What The Fireleaves Danced

"Among us there are aberrations. Children of misfortune. Some of them born from supernatural creatures, or even maligno. Others cursed by diwata. These aberrations are shunned. Shunned despite being human."

- Katalonan Sulem, 435th Year of the Masked Moon

The birds chirped. Dusk had already begun to envelop creation as Andrado awoke. The sun and the moon threw their lights against each other in an intermingled hue, swords of luminance fighting in the sky. As long as those two heavenly bodies continued their daily waltz, Andrado was reminded of the greatness of Yavum, and how the Sun and the Moon are His two eyes.

The Al-Kaigian scholar swung his legs off of his bed and rose to his feet. He prayed once again to Yavum, and invoked Chrasanthum to guide his path. With that done, he realized he had nothing else to do, waiting until they've found information about the thief.

He realized then that he was suddenly curious about this criminal underworld here in Selorong. How long has this establishment been here? he thought, only adding a question into that sea of inquiries. Has this place been officially sanctioned by the colonial government? Or is the Al-Kaigian government really doing nothing to stop this?

Andrado sighed. He walked into the restroom and found warm water. He was surprised they had plumbing, yet at the same time not. Since this was an Al-Kaigian colony after all, it would only be natural that the common technological advancements of Al-Kaig would be found here.

He showered underneath the warm water, and eventually got out, clean and well rested. He wrapped a clean white towel around him and looked at the crude plain clothing that he had worn for two days now. A new set of clothes is definitely in order.

He licked his lips… and then grimaced. He realized he had no gold on him—everything had been stolen. Andrado sighed. He looked about his room once again: he had kept the window open, revealing to him the buildings, bright with their lamplights once again, along with the lamplights that illuminated the streets. That humid breeze still blew in from the sea, despite the sea being a few kilometers away now.

He watched with frustration at not having his books and writing implements. He felt useless, an absolute waste of space. His father and his brother would have thought that all the money they had spent to get him here would've been for naught. Despite most of the funding for the trip itself coming from his own pocket. He knew that they would think that. He just knew.

How long until his claim to fame? How long until he would receive a reward for a proper account of the natives here in Lakungdula? The Emperor would've loved something like that. And despite there having been many accounts of the natives, they were all written in scholarly fashion, and none of the common-folk could read it. Deciphering the heavy, convoluted syntax and semantics of the scholarly community in Al-Kaig would require many years' worth of study itself.

And thus, Andrado had set out to create a scholarly recreation of the Lakungdulan natives for the common-folk of Al-Kaig. Of course, this little plan of his did not only have that singular motive of supposed altruism! Oh no. Andrado would never lie to himself, and delusions of grandeur and fame never escaped him. He put forth the enlightening of the common-folk as his first and foremost goal, but his other goals of fame and wealth that would inexplicably follow an effort such as this was not lost in the Al-Kaigian scholar's mind. He would be wealthy enough to support a family, maybe seek a bride. He would always wish of a tall, beautiful woman, with golden locks and fair skin and the eyes of glistening sapphire. Who had the voice of an angel and who could play the harp, and could spar with him on a duel of wits.

Of course, he also wished that his best friend for his entire life – Jonatan de Nizar – would read his works as well. Andrado knew that Jonatan would love reading about the many, many sights to see in Lakungdula, as well as the various tribes and clans and barangays that lived in their primitive society.

At the thought of that, Andrado realized that he might get more fame and fortune if he could insert pictures and paintings of the sights and the people he would see. The most popular of the scholarly doc.u.ments about Lakungdula were written in that droll, scholarly style and was mostly just ink on paper. Nothing exciting to spice it up; everything felt just dull. The common-folk would not want to slog through an incredibly dense block of words. Indeed, a painter – he would need a painter! Of course, Selorong was bound to have much wannabe painters. Many of the Al-Kaigian people would share his passion, he knew it!

He realized he had been pacing the floor with nothing but a towel on around his waist. He contemplated on wearing his dirtied clothes for a moment, before seeing if there was anyone he could ask a favor from.

Andrado walked over to the wooden door and peeked at the hole that let him see on the other side without having to actually open the door.

On the other side was still that same, lean, dark-fleshed woman, her back straight and covered in tattoos, a bolo hanging from her waist.

Andrado opened the door, ever so slightly, and called out, "Hey, pardon me, excuse me."

It took her a while, and a couple of repeats of those words, before the woman turned around, raising an eyebrow. Andrado saw that, up close, she was quite beautiful. That exotic kind of beauty – her eyes were small and beady, and her face was pinned down by a cute button nose. The structure of her face was that of a small, cute circle, with cheeks that were full and round. She must've been young, despite being almost Andrado's height – and Andrado knew that he was tall – and having muscles straining, bulging her brown skin.

"Can you speak Al-Kaigian?"

She paused, and then shook her head. She said something in Liwayan.

Andrado licked his lips. Before coming to the Archipelago, he had studied some of the language of the people within. Specifically, Liwayan, for each of the four main island groups of Lakungdula spoke a different dialect. He opened his mouth and said something in Liwayan awkwardly. "Speak… slower…?"

The woman blinked. "Oh," she said, now in Al-Kaigian. "I know small amount of Al-Kaigian language. I learn from friends."

"Ah," said Andrado, nodding. "I asked if you were able to speak Al-Kaigian, in Al-Kaigian."

"Ah," she said as well. "I asked if you speaking Liway. In Liwayan."

"Then I guess we're both in fault of misunderstanding."

"Yes," she said. "But knowledge of Al-Kaigian is… what do you call that? Maina'to?"

"Oh," Andrado nodded. He knew what that meant. "That's little."

"Hmm…," she shook her head. "No. Little is tsililita."

"Oh, well, you see, in Al-Kaig, they can also mean the same thing."

"Hm," she blinked. Andrado thought she was gorgeous, without needing to put on any cosmetic or face paint, as was popular back in Phaedrus. "Al-Kaigian is very ka'diludilo."

"ka'diludilo?"

She paused, and then she stepped back, and pantomimed someone being very confused, scratching her head and twisting her face into an almost comical look.

"Ah! You mean… confusing?"

She nodded. "If that is what this means."

"It is," said Andrado. He paused for a bit, and then said, "What's your name?"

Right as he said that though, the woman said, "What do you need?"

Andrado smiled. "O-oh," he chuckled. "I was wondering if you would have extra clothes to spare?"

"Yes, we do," said the woman. "I am Elona, bright man." And then Elona was off, walking down the wooden hallway and disappearing into an open room. Andrado licked his lips again, and then decided to wait for her behind closed doors.

His manhood pierced the white towel around his waist. He couldn't control himself, much to his chagrin. The woman was beautiful, and her b.r.e.a.s.ts were full, the kind of b.r.e.a.s.ts that would've come at the cusp of full a.d.u.l.thood. Her lean body and flat stomach was something he didn't see much in Phaedrus, since eating is a beloved pastime along the Al-Kaigian Citizens. He reached down his manhood and decided to stroke it, hoping to have himself be relieved by the time she returned, so that she wouldn't be able to see this outrageous show of poor self-control.

Then there was a knock on the door, and Andrado winced. He licked his lips and then bit it down. He forced his manhood to calm, but the thought of her once again is something that bit at Andrado. He was no priest, he had no vows. And his last s.e.x.u.a.l escapade had been months ago, but he was afraid of looking like a fool amongst a literal criminal underworld.

He opened the door, positioning himself so that his lower half was hidden behind the wooden door of his room. He grinned at the woman.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes!" He said. He looked at the clean pair of brown trousers and white tunic. "Those are my clothes?"

"Indeed," she said. "You are not okay."

Andrado winced. "No, I am, I am. By Yavum I am, truly! Just um, hand over the clothings."

"You stare at my b.r.e.a.s.ts, bright man."

Andrado blinked. "Wh-what- No! I am a man faithful to the purity and cleanliness of Yavum." But his words didn't convince himself, much less Elona.

The caramel-skinned girl looked to her left, presumably at the double doors, past which Kundang stayed at. She sighed. "Kundang said it is up to me to make sure you are comfortable."

Andrado blinked, suddenly wanting to retreat into his chambers. "What? Why? I-It's not like we paid you or anything, yes?"

Elona tilted her head to the side, and said, "I forget you are not from Selorong. Kundang commands the salarin of Selorong. Well, most of them. For order and a connection with the Kapisanan, the Civil Guard and your government pay us."

"Ah…" Andrado nodded. "I understand."

"And now Citro pay us double."

"Ahhh!" Andrado said once again. "I understand."

"So you need not worry." And as Elona said that, she walked into the room, and closed the door behind him. "Let us be quick. I would not want to be seen not guarding you."

"Elona, no—"

But it was too late. The woman acted quickly. In that strange moment as the woman went down on her knees and took advantage of the loose towel, his thoughts went haywire as he felt soft warmness. He decided to focus on things he had studied – the writing of previous scholars who had already arrived here in Lakungdula.

He had heard that the Lakungdulans were adept at the art of lovemaking, for their tribes were highly s.e.x.u.a.l people, but they did not like having too many children. They practiced mystical means of abortion, he remembered reading from the Holy Kaisar Zuhayr's journals, of which they did very frequently and was one of the responsibilities of the barangay katalonan. It was one of the few entries in Gallardo's Journals – among those that had been published, at least – that had a tinge of emotion and a characteristic flair to it. Gallardo had expressed ebulliently his abhorrence of the practice, of how killing the life within a w.o.m.b is cutting of fates and destinies that had already been preplanned, how killing the life within a w.o.m.b was potentially killing a person that served Yavum and would eventually return to Him.

Andrado shared this contempt for this pagan ritual. His manhood throbbed; a m.o.a.n escaped his lips, and the bright man reached up to clasp his hands over his mouth. Without moving his head, he looked down and saw the caramel-skinned woman, looking up at him, grinning.

Andrado sighed. "A-are you sure?"

She looked up at him with a strange gaze in her eyes. A look that seemed to say: "You ask that? Really?" Her thick eyebrows curved in an almost mocking arc.

Andrado pushed her away. "Okay." He lifted her up, and moved her over to the bed, and pushed her down. "We will be quick."

"You must."

And they were joined, and they became lovers for a short moment of time. Infinity within a few moments, as they melded into each other. Passion, pure passion, and no love.

* * *

Andrado had fallen asleep afterwards. He remembered the distinct warmth of the body of Elona pressing up against him in the random intervals between wakefulness and slumber, when he would randomly awaken and then fall asleep once again. He remembered the supple, yet firm flesh of Elona as she pressed up against him, caught up in that moment where nothing else mattered.

He awoke to the sounds of shouting.

The crescent moon – Yavum's Heavy Lidded Eye – shone through the open window. A cold breeze seeped in. He knew that it was the colder time of the month. Back in Phaedrus it would be the Season of Cold and Ice, they would wear their colder clothes and ask meteomancers if there would be snow or not so that they may adjust their schedules accordingly.

Here in Lakungdula, where the Sun shone more directly (and thus earning the moniker "Favored Land of Yavum" in Phaedrus), they did not have the Season of Yavum Setaniaphas, the Aspect of Air, which always denoted cold and snow and ice. They had colder winds, and more frequent raining for one part of the year, and then a dry spell and blistering winds for another part of the year.

The winds howled along with the sounds of shouting coming from outside.

His bed was still in shambles – blankets and pillows were strewn on the floor. He reached for the brown trousers and white tunic they had given him which had been laid on the desk beside the bed. As he finished putting on the white tunic over his head, there was a knock on his door.

He moved quickly. The shouting had the tinge of urgency to them. Andrado flung the door open, and Elona was on the other side. "Bright man," she said. "They have caught the thief."

Andrado raised both of his eyebrows. "At this time? What time is it?"

"The bell tolls. It is past midnight. The First Moon Ulalen's path across the sky almost finishes."

"Wow. Quickly then." He put two of his fingers together and drew it across his c.h.e.s.t, marking an "X" with the fingers. "Yavum guide us and protect us." He then followed Elona as she walked down the hallway and over to the double doors of Kundang.

From behind them, a voice spoke. "Wait for us."

Elona and Andrado stopped and turned. Citro – along with his two men Zagoza and Dasio – walked up to them, wearing their full on civil guard uniforms, dressed in that navy blue. Citro, though wore a banded cuirass over his chain tunic. His every step clanked as the heavy greaves of his boots banged against the wooden floor. He carried a heavy shield, and a crossguard longsword within a sheath. His authority preceded him – he used swords and wore heavy armor instead of using admittedly unwieldy rifles and padded uniforms.

"We came as quickly as we could."

"You are dressed for the occasion?" asked Andrado.

Citro managed a smile as he came up to him and patted his shoulder. "You could say that. Or maybe I just don't want any bloodshed."

"You look like a Yavotinus."

Citro raised an eyebrow at that. "Do you think Yavotini existed, Andrado?"

"I am inclined to say yes."

Citro watched him for a few more minutes, before nodding, patting his back, and guiding him through the double doors.

The kid struggling in the middle of the room bled.

Kundang had lit lamps on all four corners of the room. There were no women anymore, and Kundang's painted warriors held down a young man, most probably no more than fifteen in age. He was on his knees, silent, yet bleeding from open gashes. They were not deep gashes, Andrado could see from the way the flames licked light onto them. They looked like they had been inflicted by blunt strikes instead of slices from a blade.

As the ensemble of Andrado, Citro, Elona, Zagoza and Dasio walked into the room, Kundang grinned at two shadowy figures that stood in front of him, before his desk but behind the boy. "Good job, Daloy, Caloy. Send my regards to your mother. This should be enough for a full moondance, and for your mother's medicine."

They both nodded, and then turned and walked past everyone in the room. They wore white raiments – twisting silken cloth that covered most of their body and provided hoods, but kept their c.h.e.s.ts b.a.r.e. On their waists hung short, wide bolo blades.

As they walked out the door, Kundang looked up at the Al-Kaigian. "Ah, Citro! You are back."

"We've received word, Kundang."

"And so you have!" He gestured at the two men. Silent, they pulled the kid to his feet. One of them grabbed his face and put it up, so that Andrado could see them.

It was a young kid. A very young kid. 14, at most. His eyes had heavy bags under them, his upper lip only having a slight bush. His body was scrawny – they had stripped him of most of his vestures, and kept only a loose cloth wrapped around his waist that reached his knees.

Of course, the most striking feature about the kid, was his horns.

Horns that seemed to be in the middle of growth, curling up and out from his brow, like stunted horns on a goat. His skin was a black mahogany color – not too different from the natives, but with a much redder tint. His eyes were colored yellow, an unnatural color from what he'd seen. From behind him, a crimson prehensile tail whipped about, but one of the painted men grabbed it and stopped it from moving. It was too short to be pinned to the ground.

"So you have." Citro said, narrowing his eyes at the kid. "What have you brought us, Kundang?"

"Oh? Well, the thief, of course!"

And with that, Kundang rose to his feet and threw the oiled leather satchel that belonged to Andrado. It fell on the ground before Andrado; he bent down and picked it up, looked through the belongings. He stopped, opened his mouth, and looked up at Citro.

Andrado held his tongue, though, for Citro spoke. "This is a fiend."

"Yeah well," Kundang said, shrugging. "Maybe that's why he was so agile during the Seventh Moon."

Citro furrowed his eyebrows. There was a tinge of tension in the air as Citro watched the now crying boy, his gaze piercing. Andrado himself bit his lip when he saw the boy. An unnaturality – one that he had never seen before. At least, not in Phaedrus.

"What is he?" He blurted out.

Citro walked up to the boy and got on one knee. "What are you?" he asked.

The boy shook his head. He was saying something, mumbling something. "What?" Citro's voice shook Andrado. He hadn't meant it to be a shout, but his voice alone was loud enough to cause echoes within the room.

"He asks for forgiveness, again and again," said Elona.

Citro didn't look away from the boy. "Why did you steal it?"

The boy just kept repeating the words, again and again and again.

Citro sighed. "What is your name, boy?"

Still no definite answer. Kundang, from behind the boy, spoke up. "There are people that know him as Kawatan."

"Kawatan." Citro said, turning back to the boy. "Listen to me."

But he did not. He could not. Citro grit his teeth. "The boy needs rest." The Captain rose to his feet. "Let him rest. We will need to ask him further."

Kundang raised an eyebrow. "Why? You've got what you needed, just kill the damn maligno!"

The boy cried louder at that, his tears dripping to the floor.

Citro watched the boy shake his head and repeat that Liwayan word for forgiveness, again and again, like a mantra. Zagoza and Dasio both looked down at the boy in apparent disgust, their faces in a slight grimace. Elona, on the other hand, watched the boy straight faced, without any reaction whatsoever. A stoic warrior watching one of her own. Andrado wondered if she could call that thing one of her own at all.

"No." said Citro, as he stepped back. "There are still things we must do."

"Like what? Follow the law?" Kundang snorted. "See, this is what being a lawful man does to you."

Citro didn't respond. He turned to Andrado. "Andrado. Pardon me. But I need to question the child. You've got what you needed, yes? Unless…" And there was a sad flame in his eyes. Andrado wondered why – was he implying that Andrado had a religious fervor that wanted the child dead?

Andrado turned to the child and said, "We would need him alive. I don't have everything back."

Kundang snorted out a loud "ha!". "If you want the gold back, I'll just pay you. Anything to make you lot leave my house."

"No," said Andrado. "There's… something that I haven't gotten back yet."

"What is it?" Citro asked.

Andrado sorted through his items, making absolutely sure that it wasn't there. That it was not anywhere to be found. He sighed, lowering the leather satchel.

He wasn't sure if he should disclose the information with anyone, especially not with Citro. He bit his lip, and then said, "I have a… wooden staff that I've brought from my family for good-luck."

Citro raised an eyebrow. "What kind of staff?"

"A scepter," said Andrado. "Ceremonial. Made of wood. My father used it when passing down fiefs."

"Okay?"

"We are a rich family, as you may well know."

"So you brought a staff with you," said Citro. "And now you don't know where it is. Is it supposed to be in the satchel?"

Andrado nodded. "Yes."

Citro blinked, and then nodded. "Very well." He turned to the boy. "That gives us more incentive to keep the boy alive. And we shall. Let him rest, Kundang."

Kundang nodded. He turned to the two of his men and gestured to them. "Gentle." They nodded, and led him to the couch on one side of the room, laying him down there. "Give him a proper meal tomorrow morning.

"We will return in the morn," said Citro. "My thanks, Kundang."

"Yeah. Oh, your little Scholar has overstayed his welcome, by the way. Take him with you."

Andrado blinked. Citro didn't react. "Very well."

Citro turned around, and gestured for all of them to leave. They all walked out. Elona retreated to the servant's quarters at the bottom floor, saying nary a word to Citro nor Andrado.

Citro spoke to Andrado as they arrived at the bottom of the stairs. "You will rest in Zagoza's quarters for the time being," said Citro. "He lives alone, so it should be fine for him to accommodate you."

"Aye, I do. But I court women still."

"You say that like it proves something, Za," said Dasio, snorting. "You're the only man in the whole force that hasn't held down a woman yet."

Zagoza rolled his eyes. "I have high standards, Da."

"Of course you do."

Citro – for what seemed like the first time – grinned. "High standards for him is a shaved cooch, mind you."

Dasio laughed. There were only a few patrons now in the brothel. "Hell, you might've never even f.u.c.k.e.d a girl before!"

Zagoza blinked at him. "You numbskull. You never heard of a brothel before?"

Citro shook his head, chuckling, as they walked out of the brothel of Kundang.

"Zagoza," said Citro. "Take care of Andrado here. He is a Scholar with a mission to the Governor General."

"Ah, so he is important?"

Citro shook his head. "No. He is not important. Only rich."