Disclaimer: THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. The whole book is inspired by pre-colonial Filipino society but is not limited to that. There will be words borrowed from the different languages of the Philippines (mostly from the Kapampangan people and language since I am one) and other Southeast Asian countries. There will also be words totally made up by me, the author. This book is made out of goodwill and is NOT MADE TO DEMEAN any indigenous tribe, their customs, their culture, or their people. Happy reading!
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There are a few ways to determine the gods' will. One way to do so is through reading. Reading is the act of interpreting the divine through the forming scribbles of old bones' cracks in a fire pit; the dancing of the clouds on the longest day of the year; the ebbs and flows of the ocean on a full moon. It is known that only a few women - the mamalian - can read. Only they can pass this sacred art to their daughters - daughters chosen by fate.
But of course, there is always a curious case.
Old ears tune to the rowdy festivities. Ancient orbs of storm clouds searching between crackles and embers. Hues of oranges, reds, and blues dancing in blurry flashes. Wispy sighs swimming in merry giggles and laughter. Cracked and dry lips mouth muddled words of a language half-buried in an awaiting grave.
The mamalian tunes out the high pitch thrumming of the horizontally-laid golden gongs - a kulintang - atop a wooden, scaly serpent-dragon table; the low hum of the dabakan - a goblet-shaped drum made out of goatskin and wood. The electrifying sound of a zither and the duet of a bamboo flute and three-stringed violin sing above the sound of the drums and percussion. The loud festivities of the village people; all wearing their best-woven robes. Shades of rust, sunshine, and flame fleet through the clearing. Children's tiny feet reverberate against the ground akin to a small army.
The village's chieftain - datu - sits on a rare purple blanket with silken pillows. His gold and tangerine sarong tied in a knot at his waist. A dark bark and gold sword - a talibong - remains sheathed and hanging on his torso. His bronze skin, a canvas of ink. Each stroke of charcoal, a legend of his battles. His whole form is decorated in jewels and precious metals. His guards - the warrior class of maharlika - bear ink on their skin. Fabrics on their loins and jewelry a dull comparison to the datu's. The maharlika patrols the clearing at a controlled pace.
Readings are half divine and half feasts. Dried coconut bowls never empty of liquor, may it be palm wine (tuba), coconut wine (lambanog), or sugarcane liquor (basi). Fragrant banana leaves laid out on bamboo tables waiting for the roasting pig, grilled fish, rice, yams, and greens.
A village too cheerful can drown the god's voices. Gods let you read or listen to them the way they want you to. With an aging mamalian, concentration is much needed. The village's fate is only given through readings on certain days - the day of the sun god, Sinukuan; the night of the moon and ocean, Malyari and Laut; the reading of the Great Mother, Mangechay.
An almost inaudible roar pierces her keen ears. Embers crackle and hiss, hallowed whispers struggle to stay afloat from the wave of the raging hubbub. She can almost hear the sun god's whispers; like a swiftly swimming ocean nymph seducing sailors.
"QUIET!" she croaks. Her voice is as rough as gravel. "One more sound and I'll snap your backs in half. Your smooth skin will be my drum's new seal. Your flesh, a feast for the sharks. Your bones, dried and tossed in this pit for me to read." She hisses with venom. Her hunched form shakes in annoyance.
The clearing is immediately wrapped in a blanket of silence. Musicians pausing in terror. The maharlika herding the people in a crowd. Children guided back to their parents. Tiny hands cover loud, tiny mouths. Parents gripping their children close. Fingers pinching tiny ears. Children's heads bowing in shame. Eyes cast on the ground in guilt.
The mamalian inspects the children's bowing heads. All bearing crumpled foreheads, knitted brows, and bottom lip in teeth. She clears her throat and focuses on the fire pit. Fine-tuning her ears to listen to a familiar, breathy, hum.
"Lord Sinukuan, speak through your humble servant." the mamalian speaks in the old tongue.
The bones dance in the orange and red hues. Their eerie voices sing in delight. An eternity of silence is broken. Ah, what a time! Someone is listening!
"A gift, a gift. Rejoice! A gift! A child-" The mamalian's chanting is cut off by a calm, green voice.
"A gift, a gift. Rejoice! A gift! A child of chaos will bring you peace. Rejoice!" The child's eyes are rolled back, hands in a tight fist. The cloth wrapped around his head - a putong - is drenched in sweat. His form trembles, knees giving out; colliding with the ground.
The crowd clears a path from the child. Murmurs rise and swell into full-blown chatter. Questions heavily blanketing the clearing. All eyes trained on the child and the mamalian's awe-struck expression.
The child's eyes slowly shift back to normal. Two armed men have drawn their curved blades to the child's neck. No one can interrupt the reading, not even the datu. The datu has left his fine blankets and pillows; his broad figure bathes the child in shadow. Thick, battle-worn hand resting on his sword's jeweled hilt. Black, beady eyes water in fright.
"Withdraw your soldiers' talibong, Datu Lualu." the mamalian announces as she approaches the profusely sweating child.
The datu's face, a painting of confusion. He starts, "With all due respect, Ima. The child-"
"Did nothing wrong." Ima cuts off. Her storm-like eyes challenging the soldiers'. Perplexed stares shoot at Lualu. With tight lips and a nod from the chieftain, the soldiers lower their weapons.
"What's your name, anak?" A gentle smile playing on Ima's lips. Voice soft and warm. Her wrinkly hands search for the child before her.
"Likwan," the child responds meekly as the old lady's hands settle on his shoulders.
Ima frowns at the name's meaning; someone left behind. "You will stay with me from now on. Is that alright, anak?" old, warm hands travel down arms to envelop the child's small and calloused pair.
The child's mouth agape at the mamalian's remark. Eyes wide in disbelief.
"Don't just stare at me, child. Answer!" Ima chastises with a bright tone.
"Y-yes, mamalian." Likwan stammers.
"Enough of the child, Ima. What of the reading?" Lualu interjects, tone rough and cold. Heart thumping on pins and needles. Their gods always surprise them.
Ima clicks her tongue in disapproval. "The gods gave us a gift. I believe it is this child - Likwan. To have such an unfitting name for a gift is distasteful." she tells Lualu. Voice low enough to keep the words between them.
"Hear this, people of Lualu. Lord Sinukuan the mighty has blessed our people with a katulunan. This is Likwan who I am renaming Diwa. Receive the gods' gift with warm and open hearts! " the mamalian addresses the crowd.
The stunned crowd stands in silence. Male mamalian - known as katulunan - are not unusual, however, very rare. Lualu's round, earth-colored eyes scan his people - mouths agape, eyes unblinking. An excited, and happy cheer of "Woah!" tears the thick blanket of stillness. The crowd starts to buzz like little bees near a flower. Their excitement akin to a small quaking of the earth; feet stomping, hands clapping, mouths singing.
"Let the feast begin!" the datu announces with his robust voice.
Talented hands immediately play tunes of celebration. People singing praises in Sinukuan's name. Adults and children dancing and jumping frivolously. Wines filling half-full husks of brown coconut shells. People's defined cheeks flushed with the color of bright hibiscus.
Diwa remains kneeling in front of the respected mamalian. Warm, wrinkled, and trembling hands massaging his palms. Thin, cinnamon lips in an ever welcoming and relieved smile. Questions swim in his blossoming mind. Whatever he said and did earlier, it felt as if he was floating in the air upside-down. His gut felt sore as if his entrails were being pulled at both sides. It still feels sore. The heat of whatever entity that came over him sits in his belly. Is this what those mythical winged beasts of the northeast feel like? With needles of heat burning in his torso.
"It's in every sense gut-wrenching, isn't it?" Ima starts.
Inquisitive eyes cast the old lady a curious stare.
"Readings are mystical experiences, don't you think so? The way the gods speak to you feels like you're being hacked in half." she continues.
Diwa nods in agreement, "Yes, as if my entrails were stretched out while I float upside down in midair."
She clasps her hands to her silk-clad torso, "Ah, do not fear, child. Soon, after many readings, it will feel like a huge and familiar sneeze." a chuckle rips out of her small form. Her narrow, eyes forming cave-like lines on her wide face.
Diwa's thick eyebrows furrow in concern. Why does the mamalian seem too relaxed? His throat tightens over nothing. It forms a lump that doesn't seem to go away no matter how much he gulps. A flash of brightness crosses his eyes. The drums as if inches away from him, reverberate in his head. The ground hums and shakes in between stomps of joy. His mouth slacks open, eyes rolling back in his head. Fists tight and every muscle of his body taut like a bowstring ready to launch an arrow.
"Ima," he whispers, voice parched and hoarse.
The festivities sensing the tense air slow down to a low buzz in the background.
"Someone else is coming." the child and the old priestess chant simultaneously.
With cold sweat decorating his brows, Lualu quenches his parched throat with sweet wine. His round eyes harden like steel. The wine sloshes in his gut like a foreign entity. Of course, there is another person coming. Of course, he nods to himself.
Their gods always surprise them.
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Author's Note: Greetings! This is Alunsina. It's been quite a while since I wrote something for reals lol. This chapter was reviewed partially by a beta reader. I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think in the comments! I apologize for any grammatical and spelling errors. Until next time :)
07/08/2021 Author's Note Edit: I changed the moon goddess into the moon god after further research. In Kapampangan mythology, Apung Malyari is the god of the moon that lives in Mt. Pinatubo. Segara is changed to Laut because "Laut" is the Kapampangan word for the ocean/the sea. Segara was from Google Translate lol.