What The Fireleaves Danced

"The barangay was the first polity, formed after the first few bamboo born humans learned how to plant rice. It is, to some, the crux of their entire life. Because of the separation of each barangay, it is not uncommon to find a barangay having a completely different culture from one right across the mountain."

- Lipod Parawali Kanya Ang Kalikasan, 100th Year of the Masked Moon

Panan-aw walked them through more houses, eventually passing a rather opulent torogan near the middle of the barangay. It was situated in the middle of a pond, with a wooden bridge that crossed over the pond and onto the torogan itself, which stood upon tall stilts in a spot of land in the middle of the pond. Dimalanta made a mental note to inquire about that, and why they had done it.

Small boys and girls ran to and fro their path, some of them playing with some sort toy. This toy had two disks connected by a short stick, and then with a piece of string looped around that stick. Then this toy would be allowed to fall, and then up again, then down. Dimalanta had seen that toy before in one of the trading sh.i.p.s – it was called a yoyo. The boy playing the yoyo was standing on the other side of the dirt road, near what was presumably his home, and he stared at another group of kids on the other side of the road.

They were shouting at each other with those pseudo-slurs that children make. One of them was a girl, who lunged forward and was wrestling the other girl to the ground. The rest of the children were cheering them on. Off to the side lay a bunch of wooden tops, their strings still wound about them.

Panan-aw yelled a reprimand, and then walked over to defuse the situation.

Before long, they arrived at the small port of the river. The river bank had various sh.i.p.s moored on it, with many officials wearing a gold cord like a sash about them, and with gems decorated upon their blue-green, orange-red vests, talking to the traders as large men and women carried boxes and sacks of trading goods.

On top of the bank, overlooking the entire exchange, was who Dimalanta presumed to be the Datu. He certainly fit the bill, with the grandiose golden necklaces and braces about him, and with a large vest inlaid with gold, along with a bahag that reached his knees. On his back he wore a shield, and on his side, scabbard tied to the cord, was a kampilan.

"Datu," said Panan-aw.

The Datu stood still for a moment, before turning around and looking at the two visitors. "Panan-aw," he said to the boy and then nodded.

"You are Datu Bangisan?" asked Manang.

The Datu nodded, bowing ever so slightly. "Good day to you, travelers. I am indeed Datu Bangisan. What are your names?"

Dimalanta coughed. "I am Sandata. I was a maharlika before, but now I travel with my daughter."

"Y-Yes," said Manang, shooting Dimalanta a scathing look. "I am Ginto, Daughter of Sandata. We are simply travelers seeking to go to Pinagsama."

"Is that so?" asked Bangisan. "For what reason?"

"Nothing entirely interesting I'm afraid," said Manang. "We wish for a better life, that is all. Maybe we will become merchants?"

"Indeed?" Bangisan chuckled. "Well that is all well and good, but right now is not a good time to go to Pinagsama."

"And why is that?" asked Dimalanta.

The Datu turned and pointed at the river. The water did not move at all. Now that it had come to Dimalanta's attention just how jarring the scene was, he realized he didn't hear the rushing of water that would usually accompany every thought when one would go into a barangay next to a river. "The water is stagnant. It is strange, that is for sure, but we have one theory as to why."

"Ama, I am to leave soon."

Datu Bangisan turned, saw, and grinned at a person past Dimalanta and Ginto. Dimalanta turned around to see a beautiful young woman, her skin the color of soft caramel. She was wearing a white baro and a brown saya, along with a cloth wrapped around her forehead. Her skin was taut with muscle, and her right hand had been tattooed. Hanging by a waistcord was a kris, and around her neck were various agimat, each one with different items – one of them had a brilliant ruby, another had a stone etched with a set of characters that meant "Endure."

"Amiha!" said the Datu.

When Dimalanta saw her, the girl furrowed her eyebrows and looked at the Datu. "Who are these people, father?"

"They are travelers seeking passage to Pinagsama, Amiha. Ate Ginto and Kuya Sandata, this is my daughter, Amiha, of whom I am very proud."

"Very well." She nodded at Manang and Dimalanta. "Nice to meet you." She turned to her father. "Ama, I am ready. Ina has blessed me. Anito of Warriors watch over me, and I have been given blessed right by Ina to speak with spirit. This blessing only lasts one moon, however, so I must be quick."

"Is that so?"

"Where are you going?" Manang asked.

Amiha had a hard stare, and when she directed that stare to Manang, they sharpened, as if it had been whetted, and turned into knives. "You are not privy to such knowledge."

"She is going to Pinagsama to find the Diwata of the Bokosan river, Luwalan."

Dimalanta watched Amiha turn that knife-sharp stare to her father, but said nothing. "I am thinking of letting Panan-aw go with her," and at that Panan-aw turned to the Datu and gasped out a "huh?", "But I am not sure if he would agree."

"I would." The speed of the agreement was almost humorous, as if he were desperate to leave the place.

"But you still seek to hunt that bannog, yes?"

Panan-aw inhaled, and Dimalanta could tell a million things were going through his mind. He saw that Amiha was looking at Panan-aw with furrowed, almost worried, eyebrows and was biting her lip.

"Well if she is going to Pinagsama on her own, then we can come with her," said Manang, turning back to the Datu.

"No, I must have Panan-aw with me," said Amiha. And the second she'd said that, it looked as if she regretted it, for she looked down.

Dimalanta turned and said, "I was a maharlika. I can accompany Panan-aw in hunting the bannog, and then we can go on to Pinagsama with them both."

Ginto snorted. "I might as well go with you, yes? It's not like I like sitting around."

The Datu nodded. "Alright. I will allow the three of you to go, and you will be rewarded handsomely. However, my daughter can—"

"I must," said Amiha. "I may be able to glean more knowledge about fighting beasts, father. I have spent much of my life studying how to become an anitowan, after all."

The Datu sighed, and then looked up at the sky. He muttered something, and his eyes were closed. After a few moments of holding that position, the Datu looked down on her daughter and nodded. "Very well. I will grant you some weapons from our armory, Ginto and Sandata. I hope you will use them wisely. And take care of my daughter." And with that, he walked past them. "Amiha, you do not need any more provisions. Watch over the trade while I am gone. You too, Panan-aw."

"Will do, Datu," said Panan-aw.

"You two," said Datu Bangisan, pointing to Ginto and Sandata. "Follow me."

The Datu, despite being a beefy man, took long, huge strides and nimbly skirted about a lumbering karabaw pulling a wagon full of goods. Manang and Dimalanta followed him into a large shack made of bamboo walls and thatched roofs. This one had a door, instead of the blinds made of various clacking shells.

Datu Bangisan pushed it open, and walked on inside. There was a slit in the walls large enough for sunlight to go through, Dimalanta realized, as he walked into the house.

Lining the walls, laid out on the floor, and hanging from various ropes made of thick abaca fibers were weapons and armor of all stripes. On one side lay all the precious gems and agimat, and on another side were all the weapons of war — from the kampilan to the blunt sticks, to the spear, to the shield, to the yoyo — although this one was different from the toy, with a stone on the end of the string instead of two flat disks spinning on a short cylinder.

Various armor made their way here as well. One could see heavy karabaw horn and brass armor, which was connected together by brass chain mail links, reaching down to the t.h.i.g.hs. Although the usual heat of the Sun could batter down on the stamina of someone wearing something so thick and heavy, Dimalanta had always been used to it. He wore karabaw horn armor after all.

"You may pick an armor and a weapon of your choice. Take good care of them, for they are the only armaments I will lend you, even when you leave for Pinagsama."

"Understood," said Dimalanta, nodding.

Manang smirked. "Someone's excited."

Dimalanta ignored her, walking over to the karabaw horn armor and chainmail, quickly buffing the armor onto him. Immediately, Dimalanta felt protected, like he was home, after the loss of it for so long. After having to wear a revealing simple white shirt.

With that done, turned over and picked up a large, rectangular shield that almost covered half of his body, with various etchings on to the front of the shield. In particular it displayed the Sun, and with a serpent surrounding it.

Then, he turned over and picked up a spear with braided rattan for a shaft, and with a hastate spearhead with recurved bilateral barbs. A war spear, Dimalanta knew. When he hefted it, it didn't have that same perfection of balance as his Fang of Bakunawa, but he decided that it would be good enough.

"Hm," the Datu said. "Interesting choice, definitely. You have chosen armaments for war."

"I am a warrior," said Dimalanta. "It is only natural."

The Datu nodded. He then gestured to a small pot of clay wrapped by a cloth. "That is a cup of oil. You are free to bring it with you." He then turned around to Manang, who was walking to the pile of precious gems and agimats. She picked up various ruby and gold pieces, and then around five agimat necklaces, each one with a different gem or item hanging from the cord. One was a fang of some wild serpent, the second had eight gold pieces arrayed like the rays of the sun, the third was a silver mold shaped like the crescent moon, the fourth was a leaf from a mahiya plant, and the fifth was a diamond.

"That is a lot of agimat."

Manang turned and bent down to pick up a kris with an ornamental golden handle. "How delightful, this dagger is."

"We got that from a raid down the river," said the Datu. "The Datu there had used it for ceremonial purposes, girl, so I am no quite sure about it's martial capabilities."

Manang shrugged. "Oh, I'm sure it will do just fine."

The Datu looked at them both with a strange humor in his eyes. "What a strange pair you two make. This will prove much interesting. Come then, let us give you a guest house so that you may have a place to sleep." The Datu walked out of the house. Dimalanta nodded.

"Wait, then, what was the point of bringing us here now, when we could've done it tomorrow when we hunt for the bannog?"

"Tomorrow, I may not awake as early. Tonight, we drink."

The night had come, and the middle of the barangay was ablaze with a jubilant flame.

Dimalanta and Manang stayed off to one side, near Panan-aw and Amiha, as the rest of the barangay congregated around the large fire they had made beside the opulent torogan of the Datu. They sang songs that made no sense, songs about how they were chased by dogs and then they decided to cook it. Songs about how planting rice is not fun. Even a song about the dance of the stars in every night.

Dancing to the songs were young ladies garbed in nothing but the sheathing warmth of the bonfire, dancing in front of Dimalanta and Manang. Dancers to officially welcome their visitors.

The maharlika observed the people around him. They were all dressed in modest clothing, yet he could see the various tattoos that covered everyone. They were not the tattoos of the Tinatakan, no, they were the normal tattoos, and not the ones given by a now dead god. Dimalanta was used to those living in the islands not wearing anything save for their loincloths wrapped around their groin, or wraps around women's waists, but here they were mostly covered, despite still having their armor of ink about them. He wondered this, and pondered. What had caused them to be so different?

Dimalanta looked up at the great cosmos. At the stars that wheeled about their sky every night. He saw the various constellations. He saw Moroporo and Balatik, the six followers of the great hero Lagey Limkuwon. He saw Thong, Masikla, and Mayuyu, the three stars that brought about the need for planting grass. He even saw the famed Marara, who had only one foot and one arm, and so brought the cloudy season so that the people would not see her disfigurements, her imperfections.

"The Tala are with us, tonight."

Manang was chewing on a piece of chicken leg. She turned to Dimalanta and shook her head. "I read the stones. They are not. We are simply lucky to have seen them."

"Whatever may come," said Dimalanta, seemingly ignoring Manang's pessimistic news, "I know that Bu-an will watch over me, everseeing. May he manipulate the skeins of fate so that I may return to his court."

"Ah, Ginto and Sandata! Drink more! You will need it for tomorrow!" The Datu shouted out, and the other drunk men all laughed in chorus, as if it were the most hilarious thing they had heard from a human.

Dimalanta decided to laugh along. Why not? They are enjoying their lives, after all. As he sipped from another cup of lambanog, he realized that he could not see the barangay anitowan anywhere. Usually, in feasts such as this, with the blaze strong and sending crackling embers to the sky, the anitowan woul dbe out here, speaking with the spirits and the gods, to learn of how to fix problems, or to glean knowledge about the next harvest, or the next probability of success on a raid, or even to peace should there be any affronts to nature.

But now, no anitowan came out.

Dimalanta turned to the girl past Manang — the girl named Amiha. "Where is the anitowan?" No slur in his speech quite yet. Good.

Amiha turned to Dimalanta, inhaled, and then said, "She is sleeping."

"During a feast?"

"She is tired. Blessings are not some trivial ritual, after all."

Dimalanta nodded, grimacing. "Right."

Panan-aw took sips here and then of the cup of lambanog, but he sat very stoically, occasionally glancing at Amiha here and then as she ate rice and chicken. He smiled when she turned to him and asked what was wrong, tilting her head to one side. The boy was quite infatuated with her, Dimalanta could tell.

Manang leaned close to the maharlika. "Puppy love."

"They do not have much time in this world."

"Truly," said Manang, grinning at Dimalanta.

"Yet true love helps us endure."

"You are too much of a romantic, Dimalanta."

The joyous rapture of the barangay was seemingly cut short when the Datu rose to his full height and bellowed — "Sunuga! Listen!"

Everything fell silent. The loud cheers and hoots, the bellowing laughters, the giggles from the women. All of them cut in half, then s.u.c.k.e.d into some oblivion.

"Mana Maranan would like to speak something."

At that everyone turned their attention to the frail old woman rising to her feet. The frail old woman who wore the tattoos of the greatest of warriors proudly. The frail old woman that carried a tabas with her, gripped in two hands. The frail old woman covered head to toe with the ink of legends.

And she turned to Dimalanta. "I have chosen to mark a warrior with my ink," she said, and the barangay erupted into a chorus of whispers and hushes, of questions and non-answers. "I have chosen to mark this man, Sandata, and turn him into Tinatakan."

Outrage. The scene around the blaze could be encapsulated with that one word.

"Silence! By the hand of the Datu I demand silence!"

The Datu's voice cut through the shouts of "He's a stranger!" and "Who in Sulad is he?" and "He literally just arrived here!" and "This is not fair! I have raided far more than he has!"

To the last statement, Dimalanta only smirked.

"Calm down,children," said Mana Maranan, after the Datu had silenced the shouts with a few simple words. "I am not to just make him into Tinatakan willy-nilly. He will have to prove himself to me."

Dimalanta blinked. Panan-aw's mouth fell open, and Amiha rose to her feet.

Mana Maranan raised her tabas — that is, a long, curved and truncated blade shaped almost like a scimitar, but with a longer, curved handle made of braided rattan. She flourished, an iron flower bloomed around her. She smiled fiercely, and in the gloom of the night, she turned into a demon. "Datu, cement the challenge. I must see if he is worthy."

Dimalanta, furrowed eyes and mouth slightly open in worry, turned to the Datu, as if trying to tell him that he couldn't just beat up an old lady! At the same time, he knew that this woman was more than she seemed.

The Datu nodded. "It is cemented. A duel by night, around the blazelight. Let it begin."

"Your goal, maharlika," said Mana Maranan, "is to wound my right cheek."

Dimalanta gulped. He walked over to the spear and shield; picked them up and wielded them, readying them in his hands. He realized his spear was on his right.

"That is to prove myself to you?"

"It is all I need."

Dimalanta glanced at the Datu, who only looked on at the fire, as if trying to ignore them.

"Then let us fight. Be on your guard."

Dimalanta raised his shield. He could hear Manang mutter, "Oh this will not go good."

"A wounding on the right cheek is the clause of winning!" said the Datu. "May the twin swords of Yna Guinida guide you both. Begin!"

In the night gloom, the demon of the iron flower that was Mana Maranan was upon him.