Chapter Two – The Strangers in Cebu
The drums of Mactan carried across the water that morning, summoning warriors to the shore. Tuyok arrived with Balangaw at his side, spear in hand, shield strapped across his back. The air was heavy, not with rain, but with expectation.
Lapu-Lapu stood tall amonG hIs men, hIs brOad frame marked with tattoos of lineage and victory. Around him gathered his chiefs and the babaylan, her face streaked with ash. Her eyes lingered on the sea as if it were a rival she could not conquer.
"From Cebu comes word," Lapu-Lapu's herald called out. "Rajah Humabon has feasted with strangers. They are pale as bone, wrapped in iron shells, with weapons that thunder louder than the sky. They carry the cross of their god, and they seek to spread his name upon our islands."
Murmurs spread among the warriors. Some spat in the sand. Others laughed, dismissing the tale as another exaggeration of the traders in Cebu. But Tuyok remembered the whispers in the tide, and the black rot in the fish, and he did not laugh.
Balangaw leaned close. "They say the strangers bring gifts—blades sharper than kampilans, beads brighter than pearls. Would you not want such things, cousin?"
Tuyok shook his head. "And what do they take in return?"
No answer came, for the babaylan spoke then, her voice carrying above the crowd. "The sea has already judged them. I smell its poison in their sails. Do not mistake their arrival for blessing. It is hunger that rides with them."
Lapu-Lapu's gaze hardened, his arms folded. "If they are gods, let them bleed. If they are men, let them drown. Either way, Mactan will not bow."
The warriors roared approval, but Tuyok felt no triumph. He saw the mist on the horizon curling like claws, as if the sea itself strained to pull the pale strangers down into its depths.
Two days later, he stood on the prow of a small boat, rowing with ten others across the channel to Cebu. The current fought harder than usual, tugging the hull toward the open sea. Even the sky seemed strange, pale and watchful.
When at last they reached the shore, Tuyok saw the ships.
They were like nothing he had ever known—great beasts of wood and cloth, their masts rising taller than coconut trees, their sails white as clouds. Foreign men moved across their decks, their bodies glinting with armor, their weapons long and sharp. Some carried sticks that smoked and spat fire with a crack louder than thunder.
At the beach, Rajah Humabon stood with his men, smiling as though this were a day of celebration. Beside him, the pale men feasted, eating and drinking as if they were kin. Their leader was tall, bearded, with a cloak of crimson. He held himself as if the land beneath him already belonged to him.
"Magellan," someone whispered.
The name meant nothing to Tuyok then, but he felt its weight. The man carried the cross of his god in one hand and the pride of a conqueror in the other.
As the feast continued, Tuyok's eyes wandered beyond the merriment to the edge of the tide. For a heartbeat, he thought he saw something in the surf—hands pressing against the water from below, reaching, clawing, before vanishing into foam.
He blinked, shook his head, and returned his gaze to the strangers. But the whispers in his dreams came rushing back, louder than ever.
The sea had brought them here.
And it was not finished.