Chapter 6 Where the Forest Collects
1160 Words
The price announced itself with a chicken.
Amihan discovered this when the chicken bit her.
Not pecked. Bit. With intent.
She yelped and hopped backward, nearly tripping over Kisê, who promptly dropped the basket she was carrying.
“Why,” Kisê demanded, staring at the bird now flapping furiously at Amihan’s ankles, “is that chicken angry at you?”
“I don’t know!” Amihan snapped, lifting her skirt just in time to avoid another attack. “I’ve never even met it!”
“That’s worse,” Kisê said. “Animals only do that when they know something.”
The chicken paused, head c****d, one beady eye fixed on Amihan with unmistakable judgement.
Then it charged again,
Amihan fled.
She sprinted across the clearing, patadyong gathered in both hands, dignity abandoned entirely as the bird pursued her with shrill determination. Kisê howled with laughter behind her.
“This is not funny!” Amihan shouted.
“It absolutely is!”
She skidded to a stop near the balete tree, chest heaving, heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with poultry. The chicken halted a few paces away, puffed itself up, and let out a victorious squawk.
Then it sat.
Amihan stared at it. “You’re done?”
The chicken stared back.
The forest, traitorous thing, hummed.
“That,” came Silawán’s voice from nowhere in particular, “would be the price.”
Amihan whirled. “You!”
He appeared leaning lazily against the balete, arms crossed, expression infuriatingly pleased.
“You let me be assaulted by a chicken,” she accused.
“I let the forest make its point,” he corrected. “Also technically, it was asserting dominance.”
Kisê wiped tears from her eyes. “I like this forest better.”
Silawán’s gaze flicked to her. “You shouldn’t.”
Kisê immediately stopped laughing.
“What does that mean?” Amihan demanded.
Silawán straightened, his amusement fading into something more serious. “The first price of claiming is inconvenience?”
“The forest tests boundaries gently before it tests bones.”
The chicken clucked.
Silawán glanced down at it. “You can go.”
The chicken flapped once, offended, then strutted off into the undergrowth as if it had business elsewhere.
Amihan folded her arms. “What exactly did I lose?”
“Nothing yet,” Silawán said. “You paid.”
“With poultry humiliation?”
“With visibility,” he said simply. “The forest needed to see how you respond when your dignity is threatened.”
Kisê snorted. “She ran.”
“Yes,” Silawán agreed. “Sensibly.”
Amihan narrowed her eyes. “You said something must be surrendered.”
“And you did,” he replied. “Control.”
She opened her mouth to argue, then stopped.
Because he was right.
She hated that most of all.
Before she could say anything else, the clearing shifted again. Subtly. Like a room when someone important enters.
Ilyaon stepped out from between the trees.
His gaze flicked from Amihan to Kisê, then to Silawán, sharp and displeased.
“Why,” he asked calmly, “was there screaming.”
Kisê answered immediately. “Chicken.”
Silawán nodded. “Forest business.”
Ilyaon’s eyes lingered on Amihan. “Are you harmed?”
“No,” she said, too quickly. Then, remembering the lesson, she added nothing else.
Silence stretched.
He noticed.
Something in his posture tightened, almost imperceptibly.
“You shouldn’t provoke things you don’t understand,” he said.
She met his gaze evenly. “Neither should you.”
Kisê inhaled sharply, clearly delighted by this exchange.
Silawán watched them both with predatory interest. “Ah,” he murmured. “The forest is learning faster than I expected.”
Ilyaon’s attention snapped to him. “What did you do to her?”
“Nothing she didn’t already invite.”
Amihan bristled. “I did not invite—“
Silawán lifted a hand. “Wanting is an invitation. Whether you sign it or not.”
Ilyaon’s jaw set. “You speak too freely.”
“I speak accurately.”
The forest rustled, approving.
That was when Amihan felt it.
A tug.
Low. Deep. Not painful, but insistent.
She gasped and bent slightly at the waist, hand flying to her ribs.
“Amihan?” Kisê reached for her.
Silawán went still. “That’s not right.”
“What’s happening,” Amihan demanded through clenched teeth.
“The second part of the price,” Silawán said quietly. “It’s accelerating.”
“What second part?”
He hesitated.
Ilyaon noticed. “Answer her.”
Silawán exhaled. “The forest is taking something small now so it doesn’t take something catastrophic later.”
Her pulse thundered. “What is it taking?”
Silawán’s gaze lifted, scanning the trees, the paths, the air itself. “Your name.”
The words struck like cold water.
“My what?”
“Only partially,” he added quickly. “Temporarily.”
Kisê frowns. “What does that mean?”
Silawán looked at Amihan. “Say it.”
She swallowed. “Say what.”
“Your name,” he repeated. “Out loud.”
She hesitated, then said, “Amihan.”
The forest did not respond.
That had never happened before.
She tried again, louder. “Amihan.”
Still nothing.
A chill crept up her spine.
Silawán stepped closer, eyes narrowed. “Again.”
“Amihan,” she said, voice shaking now.
The forest remained silent.
Kisê’s face drained of color. “That’s not funny.”
“It isn’t meant to be,” Silawán replied.
Ilyaon stepped forward sharply. “Enough.”
He placed a hand on Amihan’s shoulder.
The forest recoiled.
Not violently. Offended.
Silawán swore softly. “Don’t.”
Ilyaon ignored him. “What do you feel.”
She swallowed. “Like I’m… slightly elsewhere.”
“That’s not acceptable.”
Silawán’s voice hardened. “This is the cost of standing where you stand.”
Ilyaon turned on him. “Then release her.”
Silawán met his gaze unflinching. “I can’t.”
“Won’t,” Ilyaon corrected.
A low sound rolled through the forest. Not thunder. Approval.
Amihan pulled away from Ilyaon gently, deliberately.
Silawán noticed.
So did Ilyaon.
“Tell me,” Amihan said, voice steadier than she felt, “what happens if I don’t get my name back.”
Silawán did not answer immediately.
That told her everything.
Before anyone could speak again, the air shifted sharply, like fabric tearing.
Maharlika stepped out of the path that should not have existed behind the balete, expression intent.
“Too late,” she said.
Silawán turned. “For what.”
Maharlika’s gaze locked onto Amihan, something like pity flickering there.
“The forest has already begun offering you,” she said. “And not to me.”
The ground beneath Amihan’s feet trembled.
Somewhere deeper, something ancient answered.
And it did not use her name.
- Writer
