Magalhaes shifted in his cot as he tried to wrestle the nightmare that wormed its way in his dream. It always starts the same. The glimpses of home, the smell of freshly cut hay and lavender, the eager hug of his son and the warm kiss of his wife all coming in familiar sequence. And so it began, he felt the soft earth under his boots as though it was real. The grass and the hills around him looked very familiar but somehow changed. A dream cut fresh from his memories, he thought. He smiled as he turned his head to the north, it was the meadow in his hometown of Sabrosa. The lone great tree on top of it stood tall unmoved by the wind. A lazy breeze blew on his face, kissing his bare red cheeks. He closed his eyes as the warm memories of home came flooding by.
Will I ever be back home? Will all of this be over soon?
And the answer to his nagging question came as his dream got muddled up without warning. And like a bubble it popped into nothing, replaced by the same horrid things. The same sound of thunder rolling overhead. The same dirty snarling faces of the barbarians, shouting their curses at him and his dream soon descended into a dark nightmare. Light turned to shadow like life turns to death.
He felt his hands grew heavy as an axe and a sword appeared on it, dragging his shoulders down. The ground shifted underneath his worn boots and became a mire made of red mud, slowing every step he made. The hills and meadows soon change to mounds of bleach white bones.
To resist was futile. So, he stood still in the middle of it all like a crooked tombstone. His men began appearing around him, faces gray and eyes ringed black. Some of them knelt while others could barely stand, all of them twisted and broken. They were all blaming him. But Magalhaes did not protest for he knew they were all right. The dead ones don't lie. He turned to the north and saw the leaves of the great tree wither into nothing, leaving sharp branches that pointed to the heavens like the fingers of a dying man, accusing God for his unfortunate fate.
Such a waste, Magalhaes thought.
The wind moaned and wailed around him, taking a bite at any exposed skin he offered. He tried to stand straight as best he could but failed. And the shrieking of a thousand barbarians over the hill drowned all sound. Their maledictions gradually formed in to one great roar as they descended upon him. Upon his men. Pigafetta, Delcano, Mortez, Duarte, and Mallaca, all turned to him pointing their fingers at him. They mouthed something he couldn't hear.
He ignored them as best he could. It was pointless, there was a fight to be fought and a promise to keep. A thousand savages flooded down upon him and his men. But there was nothing he could do. Magalhaes gritted his teeth and closed his eyes as he anticipated the violent impact of their crushing bodies... of their glinting swords and of their keen spears... it would touch and kiss flesh and deliver him death. Instead, a great silence came as great as the peaceful sea and the pain didn't come. Nor did the crushing of skulls or the breaking of bones. Only the cold arrived. It seeped through his pale skin, draining all the warmth in his body. Just like falling and drowning in a sea of ice.
Magalhaes woke up drenched in his own sweat. His hair plastered on his forehead. Someone was banging on his door. He shook his head. Did I overslept again? He turned towards the window. It was still dark outside but the heavy rain had subsided.
"Come in."
Pigafetta went inside his cabin. He spoke with his uneven tone as though he was thinking if the next word was the right one.
"Captain, sorry for disturbing you... but Rajah Humabara and Datu Zullah is here to see you," the Italian said.
"What do they want?"
"I dunno. But I think its very important, captain."
"Did Miguel and Mallaca arrive?" Magalhaes said as he rose from his cot, massaging his sore neck.
"Still... no sign of them, captain."
Magalhaes grunted and washed his face with the water from a basin at the corner of his dark cabin. The water made him shiver. Cold. Just like the dream.
"I have a bad feeling about them," he said.
***
Fireflies danced around the edge of the treeline that surrounded the babaylan's pavilion. They paused to stop in the mound where Lam buried the giant, Siagu. The magnificent light show flickered in the cold night air and continued on dancing in the blackness of the night's cloak.
"The devatas has come for you, Siagu. It is best you come with them without hesitation," the old babaylan whispered to the lingering soul. Then, the fireflies began their aerial dance near the pavilion once again and faded one by one as they flew high atop the canopy. Now, it was time to start another ritual after the 'halad'. So, Manang Sabtano lit the incense around the pavilion. Each standing in front of a wooden god or goddess, making the idols' expression grim and eerie as the meager light struck each of their faces. The old babaylan sat cross-legged in the center of the floor and fed the fiery brazier another piece of wood, making the fire roar twice as tall as it normally should. Her old withered face looked just like the carved gods as the crimson light of the flame covered her.
"The time to talk to the devatas has come."
She cleared her throat and sang the ululating chant that her forefathers passed to her. She droned on and on until her voice cracked, throat too dry to maintain her song for the gods. At the height of her ritual, Manang Sabtano's old body began to convulse, shaking as though she was some boneless creature of the night. And finally she closed her eyes and plunged on the pool of unconsciousness, readily embracing the false death of the abyss.
The stars had already moved when she opened her eyes again. Still raw, all she saw were vague shapes. Alas, the curse of old age, she thought. She stood up, leaning to one of the pavilion's foundation. Some of the incense were burnt to a tip. She steadied her grip as she tried to catch her breath but a nasty fit of coughing erupted from her throat and she vomited chunks of white goo on the floor. It was unpleasant and sickening. But what was worse was the thing that unfolded in front of her. For the ivory white substance she vomited on the floor squirmed and flopped. It started to change and slowly formed into a white raven with bright white eyes.
"Ah, not the god I was expecting."
The raven tested its wings, flapping it one at a time. Twice it failed to take flight but on the third time it finally did what it wanted to do. It flew within the pavilion, circling the old babaylan. And slowly gained speed in every rotation it completed.
"Enjoying yourself much?" Manang Sabtano said pausing at every word to wheeze.
Outside her abode, a hundred black ravens flew from every direction to watch the white raven fly. They all contented themselves watching at the border of the pavilion's roof. None of them ventured close enough to interrupt devatas within. They shifted their heads in unison to get a better view, making the old crone smile.
"Your audience seem to like your performance, my Lord."
The bone-white raven finally stopped and perched on Manang Sabtano's frail shoulder. It hopped a couple of times to reach her ear and gently uttered a sibilant whisper. The old crone giggled.
"Oh, I'm too old for that you sleazy bird." The white raven studied the whole place and flew off to one of the carved idols in the dark pavilion.
It settled on the head of Kaptan, the sky god, with a caw. Then it shifted its backside and delivered something unpleasant on the wooden idol's forehead.
"I'm glad to see you don't hold on to grudges."
The bird cawed again, this time a chorus from the flock that had gathered around the pavilion followed it.
"What I want is simple, a small favor, Lord of Plague and God of Pestilence."
The white raven replied with a shrill chirp and Manang Sabtano nodded.
"It's for a friend of mine," she said.
A hoarse sound came from the raven's beak this time around. And it didn't sound like a bird at all. It sounded more like the last breath of a dying man. The babaylan's gooseflesh stood. It was not a pleasant thing to hear at all. Then, the bird flew in the edge of darkest part of the pavilion, diving in the shroud of shadows.
Manang Sabtano raised an eyebrow she didn't have. "Yes, him. Kaptan and Kang Laon cursed him to endlessly wander the land. Sowing destruction in his path just because he killed all members of their favorite tribe."
The bird in the darkness cawed as though disagreeing with Manang Sabtano's unspoken plea. Then it croaked back.
"Why? Because I know you hate Kaptan and Kang Laon and you'd do anything just to spite them-"
The babaylan paused when a boy with skin as white as a full moon came out of the darkness, wearing a giant bird-skull for a mask and a grey tattered mantle to cover his body. His glowing eyes stared straight at the old woman.
"Do you question me, Daughter of the Night? Do you question the God of Pestilence, mongrel? You doubt the Lord of Plagues himself?"
Manang Sabtano's weary eyes widened. "Of course, not! Giving your audience to me is humbling enough, Lord Bulalakaw." She lied. She was about to continue but the boy cut her off.
"Your concern should be on something else and not on the cursed wanderer. For Lam's fate is to walk among men and do the gods' bidding without him knowing."
Manang Sabtano bowed and nodded in false reverence.
"The waylander will make his mark but not as you expect it to be," the boy said. "He is a sojourner in this life and the next. And what have you to offer me if I do what you want?" The boy extending his hands, almost teasing the babaylan with the gesture.
"Well, I have served all gods with fairness. If you bring the gift of Death back to him he may live a normal life with my grand daughter. If you do that I will devote my last days for you, Lord Bulalakaw."
"Ah, so this is about your grand daughter."
"Yes, anything for the ones I love."
"Hmmm...your days are too few to bargain with, babaylan. But there is truth in your words. You have served the gods well, including me. So, I'll be honest with you mortal. I only govern the ailing one's, the sick, the broken."
"But..."
"Do not meddle with the games of the gods, Sabtano. For even I would not do so. Perhaps, Lam should talk to his patron. After all, he offered the killing for him," Lord Bulalakaw said, distaste clear in his voice.
"Well, Lord Bulalakaw... could you nudge things our way? Negotiate for us?Anything..."
"Death's too busy these days. And of all people, you should know that Sidapa could not be bargain with.
"Lam is warrior. Surely, Lord Sidapa would grant him an honorable death!"
"Honorable death? The killing of the living is for the twin gods to decide. And as far as I know, Ynaguinid and Macaduc are more interested on your chief." The boy walked and paused at the pavilion's foot walk and turned his head back to the babaylan. "They seem to dislike the changes he's bringing. And they want him in the game of the gods. Perhaps, we shall hear your chief sing the songs of strife and then in his agony whisper wanton war for all the ages to hear."
And with that, the boy glowed as bright as a dying star and white light flashed from where he stood, illuminating the dark lair of the babaylan. The light temporarily blinded Manang Sabtano and when she awoke she was sprawled on the pavilion all alone, weary and parched. She wiped the sweat off her face.
"Pulaco, what have you done this time?" she whispered.