MAHARLIKA and the Cursed Descendants of the Orient

The Bakunawa

In the past few days, the moon exhibits a strange look. Its orange hue becomes more potent in each passing day. ‘It’s the sign’ as what I always hear from the conversations of my neighbors. I don’t want to overthink about it, so I brush it off my head.

I make my way towards my tribesmen who are obliterating the platforms that we used earlier. Others are piling up oak woods to create a new bonfire to light up the dark surroundings. Before I could offer some help, something divert my attention. In one corner of the platform, is a broken clay pot, the one the messenger was carrying in the ceremony. Some of the steel tags are melted, others are depleted, but there is one that endure the ire of the fire. Though burned on its edges, the name engraved on it is still readable – SINAG.

Before I could pick it up, I unconsciously avert my sight away from the stacked woods once the flames become bigger and brighter. The bonfire suddenly reminds me of the invisible fire that flared up and ravaged my body earlier, the invisible fire that I thought would claim my young life.

“Liyab! Liyab!”

I hear my brother calling my name. He’s strolling towards me while waving his hands and not far behind him is Gasol.

“So,” I say, trying to act cool. “What did they say?”

“What do you think?” he asks, lowering and leaning his head forward so our gaze meet.

“Well,..” I grab the hem of my shirt and stretch it down while swaying my hips a little. “You tell me.”

Gasol rests her hand on my shoulder. “If you’re certain, then there’s no turning back”.

I lift my face to analyze her expression but her face doesn’t show much. So I glance at Sinag and his perfectly white teeth say it all. The excitement that pumps my blood doesn’t hold me back, opening my arms as wide as I can and enclose both of them in an embrace. I quickly unfasten my hands and hide them behind my back when Sinag pinches my belly.

“Uh. I’m sorry Gasol,” I say while bowing down to her. A slight warmth pats my cheeks and my eyes immediately avoid hers by turning my body to Sinag and hugging him again.

“You’re over reacting! Mind letting me breath?” he complains.

I let go and look at him after remembering the line, then we burst into laughter.

“If you’re ready, let’s head to the shore near the island’s entrance. We can’t keep Pinuno waiting,” Gasol says while staring to the moon. “Besides, it’s about time.”

On our way to the shore, Sinag and I can’t stop babbling about our experiences earlier. Gasol doesn’t bother to join the conversation nor to turn around and look at us. The flickering light from the torches in our hands cuts through the somberness of the forest.

After a few more jogging and walking, we reach the woodland edge. In front of us is a karakoa. It’s much smaller compared to what I use to see. It’s understandable though, what matters is they successfully built it without the outsiders taking notice. As we walk closer to the karakoa, the images of several people who are standing next to it become clearer - the elders, men and women in uniforms and our parents.

As we approach our parents, their heavy eyelids and pursed lips become more apparent.

“Here,” mother whispers. She hands both of us a large sized tampipi, a chest made out of palm leaves.

“Thank you,” Sinag says then takes the tampipi from her.

“Inside are your uniforms, some clothes and foods.” Mother’s voice cracks but she refuses the water that has been accumulating on her eyes to flow down.

Father extends both his hands to us, offering what seem to be presents. “This is for you,” he says to me then he turns to Sinag. “And this, yours.”

I hurriedly unfurl the wrapped cloth, then reveal a sword and a folding pocketknife. The sword’s hilt and scabbard are made out of brass and decorated with carved image of the Haribon’s emblem, an eagle spreading its wings. I draw the sword halfway off the scabbard. The wavy edges of the blade is so fine and my reflection on it is clear as if I’m looking on a mirror. After assessing the elegance of it, a sudden heavy wind makes everyone anxious.

“The moon.” Pinuno points above.

All of us gasp in astonishment when our visions meet the sky. The view is scary yet alluring.

“The moon is bleeding. The bakunawa is almost done eating it,” Pinuno says.

“Wait, what? Who is eating what?” I ask with crinkled eyes.

Nobody responds to me and their gape never withdrawn from the moon.

“We should hurry now,” Gasol says.

“That’s right. It’s still not in its full shape but it surely is weak now. Carry on, before you miss the opportunity of the moon in its weakest,” the messenger adds.

There are twenty-five passengers who will board the karakoa including Gasol, Sinag and me. Before we ride the ship, we bid our farewell to mother and father. Both of them are now powerless to hold back the tears as they constantly cascading on their cheeks. But I fight mine back. If this is the last time they will see me, I want them to see me smile.

“Promise, you two will come back alive,” mother begs.

“We won’t come back!” Sinag replies.

I look at Sinag with dismay, I’m about to scold him but he manages to speak first.

“Because you’re going out of here, you will follow us! That’s a promise,” he says with full of confidence, placing his fist over his chest.

Sinag’s resolve brings faint smiles to our parents’ faces. We kiss their knuckles with our foreheads before boarding the karakoa and wave them goodbye for the last time.

As the ship starts to sail, my mother falls down to her knees and the others who are left behind are comforting her. The scene is too much for me to bear so I turn around and decline to look back.

The ship gradually voyages on the lake to the cave-like opening of the caldera which serves as the island’s entrance for the outsiders and now, our way out.

The deep vast ocean is overlaid by a lifeless fog which disperses everytime it licks the facade of our ship. The waves wriggle steadily as they plummet against the ship’s large outriggers.

Gasol and the senior martial artist are in the upper front deck and haven’t gotten down since we left the island. I am assigned as one of the rowers, Sinag and the rest are the look-outs.

A feeling of greatness is non-stop rippling my veins when I get out of the keel, wearing my brand new uniform. An off-white sleeveless shirt with gold lining on its collar and armholes. On its back is our emblem, printed in gold paint. It is paired with a coal loose-fitting pants with pockets on the thighs tucked in black leather boots.

Before taking my position, I glance up at the tripod bamboo masts rigged with crab-claw sails. Sinag is right there, diligently looking around with a telescope in his hand.

“Hey, Liyab! Can we exchange now?” one of the rowers asks.

“Yeah!” I straight away take his place. “Sorry about that.”

There are a total of sixteen rowers, four rowers on each side of the hull. While others are paddling, the other half takes a rest then switches from time to time.

It has been a while since I start paddling, a twinge sensation crawls on my upper back to my shoulders and my hands are numbing in each strike of the oar. The continuous chanting of the Haribon’s anthem to keep our pace and rhythm makes things worse. The job that is given to the majority of us is the most exhausting but I try the best I can to keep up. The elders, my parents and my brother trust me, the sole reason why I’m here. This is just the beginning, I should be fine.

A few more strikes of the oar against the water, a loud and eerie sound from a foot-long conch shell catches our attention.

“Hurry! Get back here!” one of the look-outs exclaims.

All the eight rowers hurtle back to the foredeck. An anchor is thrown to the sea to secure the karakoa from mooring. For the first time, Gasol gets down from the forecastle to meet everyone, her face is tensed. Sinag goes down from the mast, his eyes are focused and his stance is bold.

‘Am I the only one who’s in the dark? What’s going on?’

I don’t want to convert these thoughts into words, so I remain quiet but attentive.

Suddenly, everyone gapes at the sky when someone shouts “Above!”

My eyes widen as my breathing roughens. I slowly take a couple of steps back to get a good view of the moon. It's perfectly round and redder than before and it exhales a reddish gas. It is so bright, the brightest I’ve ever seen it has become. The atmosphere makes my heart beats faster than normal.

“Get ready! Here it comes!” Gasol says.

The undulating waves become more and more aggressive causing our ship to waggle. Some lose their balance and fall to the wooden deck. Shortly afterwards, a growl from nowhere increases it’s as if something huge is getting closer. Without waiting for instruction, I head back to the dugout and take my weapon. The ship sways from side to side making it difficult to move. I use the bulkhead to support my weight as I make my way out to where the rest are.

When I reach the foredeck, I'm shakenly fastening the scabbard belt around my waist, then I notice that Sinag is glaring at me. His eyes are agonizing though his body is compose and…and…and his sword hangs on his waist. I look around, the others too have their weapons attached somewhere in their bodies.

I sheepishly look down to my boots. ‘I can’t even make a simple decision right’.

The blustery wind continuously whirling with the raging waves. I hold one of the poles tight. Two, three, four…four of my comrades plunge in to the waters. As the others attempt to untie the ropes and save them, a pair of hazy yellow orbs appear before us and it speaks nothing but hunger. It moves up quickly. But the unfortunate situation we are in makes it tough to fully see what’s in front of us. My spine tingles as the roar gets louder and louder. In an instant, a tremendously gigantic silhouette becomes more visible.

“It’s the Bakunawa!” Gasol shouts.

‘Ba-ku-na-wa…the serpent-like dragon?’

Though trembling, I draw my kalis and take my fighting stance, everybody does the same. On the spur of the moment, it attacks with its iron-shod claws wrecking the side of the karakoa. Others are counter-attacking by springing closer to the monster but are easily dashed away by its wagging tail.

‘I can’t move. My body is paralyzed. This can’t be!'

It bends its body backward before storming directly at us. Its viscous jagged teeth completely tear the ship into pieces. Sinag clutches me in his arms just in time then jumps.

“Hey! Focus!” he shouts.

I nod with a wide open mouth.

We land on some of the broken parts of the ship and utilize them as floats. Terror propels me out of my stillness while witnessing our comrades being eaten or killed by the sea monster.

“This is our first real battle. If we lose here, we will fail not only ourselves but our people,” Sinag says.

An image of my parents swiftly appear before me. The thought of them waiting to be saved give me the little courage I need to fight. Tenacity swirls on my every bone as I firmly hold the hilt of my sword.

“Let’s go! Kyaahhhh!”

Liyab jumps on its wagging tail. It’s slippery but he still manages to run fast until he reaches the mid-section of its body then he pierces his sword on its diamond black-tipped scales down through its flesh and runs again while sliding his sword. After a few more strikes, he is no longer able to maintain his footing and is thrown out to the sea. Meanwhile, Gasol, with daggers on both hands, is violently stabbing the bakunawa’s body in alternating manner. The open wound secretes green slime with a disgusting smell. Gasol glides down as the slime oozes out of it then she is hurled to the air by the monter's tail. On the bakunawa's head is Sinag, leaning his back against its ivory horn while slashing its scales with his kampilan. Its loud growl turns from an angry one to that of in pain.

Liyab swims back up to the surface of the oceans then grabs the monster’s spikes protruding on its back and climbs up. The spikes are huge and sharp, the tighter he grips them, the deeper the cuts he gets. As he scrambles his way to the top, he’s using his kalis as an underprop by impaling the monster everytime he ascends. When he reaches the head of the monster, he quickly lends his brother his remaining strength.

“I've got a plan. His eyes!” Sinag shouts while heavily breathing.

“I’ll take the right eye,” Liyab says.

Both of them leap at the same time then puncture the bakunawa’s eyes with their swords. It explodes another long petrifying roar. Before it could whack them into a pulp with its three-fingered hand, they extract their swords from its eyes and jump down then pierce their swords to its neck. They use their weights and the slime to slide down a great length successfully ripping the monster’s scales and flesh before plunging into the waters. The bakunawa is mantled with sticky green liquid. When it stops oozing out, blood gushes out after. The swinging of its body and wagging of its tail transition from vehemently to frailly.

Submerge into the water, the two siblings watch as the great moon eater collapses and descends from the surface to the bottom of the ocean.The brothers peek their heads above the water and gasp for air. The impact of the bakunawa’s fall causes a small tsunami but the two somehow manage by trailing along the strong waves until they subside. Both are badly wounded, Sinag has a swollen eye and lip and Liyab’s cuts are deep and bleeding. The pain of the salty water nudging their wounds is almost unbearable.

“Let’s get out of here or we’ll die in pain,” Liyab says, forcing the words to come out of his mouth.

They swim to search for any other survivors. Dead bodies and destroyed parts of the karakoa are floating everywhere. Suddenly, a moan is heard by Liyab.

“Someone is still alive.”

“Come on,” Sinag says.

Not-so-distant from where they are, Gasol’s body is barely on top of a bamboo, drifting. They take the largest wood planks as floats and swim towards her. When they reach her, she slowly opens her eyes.

“You made it.”

“Yeah. By the nose. But,… the others didn’t,” Sinag responds with a defeated tone.

Liyab looks up. The sudden downpour from the black cloudless sky force him to surrender to the anguish in his heart. A stream of tears falls from his eyes as he commemorates the lives of the people he once called comrades.