The Engkanto Quartet: Voyage to the East

The darkness of the night would disappear and disintegrate in the ether before the presence of daybreak, only to reappear when light could not last long enough to shine in the hearts of those tasked to keep the fire burning. That was how the world appeared to him. It was very early in the morning, and the sun had not yet risen. The horizon was white. It was bright enough to see the silhouette of a young man from a distance. He was running by the seaside with his soft footsteps creating a silent, estinto rhythm on the pristine, powdery shore. Everything around him was white—the sky, the sandy beach, and the soft bubbly foam as the sea rolled into the tiny pebbles—except for the turquoise water. Many versions of the tale exist, and I don't know which of them is true. Konradus had his own story, so did all the strangers I met. They say the Engkanteans are real, but I haven't seen one in Ragua. Father's version was different from what I heard from the others. But the most ridiculous thing: they say I cannot be his son. Different truths, many falsehoods, they're creating uncertainty in the already confusing world. That was what Rakly was thinking. His world had revolved around the daily life of the island, surrounded by the vast ocean, hidden in the far west beyond. The fine sand touching his bare feet created in him new memories, making his bond with the island deeper, stronger, and long-lasting. It was his father who taught him how to survive on the island—a piece of land under the sun—scorching at day, chilling at night, and violent on stormy days. "You should value the little things and appreciate what you possess. Every fish a fisherman catches should not go wasted," the old man would say. He set his gaze toward the sea, the soft breeze whispered in his ears something unsettling going on in the depths of the calm ocean. He felt something inauspicious that made him all the more curious. As he looked at the horizon, dots of silvery-white formed a straight line on the shores. They're gleaming. They're not the sun's reflection on the water; they're not trash, either. The island had clean shallows and fine sandy beaches, pristine. Suddenly, the air turned foul, and fetid and flies swarmed all over the beach. As he was near the silver line, dead fish washed ashore in thousands. And for the first time, he was seeing that much lifeless fish on the island's immaculate shore. What a waste! he said. What a waste! He stopped, held his breath, and stooped to pick a putrid lifeless fish. It was a moro-moro, a blue mackerel scad. As to why the Raguans called the fish moro-moro, it might be an onomatopoeia of the sound the fish make when caught by a fisherman's net. Its smell indicated the fish had been dead for days, and it washed ashore only the night before. The line of dead fish stretched a mile, and he jogged to the other end amidst the unpleasant odor. A group of fishermen gathered around a giant sea creature, trying to move it back to the sea. It's a blue whale; also, lifeless. "Chief Rakly is here. Please, give way!" a fisherman named Isuk yelled. He was leading other fisher folks to put the whale where it belonged. But it's heavy. They could barely move an inch of the dead whale's tail. "Haven't seen anything like this in Ragua in my entire life," said another fisherman called Gibit. "It must be a sign of the times. What forced this giant fish to land? It must be the work of the gods—or, perhaps, of the enemy, the devil." "Signs of the times, I do not know. All I know is we need to clean this up. All of you go get your shovels or any tools that we can use. Let's bury this whale in the sand; we can't move it back to the sea. But we can't let it rot on the beach, either," implored the young chieftain. "Your father must have known about the strange things happening around. And he might have encountered them in his voyages," Isuk said. "He will not be home in three months—or, maybe more, I do not know. His travels have been queer lately, they're very unpredictable." "Look! The seagulls!" screamed Isuk, pointing to the flock of seabirds in flight to Ragua from the dark, foreboding northern horizon. He had not seen that many birds before, flocking to the island. The seabirds were flying restlessly under the threatening, ominous clouds in the north that had spread and continued to expand to all directions in the past weeks. Not only were seagulls but also the albatrosses, the pelicans, auks, and shearwaters. They're traveling in huge numbers down the southwestern hemisphere. After an hour, more fishermen and villagers had come over to the beach with their shovels and iron bars and iron buckets. Under Rakly's lead, they buried the dead giant sea creature. From sunrise to sunset, that's all they needed to finish the task. The island's women prepared food, plentiful for breakfast and lunch. While the men were digging the sand—and everybody was busy—so it seemed, stories had transpired from ear to ear about creatures roaming on the island at night. "They are the monsters I heard from my father's old tales," said Gibit. "I say it's in the prophecy, evil creatures roam in the dark." "Evil creatures live in the dark; good people like you, in the light. And some folks stay in the middle—that's how things are. That's what I think the truth is. To say that evil creatures live in the dark, unless you show proof, it remains baseless hearsay," said Rakly, dismissing Gibit's tale. "It's true," said Sita, Gibit's wife. She brought a pitcher of water. "I saw it on a Friday night—a strange being, its eyes are red, staring at me, it's a monster." "On a Friday night, huh," Rakly said. "How do you know the eyes are red if it was night—and nights are dark? Were they blazing?" "It's true, I say, it's really true. I was afraid, it brought me chills. I know it's scary, but it's true. You might not believe me, I know, 'cause you're not really one of us. But I saw it," her face turned pale, and the pitcher fell off the ground. Rakly remained incredulous to the woman's story, and that her prejudice had blinded her into believing he was not one of them. He might have looked different or thought differently, but Ragua had been his home. He grew up and had lived on the island all his life, and he was pretty much aware of the stories spreading around that he was not the true son of Bubuy, the famous merchant. But he let them fall on deaf ears. He would rather focus on the things he could control, like maintaining his curiosity to learn more about the island—it's people, it's terrains, and it's riches. He wanted to understand what living on the island meant for him and for Raguans his age. He's also looking forward to sailing with his father all over the known world, and that could wait. There was a proper time for that. It's already dusk—toward the west, a fiery line; to the north, dashes of purplish and dark clouds. Rakly and Isuk were on the way to their homes as they lived on the same street near the rustic pier. The others had gone back to their homes too because the nights were portentously dark on the island. "Things are getting stranger by the day in Ragua, huh," Isuk said. "Indeed, as strange as the Raguans who are unable to get over with their hidden prejudice. We might look different, but on this island, we are family." "Nah, forget it, you know you're my brother, my only brother in this wild and weird world of Ragua. Weird it is, I say, I heard of rumors from the mainland merchants. They're talking about this war again, and I've been hearing the same thing since we're kids, which leads me to ask, are they serious? Really?" "Maybe because we haven't sailed beyond Utlanan yet, that's why we think this way. Do you think so?" Rakly asked. It was a rhetorical question. "My father's been working with your father ever since before we were born. And your father's stories haven't changed that much, they remain the same," reasoned Isuk. "People in the Mainland keep slaves, the war, and all that, I get it." "But this rumor might be true, too: enemies from the north are heading to Ragua, that's what they say." "You're listening to Konradus, huh," Rakly responded. Konradus had been telling him tales about the Mainland. "Not that he's right, he's your master." "I learned from him, yes, that's true, but there's something he's not telling us." "I heard that he fought in the war they're talking about in the tales of merchants visiting Ragua," Isuk teased. "That's what he told me, but I don't know, there's something odd," said Rakly. He did not know much about his master, in fact, only Bubuy knew who Konradus really was. He might have learned from the swordsman and warrior, but he felt the old man was shrouded in mystery. When Rakly and Isuk reached their homes, it was already dark, and the sea was silent, save for the sound of the tiny rolling waves.