MAHARLIKA and the Cursed Descendants of the Orient

Into the Southern Mainland

Our lips flake and c***k, our faces lose tint and our eyelids slump. It’s been a while since we have been drifting on the ocean. Half of our bodies are submerged in the waters and half hang on pieces of wood planks. My entire being succumbs to agony, my throat stings, my muscles throb and my wounds ache.

‘I…am…worn…out.’

Two days and a night have lapsed since the Sea Gypsies found us almost unconscious. Catering us with significant portions of seafood, serving us with teas infused with herbs and spices and plastering our wounds and injuries with bandages without asking ‘who are we’ or ‘where did we come from’. They don’t even seem bothered with our weapons. This tribe moves with the wind and tide with their small houseboats called vintas. These traditional outrigger boats characterized by its colorful rectangular lug sails serve as our home these past days.

“We’re landing to Saad, the south of Maharlika,” says the one whom they call Badjao, their tribe leader. Just like the others, he wears a loose shirt and a multicolor tube-like wrapped-around skirt.

Gasol lowers her head down then extends her fist to Badjao. “Please take this as a gratitude from us.” She opens her hand and proffers a small pouch.

Badjao lets out a small sigh then holds Gasol's stretched hand. “I’m sure you need this more than we do.”

Gasol shuts her eyes and nods. “Thank you for everything.”

Sinag and I bow down and say our words of appreciation for the kindness of his tribe.

Before leaving, we offer assistance in transporting the tunas they caught to the barters waiting on the shore. The tunas are huge and heavy and delicious too. A sack of rice, a crate of produce and pieces of garments are exchanged for every tuna. After successfully bartering about nine tunas, we wave goodbye to the Sea Gypsies and thank them for the last time. Once again, they sail to the calm yet dangerous sea.

The brilliance of the sun lingers in the sky for quite a while now, something I’m not used to and I am enjoying it. The air is humid and the atmosphere is crazy. Surrounding the shore are stalls with people selling and buying different commodities. The noise is weird, people are talking at the same time, some are even shouting though they don’t look angry at all.

Sinag puts his arms around my shoulders. “Mesmerize?”

“Hn.”

Gasol walks pass us then look at us over her shoulder. “Let’s buy some stuffs.” But when she notices my grin, she clarifies her statement. “Important…stuffs.”

Sinag chuckles when I frown.

Sauntering the soft white sand, every glimpse from left to right puts a beam on my face. My eyes twinkle everytime they see something foreign such as bottles of fragrant liquid made from essential oils or porcelain teacups painted with elaborated and colorful designs and a lot more. There are also things that are familiar to me like the spices, beans, textiles, potteries and postcards. I walk farther ahead and notice a stall that has the most people. They only look but they don’t buy. Intrigue, I stand in front of it and take a look. An old and a young woman are selling tiny three-dimensional figures of humans, deities and animals sculpted out of woods. They are great aesthetically however not only that these items are not necessities but also cost fifteen grams of silver a piece, too expensive for a commoner to afford. When I’m about to leave, one statuette grabs my interest. It is larger than the others and sculpted out of a certain kind of stone and it costs two troy ounces of silver - An angry dragon which comes out of the water boasting its fangs and its claws.

“The bakunawa,” I murmur.

“What can I get you?” asks the young woman.

“I’m alright,” I step back and turn around.

“Wait!” shouts the old lady. “You know the story of the bakunawa?”

I am taken aback by her question. Dismissing her by shaking my head then taking few more steps away from them, she continues to speak. “Do you know why the bakunawa eats the moon?”

I slant my view to her. “No idea and don’t care.”

“It’s because the bottommost part of the ocean is very dark and no other sea creatures would go in there, so it gets very lonely.”

Without realizing, I walk back in front of the stall which makes the old lady smiles.

“Whenever it eats the moon, its belly glows so radiant that the dragon could see the most beautiful wonders the ocean could offer, wonders that even the best sea farers or divers would never find. Unfortunately, the luminous of the moon is believed to only last for two decades,” she says switching her eyes between me and the dragon statuette.

“Grandma,” interrupts the young woman. “It’s just a folklore. Nobody believes in folklores anymore.”

“Nobody you say? The young generation doesn’t represent everybody,” replies the old lady.

I am stunned, my lips are partly open. If what she’s telling is true, then the sea monster is no different from me.

“Are you not buying it, young man?” the old lady asks, smiling with her eyes close.

“I…I don’t have money.”

“That’s not what I mean,” she says.

The inner corners of my brows meet as I wait for her to say something more.

“Hey! Liyab!”

I turn around when I hear Sinag’s voice. A couple of feet back, he and Gasol are carrying some stuffs.

“You shouldn’t roam around. You don’t even know this place.”

“Sorry about that, I was carried away.” I face the sellers for the second time and slightly tilt my head forward. “I’ll go now.”

Gasol hands us dark blue capes and wide-brimmed hats. “Use the cape to hide the emblem on your backs.”

“Right!”

“We’re heading to Mt. Tago,” Gasol says.

“And where is that?” Sinag asks.

“To the forest in the far east of Saad. A place where non-outcasts are unwelcome,” she explains then pulls her salakot a little lower to cover half of her face. “Let’s get going.”

It takes some time to travel from the shore to the marketplace by feet. The market is more chaotic than I thought it would be. Small triangular pieces of papers are arranged in string and are hang above us. On one corner is a group of people singing and playing musical instruments. In front of them is a hat, laying upside down on the ground where flat pieces of metal c***k and clang as people toss them in it. Adjacent to the musicians, are four artists. Different colors of liquid are smothered on their clothes. Each swoosh of their brushes on a white cloth resting on a wooden board, receives owes and wows from the bystanders. On their backs, are their artworks where people gather to see. My heart leaps with excitement as I remember only seeing some of these things on paintings, postcards and books.

My feet amble along the even and solid road when Sinag clasps my wrist forcing me to jog.

“We can’t waste anymore time. Remember what we came here for,” he says, annoyed.

I smirk and remove my hand from his grip, bump him a little then sprint ahead of him. I turn around to check our distance, his brows are raised, lips are slightly apart. He goes after me when I stick my tongue at him. Thrusting our legs at full speed as our guffaws echo in the atmosphere. We dart pass people and stores. A micro vibration squirms on my legs when I pause gasping for breath. Taking off my salakot to expose my sweaty hair and face for fresh air, my eyes divert to the direction of a large number of people gather in a cluttered way while cheering rowdily. It should be something special since it catches Gasol’s attention, so I cram my way into everyone to get a better view of what’s going on. At the center of the commotion is a short man feeding his pet – a monkey eating eagle. The prey is bigger than its predator, but it’s too scared to fight back. Its eyes beg for help, its body bleeds everytime the monkey’s teeth pierce and rip its flesh…couple of more biting, it dies. My lips purse and my eyes narrow while staring at the people who are clapping while grinning.

“We want more! We want more!” the crowd chants.

I jolt when I hear Sinag mumbles. “Disgusting!”

The short man enters a tent. A moment later he comes out of it, another monkey on his shoulder and a cage on his hand. The crowd goes wild when the man takes out the eagle from the cage and hands it over to the monkey.

Squeezing my fist, I step forward but Gasol’s hand holds my arms. “We can’t interfere, we don’t want attention.”

Powerless, I standstill.

When the monkey opens its mouth, the eagle spreads its long huge wings making the monkey loosen its grip. The next thing that happen provokes everyone to take one step back and another step back and another. The eagle pricks the left eye of the monkey with its beak and the furry animal screams in pain. The short man attempts to grab the bird by its wings but it scratches his face with its claws. The man asks for help but nobody moves. Then the eagle seizes the monkey and flies so high and…bam! It drops the monkey’s dead body to the ground and soars even higher. The noise fades and the silence wins. People start leaving without saying a single word. The man kneels down while tears falling down his bloody cheeks. The uneasiness inside of me immobilizes my body and obstructs any word that wants to depart from my mouth.

“Both eagles are much stronger than the monkeys. The first eagle didn’t do anything and just accepted its fate. The second one was brave enough to defy its destiny,” Gasol explains without removing her sight from the man and his pet.

It’s not even half a day passes since our arrival but my enthusiasm dwindles with every sluggish step I take and even Sinag is mirroring my pace.

Gasol, who’s walking ahead of us, stops then looks at us. “How about we get some rest and eat something?” For the first time, she softens her expression. She looks awkward yet genuine.

“I’m in!” Sinag says while raising his hand.

"After watching an ugly scene, having a good food would be nice," I say.

I have longed to eat foods in the mainland. Their foods look incredible in photos and their people seem to enjoy eating them. Gasol’s trick works, a tiny brightness fills my hollow spirit.

Along the road are multiple dining houses and the mouthwatering aromas compete with each other. The scents pass through my nose, causing my stomach to hop. We enter one of the smallest eateries. Inside are wooden circular tables, each of which has four wooden chairs and its greyish brick wall is decorated with flowers. More and more diners are coming in, so we immediately take the seats nearest to the wall at the back. On the table is a piece of paper with all the foods they’re serving are listed. We can read what’s on the paper but we don’t know what they mean, the good thing about it is that there are photos on it.

“Choose whatever you like. Don’t worry about the price. What we have left is much more valuable than their money. So we’ll be fine,” Gasol whispers.

“We don’t even understand how cheap or expensive 10 arya is,” I reply while pointing at the paper.

Sinag chortles. “You really don’t know how to filter your thoughts sometimes.”

A woman lists down the dishes that we choose on her small notebook. While waiting for our food, we take the time to wash our hands in the restroom then head back to our seats. A few moments later, the woman comes back with a tray on her hands. She first lays down a huge banana leaf on our table then the dishes one by one – a platter of white steamed rice, a bowl of beef and bananas in tomato soup, a bowl of oxtail and vegetables cooked in peanut sauce, a bowl of pork sweetened in pineapple sauce and three cups of water.

My eyes agape as I clear the liquid in my mouth. I take a sip on the water first, it’s cold and fresh and has a little sweetness to it then take a big bite of the beef, it’s tender and goes well with the bananas. I keep on putting foods on my mouth that I almost choke myself. Every dish is flavorsome and every dish is my favorite. I blurb after swallowing the last piece of meat there is. I could feel that my stomach wants to explode, I’ve never felt this bloated before.

After finishing the meals and washing our hands, the woman from earlier goes back to clean our table. Gasol leans closer to her and whispers. “You accept gold, right?”

“Of course!” the woman replies. “You’re not from around here?”

Gasol gives the woman a stern look before showing tiny nuggets of gold on her hand. “Is this enough?”

“That’s…actually a lot…more,” she answers while her eyes are glued on the gold.

"Thanks for the meal," Gasol says then puts the gold on the table before leaving.

Sinag and I wear our salakot back to our head and thank the woman for the meal too. Then we head outside.

A vibrant orange tints the sky as the setting sun casts shadows on us and the warm breeze coats the ambiance.

Before we could move a muscle from where we’re standing, bottles crashing and voices yelling ring out in my ears. There are more than ten individuals who are chasing and harassing people.

“Really? These Maharlikans are more barbaric than I thought,” Sinag complains.

“Manners is not their thing,” I reply.

The galloping of horses’ feet against the ground and the bawling of men in flashy armors capture everyone’s attention. “Move out! Move out!”