Chapter 3

Meanwhile, at the main hall, the servants have long since cleared the tables, but as the wind was cold that day the embers were left to warm the place where Kalumpay and the other elders were to sit. Three of them were already there when he arrived. There was no hurry, sitting round the warmth chewing on betel nuts and a bit of clove, despite him having advised everybody that the agenda was urgent. As he took his place next to Damhanan, the old man lazily offered him some of the betel, which he declined.

“You do not have the teeth to chew anything with me now?”

He laughed. “I just don’t feel like doing anything with you at all, just to be clear. But I’m really in no mood to chew right now, anyway. I am far more interested in what Dulaw has to say today.”

Smirk. “About his wayward pet?”

The man refused to elaborate. There was no need. Everybody knew why they were here. There was to be trade next month. The people from Barunai would bring rich cloths and spices, and large earthenware. All they can produce in return right now was the famed vinegar made in this household, and some slaves. They are yet to decide which of the servants will have to go. There will be talk about preparations for Alsani’s marriage. And of course, if there was talk about one of the two kept maidens, it can’t be helped that they would talk of the other, as well.

The hosts finally arrived with the babaylan and the last of the elders, and they began the meeting discussing the trade. But soon enough, the more sensational, scandalous topic came to the fore.

"A chicken coop? We will keep her in a chicken coop? Wouldn't that be too much?"

"Is she not already acting like a chicken with her forest antics?"

"And what effect might it have on the child’s height? Her hair? Her voice? If we put her away like that for too long, she might forget to speak!"

One of the elders who arrived with the Datu only laughed it off. “That wouldn’t be so bad, really. If we keep her in that coop, she will soon learn to talk to the diwata, the nuno, the underworld!” This, with a meaningful glance at the babaylan, who refused to let this slight pass.

“It takes more than simply being put in a cage to communicate with the souls of the dead, anymore than it takes more than simple wealth to be an elder, don’t you think, Paglambuhan?”

“Hmph! You are correct. Cage aside, the girl might need some of those dried leaves and mushrooms of yours to communicate with your spirits.”

“Do not take the spirits lightly!” she hissed.

“Enough!” said the Datu. “We haven’t even finished discussing the arrangements for Alsani’s wedding. Silence.” He cleared his throat. “I have just proposed a bride price. Do you have any comments?”

“…”

The babaylan spoke up. “Dulaw. You might deny this, but nothing will truly be discussed about your elder daughter, nothing of anything really, until we have taken care of the matter of your younger daughter.

“To put that to rest, I propose we burn some incense around her room before nightfall. For all we know, something is already talking to her! I will select the herbs to use.

“Don’t you worry, Paglambuhan, none of those herbs will be any that I myself use, in case you happen to desire to catch a sniff for yourself outside her window.”

The elder got to his feet. “You whore!”

“Enough!” yelled the Datu. To the council, “Let us send for the maids and do what had been proposed around my daughter’s room. The sooner it is taken care of, the sooner we can return to our real business.”

At once, practically the whole houseful of servants were mobilized to gather leaves, pick through the spices, and make the incense. Kawayan had to be carried out of her room whilst the place was being thoroughly smoked out of every possible unwelcome presence. The whole process was indeed finished before sundown with the babaylan leading a quick closing ritual of chanting at the doorway, and the girl was reinstalled in her chamber in time for supper, with one small pot of the incense left behind to last the night.

At around midnight, Kawayan sat in her room still awake, gazing emptily at the smoldering fire where herbs were slowly burning and filling the room with a strong odor with hints of citrus. She was silently breathing in some of the smoke. The maids who came in earlier to serve the meals and clean up afterwards had covered their noses, even Piwaya. But not her. Well, to be sure, it was unusual, she never smelled something like this before, but that was exactly why she was curious. She did not quite like it, actually, but she hung around not because the smell was even halfway fragrant, but because it was new.

Come to think, why did she and her servants have opposite responses to this incense? Did not the babaylan say it was to ward off evil? Were those maids demons or something? But it can’t be. Still, why must she and them react so differently? Even more mysteriously, why is she and everyone else in this house reacting differently to things? They hate incense, they do not see any bluebirds. The sunset peeking through her window is so incredibly beautiful, but none of them even notice. Maybe her senses were just sharper than anyone else’s. On the other hand, Ateng Alsani weaves so skillfully, so beautifully. Everybody were proud of her sister, including their parents, but when it came to her nobody really so much as smiled at her, not even Piwaya who so carelessly calls her that stupid “Achi” thing. Ateng should be happy, yet not even she smiles. But why? Maybe her own senses will help her weave even better patterns, then maybe they will praise her, too? But her father never gave her anything to weave, she was only tasked to recite that long and tiresome story, which she hasn’t been doing for almost a month now, anyway, though Piwaya said she will return next week and have it resumed.

I hate it…

I want to see the bluebird again…

“Ahaha! Ahahahaha—!”

Sniffle… Sniffle…

“I want to see that bluebird…” she sobbed softly to herself.

She let out a few tears for a moment, but soon enough she let the incense calm her down. Snifflle… Sigh. Deep breath.

Sniffle…

“Hah…..”

Sniffle…

Wait, I am not crying anymore, am I? But the sobbing was still there. She ran her fingertips over her cheeks. There were no more tears. Only her eyes were moist. But somewhere someone was crying. She quickly cast about her eyes all over the room. There were no servants at the door. But then, the sound wasn’t from the door. The window? The roof? She turned to the floor. The trapdoor. The place where the maids chucked the cloths stained by her monthly bleeding, as well as the disagreeable stuff in her chamber pot. She quickly flung it open… and in the darkness below, she saw a single large eye.

Sniffle. Sob.

The eye shone with the tears. It was lovely, a deep purple as a gemstone she forget the name of. “Let me in,” whimpered a child’s voice. “Let me in, please.”

She let it in.

The guest clung to the sides of the doorway with rather bony fingers, fitted on gnarled hands and long spindly arms, as long as it itself was tall, and long spidly legs with which it climbed into the room. But the feet was like that of a goat’s. And when Kawayan looked up… Gasp—! It was the head of a… horse? No, not a full-grown one, a foal, a pony. They had horses in the courtyard, brought over from a foreign land, a large steed and what must have been its child, which died a few days later, probably from the rough sea journey. She remembered her father being enraged over the loss, but she herself was wracked with grief. She remembered seeing the beautiful little horse being dragged away through the courtyard like it was some lowly pig they had just slaughtered.

Kawayan reached out her hands and touched the tip of its nose. It was moist and cool, like that of a dog’s. Whereupon it began to weep and then fall to its gnarled knees.

“The sweet incense… worthy of a devaraya. A divine naga in human form.

“You are a true deva. A living incarnation of Mayari on earth!”

Eh…?

The pony-child rubbed its palms over its face to dry the tears. It then began to bow low and… it licked her toes. “Wait!” she yelped drawing back her feet. “Who are… What are you? Where are you from? Explain yourself!”

The thing did not heed her and instead took the pot and laid it at her feet and bowed low once again. “My deva, please accept my sacrifice!”

“W-wait. It’s Piwaya who brought that pot in. Don’t say it’s yours!”

It now confronted her with a fierce stare. “What would my deva want!?” It grabbed its own arm and tried to pull it apart from his body. “I will give my most precious limb for you, o Princess!”

“No!” she screamed. At this, she caught herself and looked toward the door to see if anyone was coming. Nothing. It was a little too late in the night for anybody to wake up. Wait… There was a distant commotion outside. Did they actually hear her? Well, it was in response to the sound alright… but the footsteps were down at the courtyard. She heard those steps fade away to the forest, the men thinking the noise was from there.

“You,” Kawayan hissed. “Put your hands down.”

The pony-child reluctantly obliged, its long ears drooping in embarrassment.

“Alright. You say I am a deva. If I am that, then you will listen to everything I tell you to do.”

The thing sat up still kneeling and gazed at her like a dog waiting on its master.

“Firstly, as I said, explain yourself. Where are you from?”

“Where I am from and who I am do not matter, o Princess. I am nothing before your divine loveliness.”

How did it know about the trapdoor? Did it come in the way she escaped before—through the rock ledge? If anything, its goat-feet would be enough to explain that. Besides, if it came from the creek far below, it would have smelled from all the waste tossed in there.

"But I have been watching you, my princess. I have always, always been looking forward to you.

"I know the time of day you would come down to the spring with your servants.

"I recite to myself how you smell. I know when you are nearby."

The tikbalang now pointed to the trapdoor. “The cloths blessed with your blood, I found and ate every last one of those.”

Kawayan covered her mouth in shock. She felt like retching, maybe passing out right then and there. Surely, it jests? “You lie.”

“I do not! I would never lie to my deva, my sacred princess!”

Really now…

“…”

Alright? Ahem. Cough. “Don’t… Don’t you do that. Don’t do that anymore. Ever.”

“…”

“Do you promise to your deva you will stop doing it?”

“…”

“…”

“I… I am not sure… But I may try…”

“…”

"Let me propose something, Milady. Keep me around you. Let me be your faithful retainer. I know places. There is this wondrous waterfall not very far from here. I will take you there!

What was it this time? Kawayan’s head was still trying to register the presence of a tikbalang in her room, and now he just kept throwing and throwing words at her.

“You need not worry about anything coming to harm you. I am your protector!

"I was the one who smoothed your path wherever you went! I made the moss grow where the rocks would have cut the soles of your feet.

"I was the one who commanded the insects, commanded the leeches, commanded every little creature not to touch your supple skin.

"I kept you safe from snakes, from birds, from all the other aswang that prowl these woods. I did not so much as let a twig or a leaf cling to your hair!"

Kawayan ran her fingertips over that hair. It was still rich, luxuriant. Indeed, it really was somewhat unthinkable that she weathered that rainstorm with her hair still intact. She recalled the babaylan remark that the ivory charm on her hairpin had preserved her skin. So now it turns out it didn't?

Now after that… How did the rest of that strange night play out? She did not quite remember. Save for one thing… about the tikbalang being her follower.

“O Milady, please heed!”

She heard herself say “yes.”