MAHARLIKA and the Cursed Descendants of the Orient

Kalasag's Masterpiece

The aesthetic of the underground room tickles my core, my heart leaps with joy and my feet fly over the brownish-red tiled floor. I don’t know how many times this positive sensation coats my entire being whenever I see something foreign to me, but I hope to get this feeling more often in the future. Kalasag’s collection may not be as magical as the ones I’ve seen in Gaba’s Underworld but it’s sufficient to make my jaw drops and eyes goggle. Arrays of battle shields that I’ve only seen in books are exhibited across the room. They varies in forms, shapes and sizes.

I lift a finger but a hand grabs my wrist before I could even touch one of the displayed shields. I slant my view to face Sinag, slightly swaying his head as an objection. Kalasag removes the shield from the stand and hands it over to me. A small curve shows on my lips as I gladly take it from him.

“You can touch or hold anything you like,” Kalasag says with pride in his voice.

The twinkling eyes of Sinag stare at me but they narrow when I smirk before sticking my tongue at him. Kalasag laughs while combing his beard with his callous fingers. Sinag ignores us then runs to the other side and picks up an elliptical shield.

I trace my palm on the smooth and shiny surface of the armor. It has curvy sides with tapered bottom and its size is enough to cover both my chest and my torso. Gasol and Sinag are already wearing the shields on their arms as they practice swinging them with their swords. They both move awkwardly and I cannot contain myself and burst into laughter but they are too preoccupied to pay attention to me. I decide to try it too and slide my forearm to the leather strap attached on its back and swing the shield with my kalis. The way I weild it with ease and confidence makes me wanna boast it with everyone else then a heavy hand on my shoulder halts my movement.

“For a first timer, you’re doing great but you have a lot to practice and learn,” Kalasag says.

A warm hares on my cheeks as I sheepishly grin at him. I try to change the topic by asking a question. “What are the materials you used in here? It’s so light and comfortable.”

“It depends. But on this one,” he says, pointing on the shield on my arm. “It is made of wood and covered with leather and aluminum. But I can make them differently depending on the clients’ request or my preference.”

“Clients? I’m sure only the ones in the palace are your clients.”

“No. Almost everyone in Hinagiban is a client. Ever since my son was murdered, the people here, even from faraway or neighboring towns, start to buy my weapons."

My curiosity couldn’t hold my tongue back. “You mean, your son’s tragedy is well-known?”

He nods while slumping his broad shoulders. “I made a plea with the Pearl Palace to help us get the justice my son deserves. All they do is to spread the word and let the public do the job in finding out who the murderer is.”

I walk closer to him and pin my eyes to his. “We will defeat the Barang, I promise.”

Though his facial hairs mask the corners of his mouth, its upward curve is still easy to notice.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

I return the shield back to the stand when Kalasag gestures for us to follow him. He pulls down a string and the grey draped curtain reveals another room. My legs scamper with enthusiasm causing me to bump Tala but we look away from each other after a split second and act as if nothing happens. I stare at her back as we walk to the next room, words are still wrestling with my ego.

I jerk when Sinag puts his arm on my shoulders. “Liyab, look!”

My eyes trail the direction his finger is pointing at. Human dummies are parading in either walls wearing different types of armors. In the middle of the room is a long narrow table ornamented with various parts of armor that I’m not familiar with. I move closer to get a better look at them. In another unhandy moment, I accidentally lay my hand over Tala’s when we both attempt to grab the same helmet. She quickly removes her hand away from mine so I take the helmet and offer it to her instead.

“You touch it first,” I say, still avoiding her gaze.

Without even a simple ‘thank you’, she takes it from me, wears it then turns around.

Raising an eyebrow while dismissing the idea of having another argument with her, I distract myself by going around the table and fitting every part of the armor there is on my body.

After sliding my hand in a steel plate gauntlet, my fingertips touch my palm then extend away from it while I agape in appreciation. I rotate my wrist from left to right then right to left. It fits perfectly in my hand which intensifies the thrilling sensation in me. I take another gauntlet and slide it on my other hand. Unlike the first one, the exterior of this gauntlet is made of animal hide. I raise both my arms at the same height of my face and switch my gaze between the two armor gloves.

“Both look great. I wonder which one is a better suit for me?”

As I continue to roam around the table, a huge portrait hanging on the rear wall piques my interest. Before sauntering towards it, I take off everything that I put on my body and place them back to the table except the gauntlets. My eyes are glued on an image of a boy of about ten years of age, bragging an innocent beam while wearing a scaly looking chest armor and holding a bow and arrow. He has a wavy chestnut hair and slanted black eyes. At the bottom left of the portrait is what seems to be his name, it says Basilio.

“That’s Kalasag’s son. We used to play and train together when he was still alive.”

I try to stay cool when Tala treada closer to me.

“How did you know Kalasag?”

“Huh? He provides the castle guards’ anything the king and the higher ups ask for. Like these,” she says, stretching and swinging both her hands.

“I know that. But you’re no more than ten years old when you became friends with his son.”

“Oh yes! I was seven when I first met them,” she gleefully says.

I’m not sure whether I’m the one who’s clueless or she really can’t comprehend my point. “Don’t tell me that you’re already with your ’hard working’ faction at an early age?”

She curls her eyebrows. “Of course not. I…”

Our conversation is interrupted by multiple loud claps from Kalasag who’s standing behind the curtain. Tala and the others head towards him while I am left behind and still taking the gauntlets off my hands. By a fluke, after successfully removing both gloves, I notice a stand at the corner of the room near the portrait. On it, a pile of large yellowish papers with cracks and tears on some of its edges. Written on the paper are sets of instructions on how to create a weapon but it doesn’t say what it’s called. At the center of it is a sketch of that weapon. It looks weird but kinda familiar. I stagger after flipping the first page. On the next page is an image my memory will never forget, a large weapon with long metal tube on its front and is mounted with wheels. I could still feel its rough rusty texture on my finger and imagine its size in my head.

‘It’s the one that I saw when I was under the spell of pita.’

I flip the page back to the first one.

‘I’m certain I’ve seen this too before. When and where did I….’

Bang! Bang! Bang! The earsplitting noise pounds my ear so aggressively that I have to shut my eyes close and cover my ears with my hands. Then, the figure of the monsters I once fought in the underground prison cells manifest in my head where one of them is holding a metallic weapon with a hilt and a tube that produces a loud noise and spits a small cylindrical pointed metal.

When I open my eyes, I hurriedly touch my shoulder, my torso and my leg – there’s no blood. The scenario seems so real that I completely forget that I’m on a different underground and I’m not casted under any black magic or whatever, I’m in reality. Beads of sweat gather on my forehead and my heart beats faster than normal. I try to calm myself down then a voice talks to me. A sharp gasp escape my mouth. I’m about to draw my sword but when I turn around, a perplexed Kalasag is looking back at me.

“Is there something wrong?”

I remain silent since I can’t deny it but I don’t want to admit it either. He glances behind me when he notices that the papers I was looking at are not organized. He then fixes and arranges them back to how they should be.

“Those…weapons,” I say, my voice is a bit shaky. “Do you also make them?”

“Not yet. I’m still studying how to create these.”

“You mean those don’t exist yet?”

“They do…but not in Maharlika. The king is egocentric and autocratic that he spurned the idea of others to buy artilleries from the western kingdoms and assigned me to copy and recreate their firearms,” he says. Wrinkles form on his forehead as he lets out a small sigh.

“I believe you can do it.”

“It’s easier if I could only set my personal feelings aside.” He then stares at the boy in the portrait before leaving.

Returning back to his room above, It’s nice to see Lola Basiang and Kalasag’s wife with the others. They are sitting on the chairs while talking and laughing. There’s no other available space but the one beside Tala so I have no choice but to take it. The moment I take a seat, I’m surprised when she offers me the sweet treats that she gave me before.

‘Is she trying to reconcile with me or is this some kind of a bribe?’

I sweep the thought out of my mind and just take the treats from her hand then put them on my pocket.

A great amount of time is spent with babbling and gushing about stuffs that are not related to our mission or problems. Even Gasol is enjoying the moment, though I find her facial expression funny whenever she smiles or laughs. For the first time since our arrival in Saab, I experience a lighthearted conversation – a moment that strongly reminds me of father and mother.

The man in collared shirt that we met earlier knocks at the open door, carrying a long and a small boxes on his arms. He hands the small box to me while he pushes the long box to Tala.

I first open mine. Taking off the lid, it reveals a newly fixed pocket knife. I’m taken aback when I forget that the Haribon emblem is etched on its hilt. I could only hope that none of them knows what the emblem symbolizes. Pretending that everything is fine, I hide the crest with my hand then flick my wrist to open the blade and look at my reflection on it for a little while before flipping it back to close.

I deviate my sight to Kalasag and raise my knife. “Thank you.”

He acknowledges by nodding with a smile.

Tala is next to open her box. Inside are two sticks which are quite different from what she’s using before. She then takes them out and her eyes widen and so is her mouth. Both of us jolt including Kalag’s wife who’s also sitting beside her when small sharp blades suddenly protrude on the upper half part of the sticks. Tala pushes something at the base of the sticks and in an instant, the blades are gone.

“This is cooler than I expected!”

“Of course!” the man says. “I made that and I cannot afford to disappoint the princess.”

“Princess!?” me and my fellow Haribons exclaim with total shock on our faces.

Everybody’s expression show confusion with our reaction.

“You didn’t tell them?” Lola Basiang asks.

“Well, I thought it’s not important. Also, you know how much I prefer to be called by my name than being called a princess.”

“So are you…a descendant of Mayari?” Sinag asks.

“Yes.”

I could sense Sinag’s body is tightening.

“And Lilom?” I ask.

“She is too. She can’t get a high position if she’s not,” she answers with so much self-esteem in her tone.

An extreme uneasiness sneaks into my veins then crumples the remaining calmness in my body. Before I could do or say something that I might regret, I tramp outside the room and leave others behind.

Fusion of contrasting emotions plunging in my chest. A part of me wish that this is just another illusion but a part of me says that Tala and the rest of her faction is the enemy. The fact that she has the bloodline that disgusts me is a great reason to consider her my foe then a tear falls down on my cheek.

‘Out of all the people, why does it have to be you?’