MAHARLIKA and the Cursed Descendants of the Orient

The majestic moon takes its throne up high and the stars scatter and glitter against the blackness of the sky. Both illuminate brightly but their radiances are not enough to get the slightest glimpse of what lies behind the steady thick fog which disperses above the massive ocean. It’s the start of a long dusky night - and when I say long, I mean way longer than that of the dazzling day. An unbalance justice that we have to endure for a hundred year. It might be a beautiful scene to look at but it conceals a dark and sorrow history of hate, jealousy and power. Underneath from where I stand, the waves thump against the foot of the large cauldron-like hollow which acts as a natural prison wall and the hasty wind gusts from the western peninsula. How I wish that my body could be carried away by the strong wind somewhere far from here…but it’s impossible. I belong here, I should stay here. No one can escape the punishment of the gods, a punishment because of a certain prophecy that doesn’t concern me one bit. As I continue to fascinate the beauty of the scene, a moist hand squeezes my shoulder. “Liyab, I knew I’ll find you here. Day…I mean night dreaming again?” a familiar young man who is a bit taller than me teases. I smirk then thrust my fist to him which he dodges easily. With one knee on the ground, he forges forward. I block his kick with my arm. He then grabs my shirt's collar and we lurch down gripping each other’s uniforms until we reach a flatter surface of the caldera. Our backs are against the cold stony soil, our legs are spread comfortably while his onyx and my gold eyes are pierced overhead. “Are you done training?” I ask. “Father and I will still train at dawn break before the ceremony begins. Join us,” he replies. Sinag is both an older brother and a best friend to me. We are not real brothers but ever since I became part of their family when I was about 3 or 4, his parents take care of me, feed me, dress me and shelter me like their own. “Nah. I’m not qualified anyways,” I answer pretending not to care at all. “Are you scared now? Now that the time has finally come? The moment we’ve waited for since we’re toddlers?” he giggles. Short silence unfurls the surroundings. “I’m not. I just realize not to overdo it. If destiny allows it, then it’s for you,” I say without removing my gaze from above. “Are you saying that you have given up? Don’t tell me you’re not the Liyab who is always talking about his…uhm…quite impossible dream?” he says with an obvious sarcasm. He doesn’t really care whether I answer his question or not, so I throw a question back to him. “Hn. What would you do if the the sun's chi doesn’t choose you as the Appointed Warrior?” “Well…” he sighs. I tilt my head on the direction where Sinag is lying. The strands of his fringy hair girdle with mud, his uniform is even more tattered and his face is smothered with soil. Water forms in corners of my eyes, my legs boot in mid-air and my hand clasps my stomach as I chortle. Sinag raises his eyebrows, but the moment he lays his eyes on me, he also bursts into laughter. Bang! Bang! Bang! The sound overshadows both the quivering chime of the waves and our juvenile guffaw. The human-size rimmed brass gong that is suspended a couple of inches from the ground through a pyramidal iron steel serves as the Haribon Island’s timepiece. It is situated in the middle of the island and is loud enough to signal everyone when to wake up, to study, to train, to work or prepare or celebrate some important or not so-important events. When we hear the bass sound, both of us look at each other and smile then race down the steep slope. Sinag hops first on one of the bamboo rafts dock in a row at the base of the caldera. The lake, though calm as it always has been, is steaming hot even at night and especially during the day. Hot enough that it penetrates through the hull to my thighs and legs but bearable enough that others prefer to swim rather than to ride a raft. It only takes a minute or two, depending on how fast you paddle or how good the condition of the boat is, to reach the shore. “Get ready. We’re here. Help me...,” Without letting him finish what he’s about to say, I jump off the raft to the rough sandy ground and run. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?!” Sinag shouts. His face turns red and his jaw drops as he grasps the rope on his hand. Just when I’m meters away from him, I angle my body to meet his gaze and wave both my hands while grinning. “Who asks help in tying a boat? You’ll be fine!” My feet fly over the ground as adrenaline pumps through my veins. I pass through the rotting tree trunks, brush off overhanging branches and step on crunching twigs while leaves continue to fall like rain. My legs tingle and my stomach titters but a wide curve stretches my lips as I sprint to my destination. Hands on my knees, I stop for a moment to catch my breath. In front of me, about a couple of feet away, is the large crimson bonfire. Its flames follow the wind’s direction and the stronger the wind blows, the more aggressive and mightier they become. My fellow Haribons lit up their torches from the bonfire and rush towards the karakoa, a crescent-shaped colossal ship use for both war and trade which only comes here once every fifteen days to bring the cheapest quality textiles, produce such as fruits, vegetables that are almost inedible, you’re lucky if you get the ones with black spots than the ones with molds. It also transports animals which are skin and bones that sometimes it’s hard to get meat out of them and not to mention, some of them look unwell and crooked. The most desirable that we could obtain from it is the fresh water which we only use for drinking since the supply is limited. Aside from necessities, it also carries some things that are only available in the mainland. However it is prohibited to sell us weaponries - their products, their rules. All these in exchange for gold and silver which are the most common minerals of the island. This karakoa is said to be blessed by Mayari, the goddess of the moon, so it can freely go back and forth in this forbidden part of the kingdom without a problem. When I see my mother, Di-an, carrying boxes in her arms, I run to her and before I know it, a middle age man wearing a bright colored upper garment with tribal tattoos all over his body and swords hanging on his waist appears before me. My forehead hits his well-sculpted arms causing me to step backward but still maintaining my balance. I scratch my brow before lifting my chin to look at him. “Be careful, cursed boy,” he says with a complete hostility in his tone. ‘Cursed…boy?’ My jaw clenches as my hands clutch firmly. Just when I'm about to say something, a hand gently pushes the back of my head until it leans forward. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it, so please forgive him,” Sinag says while bending his waist. I bite my lip and shut my eyes temporarily until the presence of the annoying man slowly vanishes. These people, who think highly of themselves, are the lowest of the royal guards. They are here not only to trade but to inspect the area to make sure we’re not doing anything suspicious. Like the ones in the Pearl Palace, they too are Mayari’s descendants – the ones in control over the kingdom, the ones the gods favor, the ones commoners glorify and the ones imprison us here. I remove Sinag’s hand from my head with force then stand up straight before letting out a long deep breath. “Are you okay?” he asks. “Why did you do that?” I reply with irritation, refusing to look at him. “Did what?” he asks again, still pretending not to know what I mean. “He should be the one apologizing for calling me a…something I am not!” Sinag wraps his arms around my shoulders and shifts his sight to the people who are boarding and unboarding the karakoa. “This won’t last any longer. I’ll do anything to flip our worlds around.” His words are sharp but with these, the remaining yet diminishing hope embraces my heart. I stare at my brother with a faint smile. “I’ll take that as a promise.” “Of course!” he says. He tightens his arms around my shoulders as we start walking towards our mother. Taking some of the boxes from my mother’s hands, I immediately climb up the bamboo ladder that leads to our living area. Sinag and mother head to the space beneath our house which serves as our kitchen and toilet. Our house, like the others, is small and cube in shape and the roof is tall and steeply pitched with long eaves made out of nipa. After placing the boxes on top of the wooden table, I open the large window by placing a wooden rod between its sill and lid to get as much fresh air and natural light as possible. The soft bamboo slat floor against my feet is relaxing so I take this moment to stretch and wiggle my finger toes while wiping the sap on my worn leather boots. Once I’m done cleaning, I reach out to the boxes that are delivered from the mainland kingdom. My breathing quickens and a sudden warmth rushes on my cheeks. “Ahum!!” growls a voice from behind. It’s father, Binu. Even though it’s dim, the wrinkles on his face and some white strands on his nearly bald head are noticeable. “Before you take your precious collections, isn’t it necessary to wash yourself first?” he asks. He holds my wrist, raises my arms then leans his face forward and sniffs my underarm. To my disbelief, he tilts his upper body backward while covering his nose. The wrinkles on his forehead become more visible. “You should really clean yourself, trust me.” I pout my lips as my inner eyebrows meet. Father chuckles as he puts his calloused hands on my head then ruffles my already messy hair then I giggle in response. “Hurry…or else you will get the worst part of the meat and the least amount of rice and soup,” he whispers, smiling. Knowing what father has said isn’t going to happen, I still run down the ladder and do as he says. After the water snuggles and energizes my tired and slender figure, I comb my wet bangs down to my shoulder-length hair with my fingers to untangle some strands. When Sinag is done cleaning himself too, we then take a seat on the floor at the opposite sides of the table. White steam rice, tamarind-based soup with spinach and diced tomatoes and grilled milk fish are what mother prepares for the last meal of the day. Saliva crawls on the sides of my mouth as my tongue licks my lips. Why shouldn’t I? Pinuno, the leader of the Haribons, divides the amount of food supply to each family depending on the numbers of its members. We can only eat decent foods, at least to my standards, for about ten days. That’s the maximum number of days our food supply could last. The remaining days that will follow before the korakoa comes back, is a nightmare where only boiled purple yams or sweet potatoes are available to feed every mouth here in the island. We finish our meal with full of laughter while telling stories on how our days go by. Once I'm done with the dishes, I head to our room where Sinag is already resting on his woven mat. I make sure that he is in a deep sleep before lighting the gas lamp and proceeding to the corner of our room with a medium-sized box on my hands. I grin while removing its lid and one by one, take everything that’s inside. Excitement splinters in my blood as I grab the palm-sized paintings first then slowly trace the delicate outline of the images with my fingertips against the their coarse surfaces. The colors are off but I’d be able to appreciate them more once the sun is up. The luscious green fields that are homes to some of the most exotic fruits I've never known, groups of people wearing extremely colorful garments and ornaments dancing on the streets and children of my age enjoying themselves while eating something…delicious, I guess. I put down the paintings on my lap then take the shabby book which is lying on my side. Reading its every word as I turn its rumpled pages one after another makes my heart leaps in joy. These are facts that will never be thought to us here, information that are not related to fighting and survival. Slowly, my imagination takes over my entire being. “Liyab! Liyab!”