gods. If you refuse the call, you will have to suffer the consequences and go to Kasanaan, the afterlife for sinners, for it is a sin to break an oath made with the gods,” nana replies.
Afterlife for sinners. That’s not really an inviting prospect. I doubt the gods will treat me kindly for breaking some promise.
“And if I agree to become this…bagani or whatever?”
“You will live, and be trained as a warrior who will be sworn to protect the lives of the innocent and safeguard the peace of the world. You will learn the art of the bagani, warriors, shamans, seers, healers.”
“So it’s either I die and go to the bad sort of afterlife, or I live and become some sort of….wizard,” I paraphrase.
Nana manages to smile at that.
“You are taking this better than most. Many would first deny the existence of the supernatural,” she says.
“Well, I did just get attacked by some magic tornado powder, and I see no reason for you to lie to me. Not to mention I don’t think you’d be game to give me some far-fetched story while flashing your tatas. Those nips peaking through your hair makes this all pretty convincing,” I try to say off-handedly.
I mean, I’m probably going through information overload. My brain is probably getting deep-fried with all this, so I guess I’ll be dealing with the fallback later.
“So, what do you decide?”
“You mean, am I willing to go to hell or do I want another chance at life?”
“The life of a bagani is not to be taken lightly, Amilyn. It is filled with peril in all sides. You do not know the evil that walks this world, evil only the bagani can subdue. It will not be easy.”
“Still better than going to hell and facing the wrath of the gods,” I try to sound candid, but the thought of facing whatever is evil out there really is starting to freak me out. Nana isn’t doing a good job of pitching this whole bagani thing.
“If you say so.”
Nana nods and holds out her palm. From there there manifests a small earthen jug.
“This is water taken from the fruit of the first tree in creation. This will take you back to the world of the living and imbue you with the power to begin your training as a bagani,”
I take the jug, peeking inside. The water looks clear, harmless. Hopefully it doesn’t have any torturous side-effect like that mystery pearl earlier.
“I still haven’t given up on the hope that this is all a bizarre dream and I have never seen you topless,” I try to joke.
Nana smiles, that same kind, warm, comforting smile.
So…gods, evil, warriors. My life is about to take a full three sixty. Yep, my brain will definitely go haywire after this acid trip. Well, at least I’ll have nana with me. She’s my guardian after all. Kinda weird to have an old topless guardian, but I’ll take it.
I raise the jug to my lips, taking a gulp of the liquid. It’s sweet, savory, and goes down smoothly.
“I want you to know, it has been my great pleasure raising you. You are a wonderful young woman, Amilyn. I’m sure you will go on to accomplish great things,” nana says, the traces of a sad smile on her lips.
“What do you…”
I’m not able to finish my sentence. I fall to the ground, losing consciousness once again.
What line of thinking would be crossing someone’s mind when they come up with the bright idea of sneaking into someone’s room in the dead of the night and somehow manages to accomplish the seemingly impossible task of dyeing said someone’s hair all while making sure they don’t wake up their victim? And more importantly, why would they do such a thing? What is this, some sort of twisted prank? I don’t remember crossing someone as of late ( I mean I sure hope I didn’t cross someone).
Okay, you must be wondering what I’m talking about (or if you have any ounce of context clues reading abilities, maybe you’ve already got an idea of what I’m dealing with).
Yes, esteemed ladies and gentlemen. I, a non-suspecting victim, woke up to an unwelcome surprise this morning. There I was, groggily getting up after snoozing my alarm for the fifth time, heading to the bathroom still half-awake, when a blur of blue caught my eye. Okay, weird. I splash some water on my face and force myself to wake up and look at the mirror. At first I thought I was still dreaming, because the face looking back at me is curiously similar to my own, with one exception: the one in front of me had a full head of ocean blue hair.
I mean, that can’t be right. Unless this isn’t a mirror and I’m looking at the face of a long-lost twin who is going through a mid-life crisis and is trying to cope by taking vengeance on her innocent hair.
I experimentally raise my hand. The image in front of me does the same. I pick my nose, she does as well. I grab a handful of my supposed to be jet black hair, she imitates me.
That’s it. I’m definitely dreaming. How else would I explain this sudden change in my hair’s hue?
Hmm, they say if you want to wake up from a dream, you just pinch yourself. And so I do. I close my eyes, pinch my cheeks as hard as I could, and open my eyes again.
Yep. She’s still there. Or should I say, I’m still there, complete with my freshly dyed hair.
Okay, I know I should probably panic. I mean, someone is obviously playing a prank on me. Weird prank, but hey, you know what kids get to these days.
Still, I gotta say, I look hella good with this new do. Whoever did this took the time to choose a flattering color. And it’s well-done, the color is full coverage and evenly applied. Whoever did this must have watched a lot of Brad Mondo shows.
It’s like I’m finally entering my angsty teenage stage ( though I doubt I have any ounce of angst in my body). It’s good. Kinda like rebelling for the first time. Now all that’s left is some nail polish, some Metallica clothes, a Harley, spiked boots, a couple ear piercings, and viola, I’ll be reborn.
Okay okay. I’m getting carried away in my little daydreams. I really have to get serious and sort this problem out. I mean, I can’t go to school with blue hair, the guards will single me out before I even make it to the front gate. Besides, blue clashes with our lavender school uniform. I don’t wanna be an abomination to the color wheel. I have to fix this. Then I’ll figure out whose idea of a sick joke this is. Maybe I’ll steal one of each of his pairs of socks, or I glitter bomb his locker.
But before that, I have to fix this hair. I remember nana has some black hair color in her cabinet. Maybe that can help.
“Nana? Do you still have some of that hair dye you use to hide your gray hair?” I call out from the bathroom.
No response. Hmm, that’s weird. By this time she should already be in the kitchen, brewing her morning cocoa drink and playing Mozart for her flowers. Did she sleep in?
I stealthily make my way to the kitchen, hoping to not reveal my brightly colored hair.
Nope, she’s not here.
Outside, lightning flashes, followed by loud rumbling thunder. It’s early in the morning, and the forecast was for sunny skies all day long, but looks like the skies had other ideas. Black clouds are looming over, heavy raindrops cascade against the roof, and the howling wind is echoing throughout the apartment.
Well, the weather forecast is never accurate anyways. Maybe there’s a storm going on. Didn’t catch that on the news.
“Nana? You there?” I ask again as I walk toward her room.
“Nana?” I shout this time, remembering that my grandma already has some trouble hearing.
I’m halfway there when the phone rings.
“Hello?”
“Is this the Verity residence?” says the woman on the phone, who I recognize to be Mrs. Dudds, my homeroom adviser.
“Yes, it is.”
“Great. I’m just calling to inform that classes have been suspended today due to the extreme weather conditions. We’ll update you when classes will resume.”
“Great, thanks.”
And that’s that. I guess I don’t have to worry about going to school today.
“Nana? School called. Classes have been canceled. Apparently there’s a freak storm going on,” I call out.
Still no reply. Maybe she went out?
No way! In this weather? What is she thinking?! Her arthritis has been acting up lately and she can’t walk too far without heaving. What if she loses her footing and slips? She’s too old to have any form of injury.
I hurriedly make my way toward my room to get my jacket, sure that nana is already in some form of mortal danger and is in dire need of my help. That’s when I see it: a small wooden box lain in the center of our dining table.
I stop dead in my tracks, the object seemingly pulling me toward it.
Honestly, it’s so out of place that I can’t believe I didn’t notice it earlier. It has such an aura to it, a force that beckons me to come closer, a voice whispering in my ear, enthralling me to approach.
I can’t resist the call. Slowly, as if being pulled by invisible strings, I approach the box.
I take it in my hands. It’s such a small thing. A cube about three inches across. There’s a simple latch mechanism on top of it. Simple, unadorned, unassuming. But there’s something about it that that’s just so…. appealing.
Carefully, I undo the latch and lift the cover. Inside is a what seems to be a pearl. It’s roughly round in shape, luminous white.
I take it in my hands, careful, afraid I might break it. At first, it feels warm to the touch, like a ray of sunlight on my skin. For such a cold day, I must say I enjoyed the feeling of warmth. It was a rather pleasant feeling. That is, until it decided that it would go all supernova in my hands and crank the heat level up from a gentle warmth to lava-like temperatures in a matter of seconds.
I yelped out in pain, dropping the pearl and clutching my hand. The pearl instantly disintegrated into a misty powder as it collided with the floor.
Right, leave it to me to instantly ruin something just by barely touching it. This must be nana’s ancient relic or something and now I just wrecked it.
I crouch down, attempting to collect the fine white remnants of the pearl, as if I could somehow undo the damage I’ve caused.
Suddenly, the fine mist starts rising from the ground, slowly encircling my feet, forming tendrils racing up my legs, crawling up my torso and toward my chest. I try to brush it away, which only resulted in the mist circling up my hands, racing and swirling until I’m completely covered in the mysterious white powder.
I imagine I look like I just jumped straight into a vat of flour, which would be a rather humorous thought. Except, you know, flour doesn’t usually voluntarily climb up people’s bodies and bury them alive. Which leads me to my next thought…I’m gonna be smothered to death by some sentient pearl powder, which is definitely not a cool way to kick the bucket.
Cue my panic mode. I frantically try to rid myself of the mystery powder, attempting to dust them off. But the powder seems to be, as I have previously mentioned, sentient. It swirls around my body, slowly at first, then gaining momentum as it goes, so it feels like I’m trapped inside a tornado.
I can no longer see our living room, my vision blocked by a swirling mass of white. Which is really the least of my concerns. The mist is now swirling so fast that I can feel it scrapping my skin, ripping apart my clothes and directly attacking my body. I feel like they’re being shredded apart by thousands of miniature knives, slicing and dicing as they swerve past my exposed skin.
I try to yell out in pain, but find that my voice is gone. No, not only that, it’s like the whole world has been muted, silenced, so I can ask for no reprieve from my predicament. It’s as if I’ve been separated from the rest of the world, the swirling mass making sure that I remain alone as I suffer.
Help! Someone! Anyone! Help!
I drop to the floor, my knees giving way, no longer able to bear the pain. And still the swirling intensifies, its sheer speed skinning me alive. It’s as if it’s determined to make me endure the worst of pains. Every inch of my body is screaming in terror, white hot pain radiating from all of me all at once. This is pain I never imagined possible, pain no human should ever have to endure.
I no longer have the strength to even keep my eyes open. The pain is so intense that I feel numb already. Finally, my body gives way. I slump forward, falling face first unto the cold concrete, every inch of my body raw.
This is it. I’m going to die. I woke up with blue hair and I’m going to die.
But that’s better. I don’t want to be in pain anymore. Death is better than this.
Blue hair, torture via powder tornado, and a choice between a life of servitude or death. Amilyn's life will never be the same. Discovering that she is destined to become a bagani, a supernatural warrior under the command of the gods, she learns that there is more to this world than what meets the eye. Will her new life as a pinili prove to be a better choice over death? Or will death be a better escape than the challenges that await her?
